Because They Aren't Cooked In Beef Dripping, That's Why!

London leads the way in so many culinary fields. It can’t be beaten for fine dining. We have a sandwich game second to none. And the sushi is so good people have been known to travel from Japan for it. But Achilles had his heel, and we have fish and chips.

Not entirely true, I feel, my local - which provides my regular Friday night supper - is good. I wouldn't use it if it wasn't. But I've had better. On holiday recently, walking the John Muir Way from Dunbar to Belhaven on Bank Holiday Monday (and getting sunburned!) we stopped in at the Brig and Barrel for a meal before heading back to Edinburgh. 

Now, cod is not the usual up there, it's haddock, so I had beer battered haddock, and it was quite different from the occasional haddock I've ordered here just for a change. Probably because it was locally caught and fresh, not frozen. And even the beer that went into the batter was local, from the brewery next door.

The truth of it is, the capital is the worst place in the country to eat our national dish. I should know: I wrote The Standard’s best fish and chip guide. The best in London, sure. But if anyone told me that these were the best fish and chips in Britain, I’d feel as if I’d been slapped round the face with a wet haddock.

Two of my picks for best London chippies, Golden Union in Soho and Seashell of Lisson Grove in Marylebone, were nominated for this year’s National Fish and Chip Awards. Neither were eventual winners though as York’s The Scrap Box was named best takeaway and Trenchers of Whitby won best restaurant.

Both from 'oop North', it should be noted. 

Why are fish and chips in London such a damp squib when the capital excels at every style of cooking under the sun?

He then laboriously tries various suggestions: that cod is tasteless compared to haddock (true, if haddock is fresh), that whatever fish is used, it's not as fresh (sone truth to that!), that it just doesn't taste as good unless it's eaten at the seaside (rubbish! though I'll test that theory if I take a day trip to Rye next month as planned) but he never thinks to question the cooking oil. 

Beef dripping is far preferable! Forget health worries, it just is...

Well, Don’t Buy Them Then!

It's a Christmas miracle, the 'Guardian' finding a drag artist to whinge about something other than how people are so mean to men in womanface:

It’s lovely going out for dinner in London. It’s a gastro capital with cuisines from all around the world. One night, Indian, French the next, Peruvian, Ethiopian. You can travel the globe without leaving Hackney.

And since we now have the recipes, do we really need the people as well? 

But one pernicious dining trend that refuses to go away and which I detest is “small plates”. My heart sinks and I become inwardly furious when I sit down and the waiter asks: “Have you been here before?” “No, it’s our first time.” “Well, we do ‘small plates’ and we suggest you order between three and 20 per person.”

A suggestion. Simply that. You're free to ignore it.  

People think I’m a hipster, being an east London drag queen, but I’ve got nothing on the purveyors of “caulifower bites”. Suddenly you’re handing out a tenner here, a tenner there, for tiny saucers of pomegranate seeds, things sprinkled in petals and a random blow-torched lettuce leaf. Just give me a bloody dinner!

Just bloody order one - or go to a restaurant that doesn't do the small plate thing. There's plenty, even in Hackney.

I’m 53. I grew up in Kent in the 1970s in a perfectly normal working-class, borderline lower-middle-class household, the kind so wonderfully explored in Mike Leigh movies. It was the kind of home where the food was dished from the pan on to the plate. And then the whole plate was plopped in front of you and you were told to eat it all up – or you couldn’t go and watch Grange Hill.

And look how you turned out, despite that upbringing... 

In small-plates hell, you end up trying to reconstruct a normal meal and paying twice the price for it. Death to small plates – that’s the hill I will die on. Unless you’re in Spain, of course; I love a spot of tapas, but that’s different.

Really? I fail to see how, unless you simply revere anything foreign over your heritage.  

Here’s Another Theory – They Don’t Reciprocate

 After all, if I take a vegetarian friend out to dinner, every single restaurant has a vegetarian option, but when did a vegetarian restaurant ever serve steak for non-vegetarian diners?

Ask anyone who frequents plant-based establishments – whether they are vegan, vegetarian or simply trying to cut down on meat – and it is likely that they will have seen a favourite spot go under in recent years. Many of my London favourites, such as Rudy’s Vegan Diner, Halo Burger and Neat Burger, have closed, while friends across the country have lamented their own losses: The Glasvegan in Glasgow, Veggie Republic in Liverpool, Jungle Bird in Birmingham.

And why is this? 

There seem to be two popular theories as to why so many apparently successful plant-based restaurants are closing. Some argue that the hospitality industry as a whole is struggling; others say that the never-ending, oversimplified discourse about protein and ultra-processed foods has driven people away from veganism.

The elephant in the room that they are avoiding is surely the lack of choice - if you want to take a group of friends out for a meal, where do you go?  Somewhere everyone can get what they like, or somewhere only vegetarians can?

But, despite the negativity, interest in veganism is still on the rise, with environmental and health concerns now considered more significant contributing factors to giving up animal products than animal welfare.

But there are people for whom the penny has dropped: 

Then there was the news last month that the New York-based Eleven Madison Park (EMP), the only plant-based establishment in the world with three Michelin stars, would be putting meat back on its menu this autumn. The head chef, Daniel Humm, explained: “The best way to continue to champion plant-based cooking is to let everyone participate around the table.”

Hurrah! Yes? Apparenetly not, Reader: 

Unsurprisingly, this announcement did not go down well with EMP’s nearly half a million followers.

Why? It seems they are less concerned with going to a restaurant that serves the food they like, and more concerned with going to a restaurant that doesn't serve the food they don't like. Bizarre behaviour. 

"How Dare You Do For Free What I Can Charge Money For!"

Online content creators should be "more honest" in the reviews of food that they are posting online, according to the Guild of Food Writers (GFW). Reviews of restaurants or other food outlets have become increasingly popular on video-sharing platforms such as Instagram and TikTok.

So? If I shrugged any harder I might damage my shoulders.  

But Chetna Makan, who is vice president of the GFW, said that much of this content is "over the top", and lacks the knowledge and insight provided by traditional food critics. Cara Jackson, who is a content creator based in Northern Ireland, said while some creators are just "doing it for views", she has "always tried to be as honest as [she] can".

So, what on earth is this guild? Well, Reader, it's exactly what it seems like - a protection racket: 

The Guild of Food Writers is the professional association of food writers and broadcasters in the UK; its members include authors, broadcasters, columnists, content creators, and journalists.

And they don't want anyone to think that the people doing it for free (or for attention) are a patch on the quality of their 'services'.... 

She said that while someone writing for a newspaper will have the confidence that platform brings, an independent creator might think if they talk badly about a restaurant's food, then they're "not going to get invited the next time". She added that this fear is not unfounded, with many companies choosing to work with creators making the most "over the top and animated" content, rather than "people with real knowledge and real graft and real insight into cuisines". Ms Makan said that these "over the top" creators are also more likely to get brand deals, where companies pay an influencer to talk about their product.

And they'd much rather people pay them, rather than these upstarts. It's simple protectionism. 

When You Really Should Have Heeded The Warning…

Tantra describes itself as “elevated” Indian cuisine, and the front of the building has the word “PROGRESSIVE” emblazoned across it, maybe as a warning to hang on to your pants, because these guys really mean business.

Ooh, I'm off to Edinburgh shortly for a break, is this an establishment to look up, despite the warning, I wonder?  

It’s not an eatery or street-food joint; rather, it is “a streetery”. It’s also a cocktail bar that serves the likes of a Queen of the Dragon, brimming with Midori, Cointreau, prosecco and something called “perfume myst” that comes with a lime-flavoured replica dragon’s tail poking out of a cloud of dry ice. Tantra loves dry ice, and it never knowingly misses an opportunity to open a cloche and waft some of the stuff your way...

Oh. Maybe not. 

The place is as cavernous as an old-school The Hitman and Her-style “niteclub”, painted mostly black and with an interior design theme fever-dream that could be more accurately described as Funkadelic-era George Clinton. There are flashing neon blue lights, patches of plastic greenery hanging from the ceiling, paisley wallpaper and mirrored walls.

Sounds delightful, doesn't it? Usually that sort of theatricality is hiding a deficit in the kitchen department. Is this at least an exception to that rule?  

Less modern streeteries might at this point have offered some poppadoms, but Tantra furnished us with a “crisp board … with progressive regional dips”. This turned out to be seven shards of poppadom in various colours, one of them luminous green, that were plated on blobs of pickle and raita, so some of them had gone soggy.

That's a 'no' then... 

 

“Tantric lamb cutlets” came next, and were so called, I think, because the chops had had a long, hard session under a hot grill and were extremely well done. Like almost everything at Tantra, they were served on a black plate with a flamboyant garnish...