Last Friday we had a rather special lunch here in Spoonfed Towers. Instead of the usual bland and overpriced supermarket sandwich, gobbled down at our desks, the editorial team were instead treated to some rather fine burritos courtesy of the generous folks at Benito’s Hat.

With Chilango’s and Tortilla both within walking distance of the office, we like to think we know our burritos. But Benito’s Hat certainly impressed. Not only did they deliver – so we could stay where we belong, hunched over our crumb-strewn keyboards – but they delivered bloody good burritos.

One editor moaned that his wasn’t spicy enough, and one had never had a burrito before (yeah, we know) but the overall impression was an impressive one, with Felipe’s tender chicken thighs receiving some particularly high praise. Keep it up Felipe!

Here’s what each of our editors had to say:

“If I ever taste a better burrito, I’ll eat my hat – actually make that Benito’s Hat!” *****

“Top-notch eats!” ****

“My first ever burrito – an emotional experience” ***

“My armpits are spicier.” **

“Send my regards to Felipe. His tender chicken thighs were quite spectacular.” *****

“Banging Friday buritto – made my day.” ****

The days of shooting Tequila between barrels of lager and splicing them with sambucas are over. Tequila Chamucos have set their raison d’etre to improving the reputation of the Mexican drink from being the late night turbo-charge to obliteration into something of a delicacy. We popped into their promotion evening and discovered that, much like champagne, Tequila can only be so called if it is made from 100% agave and manufactured in the Tequila region of Mexico. The consideration and consumate attention of the brewing process is equal to that of any bottle of wine. Barrels are aged for varying durations for fuller flavour, and if sipped (yes, SIPPED) it can awaken the palete with aromas of butterscotch, caramel, vanilla and chocolate. Unlike wine, Tequila does not improve with age so the bottle will need to be finished, but finished SLOWLY (preferrably in an El Coco cocktail!).

If you’d like to know where to try Tequila Chamucos, click here

by Danny Byrne (SuperDanvillain)

This is not, I have to confess, the kind of place I usually find myself in. As far as I can tell, Tower Bridge is where people who don’t really know London go for a bit of a day out, some overpriced dinner and a trough-load of artificial alcopop booze on a Saturday night. Just looking at the selection of eateries in this part of St Katharine Docks confirms this impression: Strada, Café Rouge… the usual suspects. But amongst all these depressing chain restaurants, there is a surprise to be had. In a good way.

The Living Room may not look like much – a slightly more snazzily lit All Bar One, with a grand piano – but once you’re inside, sheesh, are you in for a treat. The first clue that this isn’t the normal Stella and chips joint is the wine list, which is not only unusual and innovative but clear and well-priced too, with plenty of options by the glass. We plump for something I’ve never even heard of before: a South Australian blend of Gewurtztraminer, Riesling and Pinot Gris – Knappstein’s aptly named ‘Three’, at £24.15. It’s weird, but brilliant. You can taste each grape variety perfectly – each mouthful moving from minerality through gentle acidity towards a rounded lavender finish. Delightful, and unlike anything I’ve drunk before, I think.

And then the food. The menu is an odd combination of trad comfort food – scampi, lasagne, beef and ale pie, burgers, steaks, fish and chips – with a range of Asian influences: lots of seafood starters with sweet chilli sauce, tandoori sea bass, a couple of curries. It sort of seems like they’re trying to do too much, but given that every dish that we sampled was executed absolutely perfectly, perhaps too much is just about right.

I kick off by being difficult and asking for one of the ‘lighter meals’ as a starter. I’m accommodated with a friendly smile, and my pork belly, bok choi and noodle salad (£7.95) is excellent. Crisp, light, full of zing and zest and depth of flavour, it’s better than most of the Vietnamese on Kingsland Road that all the hipsters rave about. My companion – esteemed founder of the New London Cocktail Review – opts for  a starter of scallops, chorizo, potato and baby plum tomatoes (£8.25). It seems like a weird combination, but again it works: the flavours blurring and bouncing off each other expertly.

She orders more fishiness for the main course – mackerel with cod cheek, pancetta and leeks in a Pernod cream sauce (£11.75). This is the kind of dish that could go badly wrong – I mean, has anyone used Pernod since Keith Floyd snuffed it? – but again it works well, with everything executed expertly, and the flavours complementing each other gently. I go boring and order the rib-eye steak (£17.75). With excellent chips, tomato, salad, field mushroom and a choice of sauces (béarnaise for me), it’s a pretty sizeable dish – perhaps a little too sizeable. But the beef is flavoursome and cooked right (blue) so I’m not complaining.

Afterwards I’m persuaded into sharing the Eton Mess, which is great (although I didn’t taste much of the Pimm’s in the Pimm’s-soaked strawberries) and then we finish things off with a couple of cocktails. Even after all this I wasn’t expecting much, but they were both exceptional. My Negroni packed exactly the kind of punch that Negronis should, whilst remaining well balanced – with no single flavour dominating the others. With some choice tunes playing around us – Aloe Blacc’s ‘I Need a Dollar’ among them – it’s a surprisingly perfect end to a surprisingly excellent evening.

www.thelivingroom.co.uk

It’s about time that North London had some place to compete with the South’s swanky Wandsworth and Brixton branches of the Grand Union. And considering the posh pub’s twelfth addition to the family is smack bang in the middle of the newly-regenerated Paddington Basin, they’ve picked a rather nice spot for their cosy vintage venue.

Backing onto the area’s canals, this place boasts an elaborate water feature to accompany your outdoor drinking this summer. And inside doesn’t disappoint either; kitted out with a quirky, mismatched vintage décor of awesome chandeliers with mini lampshades, desk tables, boothed seating and mirrors dotted about the place for the Narcissus amongst you. At the back there’s a raised platform that goes by the cheeky neon pink name of Pleasure Level…ooh er.

And with a late license until 3.30am and DJs swearing by funk, soul and indie, there’s no excuse for not getting your groove on into the early hours. Which brings me onto more important matter; the mood enhancing cocktails prepared by an expert mixologist. Two thumbs up to the watermelon Martinis and the berry ones aren’t bad either, although I warn you that those Long Islands bring new meanings to hangover hell. There’s also a pretty good selection of normal and house cocktails here, which are reasonably priced for what they are.

The ‘pub grub’ menu boasts no less than 20 burgers for you to feast your greedy little eyes on, as well as home-made pizzas and, wait for it,  award winning hand cut chips. In addition there are finger food platters so you can at least attempt to look dainty while scoffing your face.

All in all this place has got a really buzzy atmosphere, drawing in a young, lively crowd that  makes it perfect for chilled after work drinks or a starter to the weekend.

www.gugroup.co.uk

The usual formula for restaurant reviews these days is predictably tripartite: 1, the critic bangs on about his girlfriend/gout/celebrity pals for as many words as the subs allow. 2, the critic mentions the food. 3, the critic returns to his fail-safe subject – himself – in what he thinks is a neat and witty little structural about-turn.

Usually this works fine, and in fact writing about myself is probably my favourite past-time. But with Tamarind – the Michelin-starred Indian restaurant over in Mayfair – it doesn’t seem quite so appropriate. I was going to try and make an elaborately tenuous comparison between the restaurant, Tamarind, and the tamarind tree – which according to Wikipedia (and yes, that is the extent of my research these days) is “a long-lived, medium-growth bushy tree, which attains a maximum crown height of 12.1 to 18.3 metres”. I’m not sure why I decided not to bother with this – perhaps because it’s totally irrelevant – but I’m sure we’ll work it out as we go along.

And so to Tamarind, and not wishing to beat about the medium-growth bush, the food is simply superb. I really can’t fault one single bit of it in any way, which, I’m afraid, is going to make for rather tedious reading. Oh well.

We’re sampling from the spring lunch menu, but this being a press jolly, we get to try everything rather than having to choose. There’s four starters, three of which are delightful, and one of which (a salad of black-eyed beans, cherry tomatoes, chard leaves and pomegranate with a lime and cumin dressing) is merely really good. There’s some excellent little kingfish cakes (with a belting chutney) and some great tilapia and mint chutney rolls; but the highlight at this stage is, for me, a perfectly balanced, zippily brilliant salad of duck breast, grilled courgette, rocket, avocado and – a stroke of genius, this – kumquat. It’s a confidently handled dish of both strength and delicacy: spring, personified.

From here to the mains, and again everything is flawless. We sample an amazing chicken tikka with ginger and honey; paneer with fenugreek leaves; meltingly delicious lamb cutlets; turmeric potatoes and broccoli; a yellow lentil dahl; and the most fabulously sweet-but-never-too-sweet Naan bread, containing a dark mush of date, coconut and poppy seed.

What stands out across every dish is the expert balance and use of spices. The heat brings a backbone – and in places some punchy bite – but it never crushes or dominates. As if with wings, this heat lifts the flavours upwards, taking the more delicate elements to rare new heights. Raw papaya, fennel, ginger, saffron, fenugreek: all these flavours dance around each other, intertwined, but all clean and individually traceable as themselves.

Desserts too are noticeable for the perfection of balance. Carrot fudge with melon seeds, raisins, pistachio and (a bit superfluously) silver leaf – is a firm, gooey delight, while strawberry and mint sorbet is a simple but perfectly apt conclusion.

From here alas it’s back to the office and another little Wikipedia factoid: “the tamarind does flower, though inconspicuously”. Ditto Tamarind – there’s not much show here, from either the décor (all muted golds) or the politely passionate owner, but the food truly sings.

Oh, and sticking to the formula, sadly I can’t think of a way of bringing it back to me. Just go to Tamarind – it’s so good it shuts even me up. And I can’t say much more than that.

www.tamarindrestaurant.com

Nestled in the quaint quarters of Chancery Lane sits Baranis, a chic new bar offering a cocktail-infused taste of Provence. With the promise of free food and quality booze, I’ve roped a friend along for a cocktail-making masterclass…so, with a glass of wine in hand, let the lesson commence.

Our teacher this evening is Baranis’ resident mixologist, who’s spoon-feeding us the Pastis liquors found in their signature cocktails. I gather from a brief history lesson that the anise-flavoured liquor takes its name from the Provençal word ‘pastisson’, or pastiche to those of us who failed Madame Seaver’s French class. Basically, when those Parisian spoilsports banned absinthe back in 1915, abruptly ending the French love affair with la fee verte, an imitation of the drink was made to suffice. I’m told that everything gels together with Pastis. Whether this refers to the more leisurely Provençal lifestyle or just a hazy consolidation of memories after a heavy night on the stuff, I’m pretty keen to find out.

I start by sipping at Pernod, its star anise essence conjuring tuck shop memories of liquorice all-sorts and aniseed balls. Next up is Henri Bardouin, a little more earthy with its Provençal herb and imported spice infusion, refined and rounded – even though my friend thinks it smells of pilaf rice. But my favourite is the Ricard, which is pretty darn popular across the channel. And I’m not surprised: at 45% Vol. I imagine it’s not just the French who’re hopping silly under its influence. Traditionally it’s served with five parts water, but here we’re drinking it neat. It’s a risky business.

But enough of the strong stuff, we’re here to taste Pastis in its cocktail form. Introducing Baranis’ La Pagnol, a lychee, elderflower and cranberry vodka medley that tastes like summer siphoned into a glass. And Azur Breeze, a refreshing, wind on your face dry Martini, with hints of lemon, orange and a cheeky splash of absinthe. Everything’s accompanied by a savoury selection of sumptuous Swiss chard anchovy fritters and crostini d’aubergine – délicieux. And topping it all off is Baranis’ cosy atmosphere, exuding the kind of authentic charm and character that can’t be faked. With booths tucked away beneath stone arches and a gravelled alleyway boasting London’s only indoor petanque court, this place offers a homely slice of Southern France.

www.baranis.co.uk

by Jess Jones-Berney

As a big fan of Zilli Fish, I was intrigued to try out his newest venture, a vegetarian restaurant on the site of Signor Zilli called Zilli Green. Walking in past the unassuming frontage reveals a very neutral if somewhat cramped feeling space. It’s pretty busy and so fairly noisy, but this is Soho and when you eat out in Soho expect to be hemmed in by people on all sides. We shared a big mezze platter and some olive ascolane. These are cheese stuffed olives deep fried and served with pear chutney. Yes, deep fried olives stuffed with cheese, which is definitely my kind of vegetarian eating. The hummus, tabbouleh, and babaganoush are all tasty but fairly foolproof so let’s move on to our mains.

I had a tempeh and coconut curry with rice. Tempeh is a type of ‘wholebean’ Indonesian tofu and provides the meat analogue in this dish. I thought the curry was a little watery but the tempeh is great and I much prefer it to tofu which I despise. And yes before militant veggies start banging on about marinating it in this and that and how I’ve “just not had good tofu”, I’ve tried it in many different forms and the only time I find it palatable is in miso so leave me alone! My dates enjoyed their mains although I think if I had eaten the quinoa and pistachio salad with grilled haloumi that one of them had I would’ve been left pretty hungry. But then I guess it’s meant to be a lighter option.

I’m very partial to a good Malbec and although I always think of it as a rare steak kind of wine the bottle we share doesn’t overpower any of my food. I’ve tactically saved room for a dessert and frankly if you’re eating in an Italian restaurant and you don’t go for the tiramisu what are you doing? I duly opt for the tiramisu and it’s every bit as delicious as a homemade Italian tiramisu should be.

The verdict then? For the money I think I’d rather go to Ottolenghi and it won’t replace Boudins as my eatery of choice in Soho but if you’re a vegetarian give it a whirl. At the very least go and have a go at beating Mr. Zilli’s world record for pancaking tossing (117 in one minute!) next week on pancake day (Tuesday 8th march) outside his Zilli Fish restaurant and cafe at 36-44 brewer street from 9am onwards. [Insert world champion tosser jokes here!]

You might not know you do, but you do. You know James Street. It’s that one that runs parallel to St Christopher’s Place, from Bond Street up towards Marylebone High Street, that one that tries to pretend it’s not in London but in some mythically wondrous pan-European city, where the bronzed and Brioni-suited sip espresso, the girls meet for cocktails, and grizzled old Monsieur stuff bulbous noses into their third carafe de vin rouge.  And it’s not even lunch yet.

Unfortunately this is London, so it always rains, all the restaurants are really expensive, and most of them are pretty average. Until now. OK, so it can’t change the weather, but Cocochan can change James Street. Billing itself as pan-Asian (with the kind of modern, minimal Orient-infused décor you’d expect) Cocochan offers a deftly selected edit of a range of dishes from across Vietnam, Thailand, China and Japan – perfect if, like me, you’re too much of a ditherer to decide what kind of food you want to eat.

What makes it even more perfect for dithering types is the emphasis on sharing. Of course you don’t have to share; there’s a concise but diverse selection of proper main courses to choose from – things like ‘bulgogi’ ribeye with wasabi jus (£18.50), miso chillean seabass with umeboshi (£15.50) and chargrilled lamb with kimchee (£15.50) all sound rather appealing (although that might just be because I have to ask what half the words mean…)

But we – that’s the founder of the New London Cocktail Review and I – decide to share. And boy do we get stuck in. We share a variety of dim sum (all around the £4-£5 mark): vegetable and duck spring rolls, “monks” vegetable dumplings. And chicken and waterchestnut gyoza. They’re mostly fairly straightforward, but neatly done and never overly heavy or greasy.

We also tuck into several of the small dishes – well salted chilli squid (£7.50); excellent vegetable tempura (£5.75) featuring an unusual but nicely judged selection that includes asparagus, avocado and sweet potato; and then the highlight – a Vietnamese salad of seared beef, with tomato, coriander, mango (I think) and some other bits and bobs. It’s £7.50 and an absolute delight – zingy, light, with splendidly raw beef and an unusual but expertly balanced combination of flavours. In fact, it’s so good that we order it again, with a good side of baby bok choi.

Having washed all this down with a zippy little £33 Gruner Veltliner – it’s good to see this alongside some carefully chosen Rieslings and Gewurztraminers on the wine list – we leave content and full. It’s possible that Cocochan is a little steep for what it is – in all our bill would have been around £90 for two – but that’s partly the way we approached it. You could sneak in, have a pad thai, one of the amazing beef salads, and a glass of wine and be done for less than £20. And on James Street that’s exciting news.

www.cocochan.co.uk

I go past Grand Union on Upper Street almost every day on the bus on the way to work, but for some reason I hadn’t got round to paying a visit until last week. In fact my first experience of the steadily expanding chain of bars was actually elsewhere – in the Camden branch, where I interviewed Victoria Williams and Polly Stenham just before they opened their wicked new arts space, Cob Studios & Gallery.

Anyway, back to Angel and the Grand Union, early(ish) of a Saturday evening. Upper Street is full of mediocre bars and little restaurants that all get inexplicably rammed on a Saturday night, and so the important thing for Grand Union is to set itself apart. Does it manage this? Well kind of.

Mainly it’s the décor that sets Grand Union apart, and neatly ties together the various branches with a kind of artfully mismatched boho vibe. The Upper Street bar is housed in what looks like part of an old pub or theatre – it’s a narrow, little room that, glimpsed from the street through curved glass and elegant wooden fenestration, holds a warm, gently exotic allure. Inside is all wooden floors, homely rugs, Victoriana light fittings, leather seating, comfort and charm – it’s definitely significantly more attractive than the competition.

The cocktail menu has the usual selection of Margaritas, Cosmopolitans and Mojitos as well as some house specials that all sound fairly appealing. Given that I’m in the process of developing a pretty tedious case of man-flu, I decide to opt for a Bloody Mary in the hopes that it’ll cleanse the old sinuses. Which it does rather expertly – this has to be the spiciest Bloody Mary I’ve ever had. Not to everybody’s tastes perhaps, but it sure does the trick.

Food-wise it’s pretty straightforward stuff, with a short but well-balanced range of burgers – classic, vegetarian and ‘global’ – as well as ’stacks’ (bunless burgers) and salads. The burgers, as is the vogue these days, are colossal, and held together with a big old cocktail skewer thing. With chips ordered separately a burger comes to about £10-12, which is perhaps a little steep but not too bad for these parts, and they are rather delicious. The chips and fries aren’t amazing, but are more than made up for by some flawless onion rings. After all this we’re pretty stuffed, and one shudders to imagine the kind of greedy guts that could put away the Grand Union burger known as The Gigantor.

Compared with the rest of the places on Upper Street then, Grand Union is rather excellent. I wouldn’t travel across town to get here, but with branches popping up all over London, I don’t have to. And did I mention it’s right on my journey to work? If only I could pop in for a quick 9am Bloody Mary the world would be a much better place…

www.gugroup.co.uk

I’ll be brutally honest, posh places kind of scare me. I don’t know if it’s some ingrained worry of not belonging or standing out or something but there’s always this nagging worry in the back of my head any time I go anywhere the drinks are more than £5 that someone in a black tie is going to politely escort me from the premises.

Therefore, alarm bells are already ringing as I step into the cavernous lobby of Andaz’s monolithic Bishopgate Hotel. Overwhelmed by the sharp-lines and ultra-modern art, just walking through the door has my pulse going into overdrive, so as I scan the room looking for a desk, a well dressed, black suited individual walks up to me and offers the usual ‘can I help you?’ line. “errmmm I’m looking for the tour of the hotel” I fluster, panicking that I’ve just walked into Morgan and Stanley by mistake. “Oh they’re over there” the usher points out helpfully, gesturing towards a group of group of media types sipping wine. I slyly shuffle off.

As disconcerting as it sounds, that’s the Andaz concept. Rather than going for the usual hotel service of desk, room service and offices, they want their guests to feel like you’re spending some time round your rich mate’s from uni house. Want a orange juice with breakfast? No problem, help yourself from the fridge. Whilst the laid back atmosphere is actually refreshing when you get used to it, to start with the whole free-form aspect of the service is a little off-putting, simply because it seems weird to talk to a dude standing in front of a bar full of spirits rather than over it.

After the usual pleasantries, we’re quickly whizzed off on a tour of the facilities. Like most places built at the turn of the century, the old Great Eastern hotel definitely has it’s quirks. As well as the newly redesigned welcoming atrium, and stair cases that wouldn’t feel out of place in the British museum, almost every room is an awesome example of art deco design, from the grand old ballroom turned high-class restaurant to the impressively chic revolving doors that greet you on the way in.

However, the fact that they have a secret Mason’s Lodge really takes the biscuit. Allegedly discovered by workmen repairing some fittings, it’s literally one of the most impressive rooms I’ve ever been in. Decked out with flag-stoned floors and beautiful carved furniture, it has become the destination venue to destroy all destination venues, hosting fashion shoots, celeb parties and everything in between. ‘We had Lady Gaga hanging from the ceiling the other week’ offers our guide – I suppose the Lodge members didn’t mind.

Following a whistle-top tour around some smart if fairly normal looking hotel rooms, we’re taken downstairs to be shown round Andaz’s dining establishments. The phrase ‘something for everyone’ is bandied about quite a lot in these sort of reviews, but in this case it’s totally applicable. Let’s see, you’ve got a gourmet coffee bar, old English pub showing the Arsenal match, and Sushi restaurant, and that’s not even taking in the Hotel’s 3 lounges and bars.

To start off with, we’re taken to the Champagne bar for sushi and a none-too shabby martini, before we’re taken round elegant 70-seat fish restaurant for the first two courses of the evening.  The food is predictably delicious, but what’s most impressive is the fact that despite it being one of the classiest establishments I’ve ever been too, it still manages to achieve a relaxed and friendly kind of vibe, where nothing seems to be too much trouble.

By the time we’re moved into Andaz’s signature 1901 Restaurant, I’m really getting into the swing of things. Unlike my fellow bloggers, I’m not and don’t pretend to be any expert on the wine and cheeses that were offered to us, but the sommelier’s, bar men and staff are always ready to help and put you at ease. By the time we’ve battled through 3 cheese boards and  several bottles of sherry, wine and port, I’m happy to say I haven’t been this well looked after since I was last round my grandma’s house. The food is superb, but the service is spectacular.

For all it’s good points, it’s worth remembering that Andaz is a City hotel, and is firmly aimed at City types, so don’t expect much change from £1500 if you’re looking to stay a few days. Then again for the feeling the sheer exhilarating welcome and the general feeling of appreciation you get from that rare experience of feeling like you’re a worthy, valued customer, then perhaps it’s worth it.

For more information, check out Andaz’s website.