It's easy to get fed up with Gordon Ramsay. For a start, there's his nervy way of hopping from foot to foot, his flamboyant sociopathy, his 100-mile-an-hour delivery of a three-comment repertoire ('F**k me!, Big boy, and YES?, appended to every sentence like a proprietary copyright mark). I've met parrots with a greater range. I'm even sick of his stupid wrinkly face, and if he ever takes his shirt off on telly again, I'm writing to Ofcom.
Evidently, some of his staff feel the same way. While many a chef outgrows a branded empire to set up on their own, few leave with such acrimony as ex-Ramsayite Marcus Wareing. Now running 'Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley Hotel', rumour has it that the superchefs are not on speaking terms. But times are a-changing, and head boy has become head girl. Angela Hartnett is the star turn of Team R, and the personable Italian Brit is not conspicuously champing at the bit. This is mildly surprising, and many are the articles that urge the chef to 'Leav 'im, luv, you're too good for 'im'. But for the time being, La Hartnett is keeping the stable door closed.
Hartnett/Ramsay's latest venture is York & Albany, one of a recessionary trend of a restauro-bar-delis that unashamedly spread their net of offerings wide enough to catch maximum footfall. Do book for this one, though - Hartnett is hot property. Ok she's only 'chef-patron', so she may not handle the actual pans, but the modern Italo-British menu has her name all over it.
The dining room of the premises just off Regent's Park is a breath of fresh air on a hot day. A long, cool restaurant in light colours opens to a window wall on a small courtyard with olive trees, exactly right for the modern British/Italian food they are serving.
The sheer number of tables may be aiming at 'intimate' but is edging closer to 'cluttered'. Even in the interconnected 'aufen'ic' Nonna's deli, an incongruous single table has been squeezed into the space next to the disappointingly small range of cold meats and 'gift style' jars. And as this is next to Regent's Park, you WILL get kindly but dreadful people bringing their children in which, were they not so ever so sweetly behaved, would take the atmosphere of the chic restaurant to a halfway hostelry dangerously reminiscent a Harvester Inn.
The pricing is similarly middle-of-the-road. There is a good range of wines, with house glasses priced at a fiver upwards. In conjunction with a lunch or early dinner offer of two courses for £19 or three for £21, a meal out here can be a very manageable £30 all in. However, on the next table there are a-la-carters chowing down such confections as "smoked squab pigeon, glazed cherries, cabbage, horseradish spätzel, toasted pecan nuts" and a whopping cote de boeuf for deux with truffled chips. Don't stare, DDD …
On the set-menu side of the fence, the pickings were surprisingly good. A starter of steak tartare with watercress and crispy shallot rings showed a confidence in ingredients, large chunks of steak spiced with great reserve but with the unusual addition of slivers of red pepper. That such a dish could be included on a set-price menu is admirable.
The opening gambits of the meal also scored 2/3 on DDD's key restaurant care criteria. Yes, the table bread was exceptionally good, and refilled without having to ask. Yes, we were given tap water and it was topped up throughout the meal. And no, the table wasn't un-rickety and no it didn't not have to be steadied with a cork wedge. Two out of three ain't bad.
Main courses offered a three-way choice between sea bream, pig's cheek and orecchiette. This classic summer Italian combination of sharp Monte Enebro cheese with peas and broad beans was drenched in a 'mint emulsion' made with over-lashings of butter that detracted a little from the freshness of the dish. The pig's cheek alternative was dense, meaty and generous, though its pairing with apricots and apples and raisins swung the dish too far towards the sweet - more of the chicory on top would have redressed the balance.
At £3 extra, puddings are a must. A pain perdu with five-spice ice cream was a considered dish, though the pain, which presumably aimed at the treacle-like stickiness of a tatin, was overcaramelised to an unpleasantly burnt tang. However, this was offset by fantastic apricots and ice cream. But, moving plates, cubes of fruity elderflower jelly and big hunks of honeycomb (Crunchie innards) with ice cream was a clear mismatch. Moreover, Mr DDD assures me the ice cream was also not the advertised ginger, but five spice as well, an utterly indecent substitution.
I'm being picky, because I expect the very highest from this stellar chef. Mistakes were made, but taken as a whole, York & Albany is a fine mid-range addition to the restaurant scene, and it's on to a winner with its cut-price menu. However, I am tempted to take another stroll down Parkway to sample that a la carte, where Hartnett's cooking, I suspect, will really be able to shine.
Gordon Ramsey's hopping reminds me of a young child hopping from foot to foot trying to hold his wee in because he is desperate to go to the toilet.
Posted by: Rob Collins (Debika's fella) | 01/24/2011 at 01:58 PM