DINING

Kate Weir

Fenn is our first time at a restaurant in a depressingly long time – we dine alfresco in their cosy-as-can-be heated (and covered, praise be!) terrace, of course – but, by the time this goes to press, everything being well, things should be back to as normal as they can be, and you won’t have any excuse for not getting yourself to Fenn for their excellent tasting menu, or to simply pick and choose your way through their equally excellent à la carte.

A gift to Fulham’s fine-diners from the team behind Nest, chef Joe Laker (formerly of Farringdon’s Anglo) and executive head chef Johnnie Crowe, Fenn brings Nest’s appreciation of an ingredient’s provenance and some East London swagger to Wandsworth Bridge Road. It’s a love letter to British produce; and with some of the country’s finest producers already in their address book (say, Swaledale Foods’ and HG Walter’s meat, Cornish Flying Fish seafood, shellfish from Scotland’s Keltic Seafare, and fruit and veg from Shrub Provisions), they’re expertly placed to fly the flag in delicious fashion.

The à la carte presents something of a problem in that you’ll feel drawn to each dish, but compelled to order just three courses (and five helpings of Lincolnshire Poacher dumplings, which arrive drenched in mop-uppable shavings of cheese). So, the very reasonable tasting menu (just £50 for a very satisfying seven courses) is the way to go in our opinion, with the very interesting wine selection, a journey through soft Iberian reds, English sparklings, cider-y natural wines and other unique selections by manager Harry Cooper.

To start, some of those moreish cheese dumplings and FFC (Fenn Fried Chicken), a spicier, Korean-leaning take on popcorn chicken with a punchy wild garlic purée, then the potato sourdough with a crust you can tap on and the pillowiest of insides. Beef tartare, a dish I normally associate with tart dressings, comes with fermented chilli and smoked oil, which gives the high-quality meat a more complex, earthier flavour. At this point, we opt to supplement the meal with the hand-dived scallop with apple, bathed in chicken butter (£11), because frankly, who could resist?

A meaty slab of halibut is elevated by the sea-saltiness of samphire and delicate sweetness of crab, and aged Yorkshire beef comes with a quenelle of puréed purple sprouting broccoli, pickled walnut, bone-marrow sauce and a decadent layered potato cake. To finish, Pump Street chocolate ganache and soil with a yoghurt sorbet that brings just the right amount of acidity. It’s a Goldilocks menu that doesn’t over – or, indeed, under – whelm you with food, with enough of each dish to let the flavours and the top produce truly shine. We left overjoyed that this time around, the chance to return was higher than it’s been in the last year – book now before everyone else does.

194 Wandsworth Bridge Road, Fulham, London, SW62UF

Kate Weir Kate Weir

It’s been a weird old year (and a bit), and pick-me-ups, however small have become a necessity – especially if they involve little cakes and champagne, we recently discovered when we tried Le Deli Robuchon’s new afternoon tea at-home. We’ve long been fans of this London institution for its Franco delicacies: cheese and charcuterie, viennoiseries and breads (look at the size of those baguettes…), wines from indie makers and gourmet groceries, many of which were favourites of the late and lauded chef Joël Robuchon himself, who certainly knew his superior products.

So, we had high expectations for a Gallic twist on this most British of afternoon pastimes, and these were met with gusto. There’s no greater interruption to an afternoon of work than having the doorbell ring and a flurry of glossy bags and boxes whisked in. This is the deli’s first afternoon tea delivery offering, and the ordering process is swift (there were no delivery snafus), the presentation feels special and luxurious, and for the amount and quality of food, it’s well worth the cost (£59 for two with a half-bottle of Laurent Perrier, £71 for two with a full-size one).

In two there are neat rows of precision-cut sandwiches, all as dainty as can be and delicious, but some stand-outs were the smoked-salmon with egg and wasabi mayonnaise for its zing, the hefty aubergine and burrata with olive tapenade (spot on for vegetarians), and the finger sandwich take on a Niçoise salad with green beans and tuna. Another bag yields the champagne, which we pop and glug down with perhaps too much haste for such a genteel repast, but there are also tea sachets (high-quality Earl Grey and Moroccan mint) and coffee to even things out.

Then, we get to the sweet stuff: two boxes of cakes, pastries and scones, one filled with madeleines, plain and raisin scones and brioches au sucre; another with mini éclairs, mille-feuilles and fruit tarts. Together we’re transported to the kind of dining spaces where aloft pinkies, hushed gossip and a profusion of pastels are de rigueur. All in all, it’s a rare treat, and one we recommend your demand to your door post-haste.

Le Deli Robuchon, 82 Piccadilly, London www.robuchonlondon.co.uk/le-deli As a half-Scot, I took to the Boisdale warmly when I first visited years ago. The Scottish restaurant’s Christmas-hued tartan walls, dark-wood panelling and white tablecloths laden with a cutlery drawer’s worth of utensils nodded to a stalwart sense of tradition, while Albannach – its main competition at the time – had a curious Scots-in-space aesthetic with white-plastic antler chandeliers, light-up bucks and Eero Saarinen-style chairs. Well, Albannach is long gone and the Boisdale is still here – even in the midst of a pandemic – with four outposts (Belgravia, Mayfair, Canary Wharf and Bishopsgate), and it looks reassuringly the same. So, while there is a whiff of Highlands Disneyfication to it, one suspects for the tourists, it’s still the homiest place to come for a haggis fix.

Opened in 1989 by restaurateur with a roguish reputation, Ranald McDonald (not to be confused with a similarly named burger-peddler), Boisdale Belgravia celebrated 30 years of hearty north-of-the-border fare, live jazz and being one of the few places you can smoke in relative shelter in London, thanks to its upstairs humidor and penchant for fine cigars. So, we decided to see how the institution holds up in its third decade, and its proved it’s still capable of impeccable hosting and a touch of hootenanny-ing.

The menu is Scottish with some influence from mainland Europe, but Boisdale’s trump cards are thick slabs of Buccleuch beef (so highcalibre it’s supplied to no less than Buckingham Palace), gourmet burgers and roast Dumfrieshire blackface haggis. To start we order some fine Carlingford oysters with a Vietnamese ginger and chilli dressing, and a platter of Scottish smoked fish (Dunkeld oak- and Talisker-smoked salmon, whisky-smoked Isle of Gigha halibut and pickled orkney herrings), all of which have satisfyingly deep and complex flavours.

For mains, I bend to the will of my half-homeland and order the haggis, served in traditional style with neeps and tatties, it’s moist and meaty and the portion is generous enough to sate most Scots. My partner opts for a rib-eye steak, which comes with enormous chips that go sadly unfinished because every scrap of cooked-just-right meat must be eaten. For dessert we simply cap our night with a dram and a cheeky puff in the humidor. In the time since I first visited the Boisdale, the rise of Mac & Wild has seen a more competitive burger come along, and while Scots’ alleged tightness is nothing more than a stereotype, the menu’s prices may have some snapping the purse strings shut. But, as live jazz kicks in somewhere around our main course and the whisky starts to warm us, coming back to the Boisdale after a dearth of dining out, feels very much like coming home. www.boisdale.co.uk

Tracy Borman Kate Weir

So, the concept is simple: chicken – served whole, half or quarter – with a range of different sides. Sound familiar? If you’re thinking of a certain well-known high street chain that starts with ‘N’ and ends with peri-peri sauce, then think again. Cocotte is about as far from that as Claude Monet is from painting by numbers. For a start, it’s French – genuinely so. The chickens (all free-range) are sourced from the Pays de la Loire; the sides and other dishes have an unmistakable French feel, with truffles being a particularly prominent ingredient; and the wine list is as ‘beautifully curated’ as the website claims. The decor is also reminiscent of an unpretentious but excellent bistro, with tables and items from the menu picked out in gold lettering on the windows.

My husband and I visited the Parson’s Green restaurant, but there are also branches in Notting Hill, Shoreditch and Queen’s Park. Because of restrictions, it was outdoor dining only but the warm welcome from the friendly staff more than offset the distinctly chilly evening.

We started with a glass of the crisp and perfectly chilled Picpoul de Pinet while perusing the menu. There was an enticing array of starters, sides and salads, as well as plenty of vegetarian and vegan options. We chose two varieties of croquettes (foie gras with mushroom and ham with cheese), both of which came with a perfectly matched dipping sauce and were absolutely divine – light, crisp and creamy.

It would have seemed rude not to go with chicken for the main, and from the extensive selection of accompanying sauces; we went for tarragon and mustard and truffle mayonnaise. While this was all delicious, the star of the show were the sides: roasted root vegetables, truffle mash, ratatouille and sweet-potato fries. OK, so we over-ordered slightly but everything was so tastebud-tinglingly good that hardly a crumb was left on our plates by the end. My only regret is that we were unable to do justice to a dessert because they, too, promised great things.

Cocotte is open all day, so if you fancy treating yourself to breakfast or brunch, there is plenty of choice: from the traditional sausage-andegg muffin to truffle croque-monsieur or an array of sweet treats. The lunch menu is just as tempting, or if you’re in a hurry there’s a range of organic coffees to-go. I think it’s always a sign of a good restaurant when on the train home I’m already planning what to have next time. The train had only just pulled out of Parson’s Green station when I was busy pondering whether to go for breakfast, brunch, lunch…or all three. 271 New Kings Road, London SW6 4RD www.mycocotte.uk If you’re a fan of the zesty Latin American fare in Kensington’s Zuaya (indeed, we’ve covered it previously and could seriously do with one of their mezcal- and pisco-loaded cocktails right now) then it might excite you to know that Alberto and Arian Zandi, the Spanish twin brothers behind the venture, launched an Italian restaurant just next door late last year. Como Garden, as you can tell from the name, is inspired by Lombardy’s great lake and botanical beauty. The dining room resembles an extremely elegant planter, with trailing ivy clinging to the walls and even a fully grown tree buffered by cosy cream banquettes, plus a few Renaissance-inspired statuettes for a true holiday feel.

There’s just one teeny problem – at the time of writing, I couldn’t see any of it – at least until Boris lowered the chequered flag on lockdown restrictions. But Como’s Italian pasta chef and dedicated team soldiered through, turning to Deliveroo to get punters excited about their tapas-style plates and hearty mains, made using ingredients nonna would approve of from the motherland. And so, in a somewhat more modest dining room, we awaited a delivery that would, at least in spirit, whisk us away to the Med.

The restaurant recommended three dishes each, but this isn’t a hard and fast rule – with delights such as raviolo filled with gorgonzola and pear, and truffle and pecorino, and crowd-pleasing cacio e pepe and rich beef ragu, you may want to challenge your appetite. We shared the calamari with lemon aioli and steak tartare with sweet mustard – the former is a little diminished by the travel time and would be crisper dining in, but it was still succulent squid, the latter, while not pretty, had a generous helping of meat punched up by the sauce.

For seconds, the lasagna had a good ratio of meat, cheese and sauce, and was as comforting as a bear hug from mamma, while gnocchi slathered in gorgonzola with sweetened walnuts was a decadent rustic dish with a warming autumnal feel. To follow, a seductively unctuous osso buco, where the veal easily tore from the bone, and a tender tentacle of grilled octopus. But, there was more still, the big finale was the Como Ferrero Roché dessert: essentially a haute take on its namesake.

We’re still longing for the buzzy ambience of a restaurant in full flow once again, and even moreso a getaway to the Italian lakes, but at least with such top Italian food just a few clicks away, you can still satisfy some desires. 37 to 45 Kensington High St, London W8 5ED https://comogarden.co.uk