A date with Daylesford

The first date is a tricky thing and despite being desperate to fall in love last Saturday, the object of my affections was not to be the one. Daylesford Organic in all its wholesome finery has received a mass of praising press and I should by now know that from the peak of expectation the fall to disappointment is all the more acutely felt.

The Daylesford brand, founded by the Bamford family with the first farm shop opening in 2003, has become synonymous with modern organic luxury. Proudly displayed throughout the Westbourne Grove store are Soil Association certifications, organic labels and various testaments to the nutritional wonders of their super foods.

One colourful wall placard describes the happy life of the Friesian herds who’s udders have produced all the milk, butter and cheese that will pass your lips. If you can get your hands on a jug of the white stuff that is, something that we failed to achieve despite numerous pleas from our bereft teacups.

Sitting down at a streamlined glass bench decorated with lines of chalky gravel we looked around for a waiter, first with anticipation, then with frustration and eventually with despair as we found it nearly impossible to spy anyone who might take our order. The manager was doing a sterling job, trying to steer her severely understaffed ship, but ultimately one lonesome person is never going to be able to keep a whole floor of Saturday breakfasters in high spirits.

Because of this we had plenty of time to ponder the concise menu which despite its shortness satisfies most appetites with its variety. A basket of toast (£3), bowl of granola (£5) or pile of pastries (£3.50) being the more traditional options but paperdelle bolognaise (£9.95) and spicy vegetable pad thai (£9.95) make the list for the more adventurous morning eater.

After managing to place our order – this felt like quite an achievement – we were rewarded with swiftly appearing sustenance. Earl grey and elderflower tea and smooth rich coffee were served with a delicious square of soft chocolate brownie; perfectly cooked sticky sponge dotted with white chocolate chips. Next to arrive was a statuesque vase of water, long slivers of cucumber curving through the liquid and for once tap water didn’t feel like the poor man’s choice. Sadly the Virgin Mary lacked for everything, the plain tomato juice missing any seasoning or spice at all.

My plate of scrambled eggs (£4) was perfect: Fluffy, well seasoned, creamy and orange-yolked on top of crunchy buttery sourdough, they paid testament to the happy hens from which they came. Eggs Benedict and Florentine (£6.95) were both devoured with smiles, the bright shiny hollandaise lemony and well balanced.

Sugar-free, wheat-free, granola muesli with almond milk had the potential to resemble chewy cardboard but the glass bowl was full of satisfyingly crunchy cereal, flecked with goji berries and seeds. The pappardelle with bolognaise sauce was sloppily presented in comparison and the flavours good but not memorable.

Plates finally cleared, our verdict was that the food is fine, the atmosphere and service less so. The almost complete absence of staff make dining here a stressful experience for both customers and employees. But there’s something about Daylesford, the concept is so attractive, the ethos so compelling, that I did something I never do in the dating world and after a less than convincing first experience, said yes to date two.

And I’m glad I did because this time the service was quicker, the staff were not so frenetically pressured and there was time to appreciate the surrounding space with it’s bar stacked with loaves of spelt sourdough, pumpernickel and baguettes. Or the meat counters housing pork, lamb, beef and game from valleys of the south west, guarded by startled looking stuffed pheasants. And the flickering open stone fire, ordered shelves of juices, wines and oils and impressive stacks of cakes.

The shop is a decadent emporia housing every food lover’s fantasy. Chocolate covered nuts, sambuca-flavoured honey, pretty pink peppercorns, cases of marons glace, cellophane wrapped biscotti, juniper berries and roasted seeds are just a few of the delights displayed on their elegant shelves. The choice is bewildering – in a good way.

The retail experience is exciting, the food full of flavour and the concept one with which it is easy to be taken with. But the service is so non-existent that date three is still not a sure thing.

Daylesford Organic
208-212 Westbourne Grove
London W11 2RH
020 7313 8050
http://www.daylesfordorganic.com/

Del’aziz

I feel I have made a profound discovery this weekend, probably starkly obvious to the rest of the world: communal dining works but only for grown ups. It does not work when a deli floor is turned into a nursery complete with mini tricycles, when open bottles of maple syrup are substituted for rattles, when scrambled eggs become ammunition for fork catapults or when milk filled straws are used as water guns to fire upon slightly hungover and completely off-guard occupants of your table.

On Saturday, having hurdled over a few small children to take up position at one of the large wooden tables in the Fulham branch of Del’aziz, I had almost begun to relax into my surroundings when a cold splatter of milk landed on my right cheek. As I turned I was confronted with a very satisfied three year old brandishing a dairy laden straw while his proud parent smiled benevolently on.

In the last few years communal dining has been reinvigorated, creeping across the capital in a range of eateries such as Ottelenghi, La Fromagerie and Wagammas. But embarking on a meal with strangers at your side in any one of these places you can probably assume you have one thing in common with your fellow diners; that you have all learnt the fine art of transporting food from plate to mouth without showering each other with it.

Kids aside, this Mediterranean brasserie and deli, is a pretty smart act. The stacks of oversized cakes lining the window will have your mouth watering before you’ve glimpsed the menu and are available by the slice, whole or bespoke. They are magnificent creations, the kind that would make you hesitate with guilt before breaking a knife into the carefully crafted layers of chocolate, sponge and cream.

Dark wooden shelves line the walls and are adorned with all sorts of edible and non-edible wares from Moroccan crockery to olive oil, authentic spices such as sumac and harissa or Turkish delight and baklava. Sadly, lazily foraging the shelves isn’t comfortable for diner or shopper as the tables are close to the walls and waiters continuously scuttle through the gaps.

The brunch menu makes a refreshing break from the standard formula which has been adopted by so many bistros. Yes, scrambled eggs are on the menu but come with home cured gravadlax or piled onto confit Portobello mushrooms. Moroccan muffins replace the traditional plain version and tender white beans accompany the vegetarian breakfast as a welcome replacement to Heinz.

My berber pancakes, thick spongier versions of their American cousins, arrived dusted with flaked almonds and drizzled with fragrant honey. A generous trio of these comfortingly sweet cakes were accompanied by a fruit salad, the tartness of which provided perfect contrast to the runny honey.

The Eggs Royale could not have been better and we are hard to impress on this front, so often the results are disappointing. Aziz presented perfectly poached eggs, tasty salmon, tangy hollandaise and a herby muffin base all topped beautifully with two slender chives.

As we ate, a sizzling pan passed by us, landed in front of our neighbours and generated envy in spite of our own delicious choices. The aptly named ‘Frying Pan’ is gluttonously filled with chorizo, peppers, bacon, potatoes, cheese and eggs and produced a satisfied smile from the other side of the table.

The mint tea is made with plenty of the fresh herb, the coffee strong and full of flavour and the smoothies, although expensive are packed with fruit. There is a lot left to try on the brunch menu alone and this is without turning the page to the huge range of mezze served after midday. Quite amazingly, considering the fast pace, loud noise and multiple functions of the venue, the staff remain calm and the service quick.

If you can block out the ghoulish wailing of multiple toddlers and the ineffective protests from their bewildered parents, which together combine to create a less than harmonious buzz in Del’aziz, then you are in for a feast.

Del’aziz
24-32 Vanston Place
London
SW6 1AX
020 7386 0086
http://www.delaziz.co.uk/

I’ve become a breakfast buff

I can’t think of a more idyllic way to wake up to the world than to spend an hour lazily lingering over snow white poached eggs with rich orange yolks that burst satisfyingly under your fork or buttery croissants dunked in bowl sized cups of café-au-lait.

Watching office-bound commuters scurrying along pavements, while absent-mindedly turning the page of the paper, feels like the ultimate indulgence. It is a pleasure worth struggling out of bed an hour earlier for, before surrendering to the confines of the workplace.

I could talk about the pleasures of petit dejeuner indefinitely and am amazed by the myriad possibilities provided by the oeuf. Whether in the golden fold of an omelette, fried and glistening with butter or boiled and waiting for its soldier, the egg is key and without it breakfast is at a loss.

I find choosing from the many tempting delights on a morning menu taxing, especially so close to dawn. Should I have Eggs Benedict, Florentine or Royale which come nestled on toasted muffins and draped with tangy, velvet hollandaise. Or a pile of American style airy pancakes that melt into their moat of blueberry dotted maple syrup. Perhaps gratifyingly crunchy, nut filled, granola hidden under honey topped Greek yoghurt will suffice, or maybe a soft envelope of granary bread stuffed with crispy rashers of smoked bacon.

I am yet to work out if these classics are so satisfying simply because your body is at its hungriest, twelve hours since your last meal. It does seem that breakfast combinations are designed with comfort in mind perhaps derived from the familiarity of childhood classics or the sugar hit of sweet waffles and honeyed toast.

Having just returned from an inferior breakfast in a slightly superior restaurant I’ve realised that having your expectations disappointed by second rate sustenance sits even less well at sunrise than at other mealtimes, although I’m willing to admit that this may be attributable to the absence of booze and resulting clarity of memory.

So, in pursuit of breakfast nirvana I’m going to embark on a quest to find the best, worst, most obscure, interesting, healthy or heart attack worthy morning meals on offer.

Any suggestions for places to try would be very welcome…