Whenever it is suggested travelling south or north of the Thames to visit an ‘amazing’ restaurant I usually start conjuring up excuses. Across London seems a journey too far for food – but going across an ocean for it can be worthwhile.
In NYC last year, I found myself with an evening off and, staying in the Lower East Side, made my way to the Bowery Meat Company. The menu was perfect: steak and seafood, excellent cocktails, and sides which included sublime creamed spinach and whipped potato that threatened to float off the plate.
I usually eat oysters naked, but Bowery’s version – baked under a parmesan crust – was irresistible. The steak was thick, juicy and cooked to perfection, the fries hot and crunchy. With the ambience of a serious steak house (meaning dark colours, low lighting and proper tableware), it has the perfect people-watching atmosphere. My gin martini (very dry, straight up, olive) was served by a double of Alex, the waiter from The Kominsky Method.
An easier trek, thanks to Eurostar going direct from St Pancras, is a little place in Lille, ten miles from the Belgian border in France. The journey time is about the same as trekking to the outer enclaves of south-west London, and it’s worth every second: La Fleur de Lille is pitch perfect. A classic brasserie, I found it during the time I was deep in researching the trafficking of women from Albania into the Belgium and surrounds. I badly needed cheering up, and it succeeded. Nestled among many others in the old town, La Fleur is no tourist trap. Roomy, with large tables, comfy seats and an attractive design (exposed brick, but it looks good here), it is exceptionally good value, even when you throw in an off-peak return on the Eurostar from London.
The journey time to Lille is about the same as trekking to the outer enclaves of south-west London, and it’s worth every second: La Fleur de Lille is pitch perfect
The set ‘trio menu’ of a starter, main course and dessert will set you back €39. I had an excellent rillette with good bread and sharp pickles, followed by salmon, and finished off with superb cheeses, including a camembert so ripe it threatened to walk off the plate.
Wine was a small carafe of white and a glass of red of unnamed grape. A bottle of each might have been a stretch, so I gladly accepted the waiter’s recommendation, and they matched my food perfectly. Then there was a glass of port with the cheese. And, of course, a Cognac to see me back on the train. The bill was reasonable.
This year I plan to travel to the Isle of Skye to eat at the Loch Bay restaurant, situated in Stein, an 18th century fishing village. The lengthy and arduous journey from Inverness, where, handily, I have family, looks worth it. It is, however, unlikely I would ever get a speaking gig on the trafficking of women or the history of revolutionary feminism, so I may have to just admit I am a restaurant tourist and hopefully not come across like those pretentious monsters in The Menu.
This menu looks spot-on. Who would not love the idea of freshly caught lobster served with shrimp sauce and chunks of monkfish? Puddings include an almond and rhubarb tart with blood orange and ginger jelly. This is not a place to drop in on unannounced. It is a mere 16-seater, and to get there, you have to pre-book the taxi from Skye harbour. On top of this, Loch Bay operates seasonal opening times, so getting a table here, along with the cost of a set menu (£140 per person without wine or service) will surely add plenty of drama to the occasion.
There is one little place I didn’t travel to eat at, but I have changed my travel arrangements in order to eat there again. On an unattractive and busy road, a mile from Dalaman airport in Turkey, I happened upon the Agora. I was booked on an evening flight, and due to a combination of factors, missed it. I check in to the only hotel in the vicinity of the airport and, anxious, miserable and hungry, I went looking for food. Soon I found a modest looking gaff that was heaving with custom.
My lamb kofte, spicy and drowned in tzatziki, was followed by an ezme salad (crushed tomato, onion, garlic, peppers, parsley, molasses and spices), then fresh, filleted bass served with chips cooked Turkish style with spring onion, cumin and Aleppo pepper.
Dessert was Künefe, a honey-drenched concoction that put me in mind of Shredded Wheat, which was stuffed with unsalted goat’s cheese and sprinkled with pistachio. With that I was offered a glass of Doluca Safir, and forgot all about being stuck in Turkey. It is Agora I think of during the freezing months at home, and when I return to Turkey again, I have booked a flight home leaving very early in the morning so I can sleep off my meal just in time for a 4 a.m. start.
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