Bun House, London: a review (not)

This is not a review. I repeat: this is not a review. It’s more of an invite to go and have a look (taste) yourself.

There are several reasons why this is not an actual review. When I visited Bun Tea House, a few months ago, they had just opened. The bar downstairs was still closed and they did not have an alcohol licence yet (but the beer list looked very interesting). Most of their pickles were not ready, either.

Also, I’m not sure I could be objective because I was just so… happy. Excited. It’s that special, bizarre feeling that only the first day of spring can give you. The first day where the sun is warm on your skin and you can take your coat off. The first day of leaving the office in daylight – I repeat, actual non-artificial non-LED light coming from that elusive ball of fire we all sort of forgot about last winter.

On this special day I happened to stumble upon Bun House, its tiled blue chairs like the bottom of a pool, huge bamboo steamers and the calming smell of wood and steam, jars of colourful pickles, the tables spilling onto the pavement. Sitting outside and observing this pulsing corner of Soho with the palest, fluffiest buns gave me some sort of natural high that I believe has rendered me completely non-objective.

FullSizeRender (2).jpg

As well as buns, Bun House serves a rather interesting set of dishes of which I tried none but that will keep me intrigued enough to keep coming back. Suffice to say that the house fries are fried duck tongues. The menu is utterly confident in its use of offal and traditional Chinese ingredients in the most innocent looking parcel: a steamed bun.

The lamb was juicy and spiked with cumin, while the chicken, with liver pate gifting depth of flavour, was genuinely addictive. They also have some sweet buns – a chocolate one with pig blood (yup) and a seemingly safer custard one with salted duck egg, coconut milk and carrot; an oozing, wonderful custard with a little tropical sweetness and savoury notes for balance.

They also have the most beautiful, soothing website – and a cute little “squirty” icon for the oozy sweet buns. I cannot wait to go back and try every item on the menu – I think you should, too.

Bun House

23-24 Greek St, Soho, London W1D 4DZ

http://bun.house/

Advertisements

Electric Elephant Café, Kennington

Imagine this: you’re tired. You’re hungover. The world is too loud, the light too bright and the air too warm and heavy for you to even think about leaving the house. And someone brings you a cup of tea, builder’s tea, with maybe too much milk, some sugar still sitting at the bottom, the last few sips much sweeter than the ones before.

And then they make you toast. Just plain toast, from sliced bread, a thick layer of butter, edges crispy and burnt. A simple act of love.

There is something about The Electric Elephant café that reminds me of this very feeling. It’s the quirky interior, the mismatched furniture and worn tablecloths. The wooden tables in the sun-soaked courtyard, the noise of bacon sizzling, the warm service.

From a minuscule kitchen, really just a corner of the café, they serve simple, quintessentially English breakfasts; fried, oozing eggs; crispy, chewy English bacon; thick susages, crumbly fishcakes that break down on your toast.

IMG_9030

But also, peppery bubble and squeak on toast (on toast. Potatoes on toast.), little pots of pale, creamy butter, a jewel-hued red pepper chutney which they also sell in jars.

img_9488

img_3258

Then there’s the strong, dark coffee, the mismatched mugs and cups, your order handwritten on a piece of paper, friendly chatter, couples and friends and families curing hangovers and preparing for the day ahead with a full belly. In summer, you can tuck into your scrambled eggs in the sun, flicking through a magazine and enjoying the breeze; while the inside is especially welcoming and cosy in winter. But most importantly, the Electric Elephant possesses the magic quality of feeling like an extension of your own house.

img_2933

IMG_8972

Chinese Laundry Room, London – a review

As is often the case, I discovered Chinese Laundry through the impossibly styled, polished, saturated pictures of Instagram. Seen through colourful filters, these small tables crammed with perfectly arranged plates, and just the right amount of movement (a manicured hand holding chopsticks; a cardigan-wearing arm reaching for some bread), are somehow capable of giving you food envy and a start of salivation.

Yet, by definition, this medium cannot convey in any way the flavour of a dish, its aroma, the warm feeling in your mouth and belly, its texture. Then why am I so attracted to these pictures, why do I follow these as if they were recommendation from a favourite kitchen critic? Maybe there is an element of shameless shallowness, of searching the aesthetically pleasing, of wanting to eat photogenic food. Time Out rushes in defence of brown food; and while I agree with the argument (a curry will never look particularly photogenic, unless you pile edible flowers on it; and as far as the rainbow cake/bagel/soup trend goes, if you’re eating something of a hue that does not even exist in nature, you probably need a cup of green tea), I think there is more to a picture of food.

If you know food even a little, if you love it, a photo will be enough to decide whether the tomatoes are ripe, whether the mango was stringy, if the fried batter is soggy or impossibly crisp. There is a lot you can tell from a bidimensional picture, even if its colours are artificially enhanced.

IMG_7008

In the case of Chinese laundry, pictures of geometrical dumpling omelettes, and sides of pale milky buns, trickling onto my Instagram feed, looked spanking fresh, and astonishingly not swimming in oil.

Things that the beautiful photos did not manage to convey: flavour. Buckets of flavours.

Chinese Laundry is a small, narrow restaurant with adorable dusty green walls adorned with retro Chinese prints – the idea behind the restaurant is to recreate the 80’s in China. The decor, as well as quirky, has a warm, homely feel to it.

Served in immaculate white-and-blue  porcelain, breakfast was wonderfully crafted: a crispy scallion pancake with egg and bacon to binge on, aromatic teas served in small matte teapots, bright-yolked soft boiled tea eggs, their back decorated by mesmerising patterns; a fiery, comforting dish of stir fry dumplings. The side of little milky buns –something extremely pleasing in the consonance of coronals – features one of my absolute favourite foods of all times, for no particular reasons: mantou, the softest, chewiest, palest bun, in two versions: a plain steamed bun served with a sharp, almost sour spicy sauce, and a golden version, I can only assumed deep fried, accompanied by condensed milk spiked with peanuts and toasted sesame.

I went again for dinner, this time a slightly less photogenic one due to dim lighting, and loved the food nonetheless. The plates are fairly small but not quite as small as they make them to be – two plates with some rice and of course mantou, still warm in its wooden basket, were quite filling. The sweet basil pop corn chicken, fried to perfection, meat soft and supple and a crispy batter laced with aromatic sweet basil, was the sort of dish that you could find yourself craving at all times of the night and day.

The aubergine, which always deserves love, was grilled until its pulp was almost creamy, with slight sour notes, and topped with chopped peppers and peanuts for texture, its subtle smokiness perfect on steamed white rice.

IMG_7034

Other dishes I stole bites from included cumin-rich lamb skewers, soft and juicy; aubergine with hot smoked salmon; crispy silken tofu; a delightful and refreshing starter of courgette with raspberry, all with incredibly friendly service – when our waiter was telling us of the town in China he went to college to, I didn’t ever want to leave.

So yes, I suppose Instagram may only tell you so much – but when it gets it right, boy, does it get it right.