Bistrot Bruno Loubet, Clerkenwell

The culture of the celebrity chefs is a recent, but now constant, feature of UK life. Those at the very top of the foodie chain enjoy considerable fame and fortune; perhaps not in the same league as actors and rock stars, but certainly on par with top footballers.

However, the subtle but important difference is that when you go to see Chelsea or Manchester United play, the likes of Drogba and Lampard, or Rooney and Giggs will be on the pitch. The same is not true of a celebrity restaurant, the owner of which seems to spend more time in front of the camera then in the kitchen.

The much revered (by critics anyway) Bruno Loubet is cut from a different cloth. Loubet is a chef’s chef whose return to London last year from a 10-year stint down under was greeted by some of the more renowned restaurant reviewers with a frenzy akin to that which heralded David Beckham’s move to Real Madrid. And when Loubet opened a brasserie in the eternally on-trend Zetter Hotel in Clerkenwell, the sense of anticipation was almost palpable.

One year on and with the hype now settled, the Northerner and I were joined by two of our favourite dining companions - the Economist and the Buyer – as we headed over to St John's Square to see whether the noise was justified. For a start, Bistro Bruno Loubet looks the part. Upon entering the Zetter you are transported to a Parisian-style brasserie. And not in the Café Rouge sense. Situated on the corner where the square meets the street, the place benefits from high arched windows, dark brown wooden floors, and bistro chairs and tables that lifts it from being a mere hotel restaurant into something far more inviting. Its good looks are complemented by the great service of its mostly male waiting and bar staff, who are as charming, efficient, and as appropriately attentive as they are attractive. The punters are your mix of the more erudite City dwellers (read: fund managers) and local professionals, with the odd hipster thrown in. The atmosphere is slightly subdued, but in a warm and relaxed way that is welcoming rather then stuffy.

But what about the food?

We began with pre-dinner nibbles of olives and Parmesan shortbread – the latter being sharp, perfectly crumbly, and incredibly moreish. For starters we opted for game terrine, Wood Pigeon and foie gras pot au feu salad, and Guineafowl boudin blanc with pumpkin barley. The boudin blanc was mousse-like in texture and full of subtle game bird flavours that were balanced nicely by the barley. The snippets I stole from our companions’ terrine and foie gras proved that they were both as rich and fully textured as you would want.

For mains, the Economist opted for the saddle of hare, cooked pink and almost venison-like in its depth of flavour. The gals both went for the baked cod fillets with tomatoes and fennel – the latter being a favourite ingredient of the Northerner. Again, they were cooked to perfection, moist, well-seasoned and melt-in-your mouth flavoursome. I opted for the piglet confit with a cauliflower and prune gratin and braised lentils. The gratin was a triumph for unusual flavour combinations, while the lentils were very good. The only disappointment was the pork itself, which surprisingly was a tad dry.

We couldn’t resist desserts, and between us knocked through the white chocolate and passion fruit mousse with strawberry sauce; the sharpness of the fruits offsetting the sweetness of the chocolate. Our companions both went for the Valrhona chocolate marquise with caramel and salted butter ice cream, which was very nice indeed. The Northerner chose the thin apple tart with crème freche and cinnamon ice cream that was clearly delicious, as none of us were offered so much as a smidgen of a taste.

We washed dinner down with two bottles of Vacqueyras Freres 2003, which were chosen by the Economist as he knows a thing or two about wine. This choice proved no exception, being well-balanced and not too big for any of the dishes.

And to top off the experience, throughout the evening we saw Loubet himself working away at the pass in the kitchen, with not a Gordon Ramsay tantrum or Jamie Oliver mockneyism in sight. Which proves that the old ways can still work.

Bistro Bruno Loubet is a wonderful restaurant, romantic, casual and fun in equal parts, and succeeds in lifting the aspirations of the hotel that houses it. It's not cheap – our bill was a little north of £300 for four people – but it is very good. Plus you have the added bonus of seeing a famous chef that still works the kitchen. Go quick, as I understand they’re a dying breed.

Two Floors, Soho

One of the questions people often ask me is why I insist on focussing on City bars. After all, as these folks are quick to remind me, there are many great bars all over London which clearly I either haven’t been too, or simply haven’t heard of.

Well, New Year and new start then. And given I spend just as much of my social life in Soho and Shoreditch (not to mention those great suburbs south of the river), I thought I’d start in with the West End institution that is Two Floors.

Located just off the recently and quite wonderfully revamped Carnaby Street, Two Floors does what it says on the box by being set over two floors – ground and basement level. The ground level bar is all Soho cool. Dark green walls are offset by the darker brown lounge-style furniture and tactfully placed mirrors. The bar staff have stepped straight out of Wallpaper Magazine, or graphic design school anyway. They are matched in styling by the equally hip clientele, which serves as a reminder to those who care to forget that Soho, rather then Shoreditch, was the original home of London chic.

The basement bar has been branded as Handy Joe’s Tiki Bar. But don’t expect any jangling ukuleles or Mahiki Bar ‘irony’. This is a bar that doesn’t take itself too seriously, and besides a smattering of bamboo and palm trees - and one of the smallest actual serving bar spaces in London - the basement is all urban intimacy. Which is a euphemism for saying it is crowded, a testimony to both the layout of the place and its popularity amongst Soho’s hipsters.

However, Two Floors' saving grace is the shared courtyard area on the Kingly Court side, which gives it that year-round extra space that punters need, so long as you don’t mind occasionally having to step around confused tourists looking for M&S. it also helps that the staff complement their good looks with good service, meaning that punters don’t have to wait long at all to get their rounds in.

The drinks themselves are all reasonably priced and are your fairly standard Soho fare, with a range of New World and lower priced European wines, and beers that include Red Stripe and Camden Hells on tap with Kirin, Estrella Dam, Samuel Adams and Negra Modelo by the bottle. If you’re after an alcohol-infused injection of energy, the Dark and Stormy (rum and lime) cocktails are particularly good.

If you’re looking for a good start, or even end to a night out in Soho, Two Floors is as good a place to go as any.

Big W

Nightjar, Shoreditch

There's a certain glamour attached to the Prohibition era - the Charleston, gangsters, illegal speakeasies. In credit-crunched Britain, one could argue the time is rife for our own bit of '30s-style indulgence, and this is a challenge which Nightjar has taken up with aplomb.

The Nightjar is a speakeasy-style cocktail bar that, from its drinks menu and interior to the music, attempts to recreate the mood of that era. The speakeasy feel starts with the entrance, which is located just north of the labyrinth that is Old Street Tube station. Tucked away amongst the caff’s (café’s would be misleading) is a non-descript door on the edge of the roundabout. The only clue that it is a cocktail bar on the night I arrived came from a couple of shady looking bouncers loitering outside. At least I think they were bouncers.

Once you find the entrance, a small flight of stairs takes you into a venue that’s straight out of downtown Manhattan. The drinking den consists of dark wood furniture and black leather chairs and booths, and is framed by a copper-panelled ceiling and large mirrored murals. Subdued lighting, dapper bartenders, and a gorgeous waiting staff continue the illusion of serious glamour.

But the Nightjar is more than just illusion with a cracking resident band, Benoit Villefon and his Orchestra, which offered up a mix of Chanson Francoise, Russian folk, Latin dance, and swing. These cats (as they like to be called) were all seriously charismatic and musically very funky. The audience was a mix of hipsters and creative types who clearly enjoyed the retro aspect of the night. In fact, one group of young women went whole hog and donned flapper dresses for the evening, which despite how it might sound, came across as stylish as opposed to hen party.

The cocktails are simply heavenly. They are classified into Pre-Prohibition, Prohibition and Post War-era drinks, from which one can only assume that they didn’t invent cocktails during the war. Or that they weren’t any good. The Northerner and I were joined by the Editor for the evening, and we indulged across the eras. Pre-Prohibition Morning Glory Fizz (Scotch, lemon, lime, absinthe, sugar syrup and champagne) and Prohibition Between the Sheets (cognac, rum, triple sec, lemon and gomme syrup) were particular favourites of mine. Big drinks but perfectly balanced. The gals opted for Post War The Wibble (gin, sloe gin, muroise, gomme syrup, grapefruit and lemon) and Airmail (rum, honey water, lime and champagne) which they declared delicious. We also sampled one of their signature drinks – the 24 Volt Cobbler (cranberries, maple syrup, lime, bitters, mixed berries liqueur and red wine) which was unusual but very tasty; and the English Mule (gin, lime, vermouth, ginger liqueur, and gomme syrup) which was rich and delicious. Other drinks on offer include a full selection of reasonably priced Old and New World wines and two of my favourite bottled beers – Greenwich Meantime London Lager and Blue Moon Wheat Beer.

Nightjar is the brainchild of Roisin and Edmund, who from a bar perspective, have a great sense of style and celebration. Of courses when you’re visiting anywhere as a reviewer you are subject to a little bit of extra attention, but I think its fair to say that these two are charming regardless of who you are. While their retrospective nod to a bygone era works so well you half expect them to roll out barrels of moonshine. But perhaps that’s one for next time. Or the time after that...

Abacus Bar, Bank

Guilty Pleasures are now a ubiquitous part of London’s nightlife. You know the drill. Take a once-famous nightclub, dress it up in ironic décor, and play music that you might love and even own (Toto, Foreigner, the Kids from Fame), but would never admit to. (Well certainly not to anyone that you were trying to impress.)

And in the City of London’s bar world, there is one place that is without doubt a ‘guilty pleasure’. Everyone I know has been at least once, and too a person, they’ve enjoyed it. But you’ll never hear them shouting it from the rooftops. In fact, people are embarrassed to mention it, and when pushed, claim hitherto unknown friends have dragged them there. Or they were in desperate need of a late weeknight drink. Or they got lost…

That certain bar is Abacus, located right in the hub of the City next to Bank station. So what is it about this place that makes the loud amongst us suddenly meek?

Looking at it objectively, Abacus has plenty to offer. At street level is a cocktail-cum-lounge bar where the mostly suited-and-booted male clientele chat in that uniquely City way, where their eyes focus on everyone except the person they are with. And downstairs is the bar/nightclub which with its charts-led soundtrack and cocktail-infused happy hour, creates an atmosphere that is festive to say the least.

So what’s the issue? Well, there aren’t many bars quite like Abacus. Actually, I correct myself. There are plenty of bars like Abacus in the North or the outer areas of Greater London, just not in the City. Because Abacus, along with the departed (and much-lamented) Prohibition, were bars designed with one objective. Euphemistically, it could be described as a place where people go to meet each other, but in reality, it's what Americans call a ‘pick-up’ bar. That’s right, most nights of the week from Wednesday onwards, Abacus is rammed full of (mostly) single people, drinking half-priced cocktails and dancing with abandon.

The dress is mostly office wear, although women occasionally indulge in a party dress and what seems like a gallon of the latest celebrity-branded perfume. The men, who are equally indulgent on the after-shave front, step out in the latest that Top Shop or Hugo Boss have to offer (depending on their age, of course).

The bar staff are friendly and ultra-efficient, especially at happy hour time, while the bouncers and waiting staff are all charm. Which is something that you can’t say about Abacus’s rivals. This is just as well, as the recent holiday season saw what is an always-bustling bar get even busier as hordes of post-Christmas drinks City workers gravitate there to strut their stuff.

So Abacus might not be to everyone’s taste, but it serves its purpose in providing a fun and flirtatious venue very well.

You might note that in this review I haven’t given my normal interiors description, or gone into detail about the food or drinks on offer. In fact, I haven’t really acknowledged that I’ve even been to Abacus. It is a guilty pleasure after all

Catch at the Andaz Hotel

Readers of the diatribes I pass off for reviews will be aware that I’m not a fan of hotel bars, and I tend to be similarly underwhelmed by their restaurant counterparts.
The caveat, of course, is that when the Northerner and I travel, we often eat in these restaurants, with the Malmaison in Edinburgh and the W Hotel in Istanbul being two examples of how well these places can work.
Closer to home, Catch Restaurant in the Andaz Hotel has a new chef in the house - Martin Scholz - and a new take on their seafood offering. Well, that‘s what the PR says anyway. Aesthetically, Catch certainly looks the part. Located in a not-entirely-desirable-but-very-convenient location just next to Liverpool Street Station, Catch features Grade II listed interiors (including some seriously bling chandeliers), seating for 70 diners, a Champagne bar, and an interesting crustacean on display.
The food in keeping with its nautical theme is based around all things seafood, with shellfish that includes three types of oysters, British-sourced river and sea fish, and for those not on a budget, Russian caviar. Signature dishes on the menu include smoked and cured Cornwall sea trout, barley crumble and saffron pear, and steamed 'Gigha Island' halibut, accompanied by coppa ham, truffle jus and Jerusalem artichoke.
My companion, the Hockey Playeress, started with the steamed mussels, while I went for clam chowder with foam. Despite four mussels being unopened and thus cast aside, she declared the rest of them delicious. My chowder was flavoursome, creamy in texture, and generously rich with clam, giving them that bite which other restaurants often fail to deliver.
For mains she went for the aforementioned steamed halibut, which was perfectly flavoured and seasoned with just the right texture. I unwittingly went for the chef’s recommendation of the crispy fried zander (apparently similar to the perch) done with pumpkin puree and a black pudding grissini. The fish was pan-fried to perfection, and complemented the puree very well. Black pudding grissini - which I subsequently discovered is like a breadstick - was delicious in its own right, but possibly a little bit overpowering for the accompanying fish.
We washed it down with a bottle of Gavi di Gavi which was crisp, dry, and full of flavours. It was the perfect accompaniment to our meals. We decided to pass on desserts and settle for coffees - not because we weren’t tempted, but because we were well fed and satisfied.
The atmosphere of Catch is warm but subdued, veering more toward formal than social. The clientele is mostly suited and booted City workers, which is hardly surprising given its location, with the odd hotel guest thrown in for good measure. The service is charming, measured and knowledgeable, a combination that I hadn’t encountered in a London restaurant for a while.
Catch works because it serves great food, in a convenient location and is underpinned by great service. It’s not the world’s liveliest restaurant, and I’m not sure if you would describe it as romantic, but to its credit it manages to avoid the feeling like a hotel restaurant.
Which is a good thing.

The Refinery Bar, Bankside

According to Wikipedia, déjà vu is the feeling that one has previously witnessed or experienced a new situation, which is what I felt when I stopped by The Anthologist bar in Gresham Street to catch up with Pinstripe and the Detective.
And not just because my so-called friends didn’t shown up. The reason became clear when I visited the Refinery Bar in Bankside later that day.

For those of you who never venture south of the river, Bankside is the former no man's land that sits behind the Tate Modern and runs from Borough Market in the East to Blackfriars to the West. The old warehouses and theatres along Southwark Street have been joined by cafes, restaurants and retail shops which are mostly concentrated around three modern office behemoths imaginatively dubbed the Bankside Three. Tucked in at ground floor level of Bankside One is The Refinery Bar.

The Refinery screams of a marketing plan that aspires to be ‘edgy’. Wooden floors, exposed pipes, Chinese-style screens, padded booths, chalkboards, chandeliers, oversized light bulbs, leather sofas, glass staircases and marble bathrooms. It even has a DJ and decks from Thursday night onwards. All of these ingredients, plus the fact that it has very good outside space, makes the Refinery very popular. The wine selection is broad in terms of region, grape and price point. The food is drawn from a comprehensive menu that includes flatbreads, burgers, salads, and your classic pub-grub staples. The staff are friendly, mostly Antipodeans, and enthusiastic. And the punters are not as stiff as your typical City crowd, nor as pretentious as the nearby Bermondsey cool set.
However The Refinery feels like a bar that wants to be a funky independent in Shoreditch but settled for being in an office block south of the river. The fittings, good looking as they are have an All Bar One feel to them in that they are clean to a fault and contrived. For example, the mismatched furniture is by design rather then necessity. The bar as a whole lacks character. The same can’t be said for the staff, however, despite their charm they can be inefficient bordering on disinterested. Many times I have seen punters front of queue while the staff merrily ignore them, or congregate around one corner of what is a very long bar.
The déjà vu experience is of course down to the fact that the Refinery Bar is part of a new chain which features the aforementioned Anthologist bar and also The Parlour in Canary Wharf, which I have yet to visit. Although, given the déjà vu feeling triggered by the two venues that I have seen, I think I know what to expect.

The Luxe, Smithfield Market

"It doesn’t get any better then this!" shouts TV Chef and entrepreneur John Torode on the Masterchef television show.

But is he referring to his landmark bar/restaurant - the now legendary Smiths of Smithfields (SOS) - or the relative newcomer that is the Luxe in Spitalfieds?
What was once a Grade II-listed flower market building is now The Luxe with high windows, framed in ornate wrought iron, and an exterior that is reminiscent of a Victorian era birdcage (albeit on a much grander scale). Inside, the Luxe has a bar on ground level, a restaurant on the first floor, private dining area on the top floor, and a basement bar/club area which seems to be permanently hired out for parties when I visit. Clearly not everyone was hit by the credit crunch.
The bar itself is all black, brown and grey, with a low seating space and stainless steel tables on the perimeter, and standing room around the bar itself. Come 8pm, and the '80s soundtrack is pushed aside as the now de rigeur check-shirted DJ cranks up some tunes making the place almost club-like in ambiance. (Except, of course, there is a high propensity of men in suits who seem to career between foot-tapping and stumbling.) Fun, sure, but hardly cutting edge.
The drinks menu is as extensive as everywhere nowadays, with a broad selection of fair-to-expensively priced wines, and European beers that border on the upmarket without being pretentious. They do have a decent cocktail list, but given that the bar seems relatively understaffed in proportion to the number of punters (I’m not sure that three people is ever enough in a bar of this size), you do have to wait. But the caipirinhas are certainly worth it.
I haven’t eaten at The Luxe, but two of my drinking crew swear by the weekend brunch, which apparently is a meat fest that makes a hangover worthwhile.
The staff are charming and efficient, although not exactly personable. The punters are that curious hybrid of architects and graphic designers out on the pull, and City workers trying to be venturesome (but for whom Shoreditch is a step to far). The Luxe has filled that perfect niche between the edgy pubs on the Brick Lane side of Commercial Street and the chain bars in the City, however having done that, it seems to be lacking an identity. It’s not quite as good as the sum of its parts, and is certainly not a patch on its older sister in Smithfields.
The Luxe is beautiful to look at and be in. However I think that even John Torode might admit that some places, most notably his own Smiths of Smithfields, get a little better than this.