Before anyone gets mad at me, I’m sat in St John with something of a St John pro. It’s the reason we are here; for my friend to eat in the restaurant that he used to go to with his friend who is sadly no longer with us. For us to chink glasses and for him to glaze over as he remembers time spent. Sure, he wants me to try certain dishes, partially for me to experience them, but also for him to experience eating them with someone again. And I’m a very happy stand-in today, because I knew that man. Not well enough to call him a friend but well enough to feel his dry sarcasm reduce me to shy laughter, but also enough for him to get me lunch when I needed lunch. He was a great man, loved by many. I’m frankly honoured to be asked to keep his seat warm.
We’d started at Bar Termini, as all London trips should. The juxtaposition between their negroni and the negroni here couldn’t be more stark; on Old Compton Street it’s a 65ml pour straight from the fridge into glasses that look like they hold half of that, poured until the booze domes on the surface like a Tuscan basilica. Here, in the clinical white-washed dining room in Farringdon it arrives in a half pint glass filled with ice and booze. I hate to think how much booze is in it. I’m going with a lot.
There’s no fiddly snacks or things to amuse the palate here, though there is some okay bread with a belter of a butter. Then the starters for which one has to be the iconic bone marrow with toast and parsley. I, err, like it. That’s about it. It’s bone marrow, some slightly burnt toast, and parsley. My friend thinks it’s greasier than usual, as with most of this review I’m going to lean on him for guidance.
Now let’s talk about the pigs head and potato pie. I’m not averse to offal, though truth be told I have to be in the mood, but this is borderline offensive in it’s flavour. The hot water pastry is good if not exceptional, inside it being potato and pigs head meaty bits, some tongue, some brawn, along with some funky bits I don’t want to know about. It’s too much for both of us, a not entirely pleasant moment that encapsulates the nose to tail ethos they are famous for. By comparison a pigs cheek main with chicory is a delight. The skin is crisp, meat sweet, if a little greasy again. The bitter leaf the perfect foil.
Desserts are superb and barely miss a beat. Plum sorbet with vodka, a kind of peach Melba with vanilla ice cream good enough to make a grown man cry, and madeleines. Perfect madeleines straight out of the oven, best utilised as spoon for that vanilla ice cream, but also perfectly used as currency for drinks back at Termini later. I don’t see the bill, though I guess that was always the point. My friend said this is the worst meal he’d had here to date, though it matters little. We chink the negroni glasses once again. Sometimes the reason for being is far important than the being itself.
7/10
