At first glance the grey facades of William IV Street in central London give no hint of the gem that is buried beneath the paving stones. Arriving in the packed pre-theatre hour we were led through the bustling upstairs bistro, down a non-descript staircase and into a quiet cellar of a room, suspecting that we had been dragged away from the fun of the top floor…
Read more at 30 Days of Food & Drink 2010
The Providores popped into my life in the nick of time; just as brunch had begun to get boring. London is a city awash with generic morning menus and this mecca for early eaters brings imagination in spades.
Opened eight years ago by Kiwi chef Peter Gordon previously of Sugar Club fame, The Providores is housed unobtrusively behind a wooden framed shop front on Marylebone High Street. Having been told to expect a queue we arrived early and sure enough a line of hungry punters had already formed; this in a city bereft of patience is evidence of the delights within.
Step over the threshold and a high communal table forms the centrepiece. Smaller tables line the walls and even the bright bay window has been cleverly turned into a breakfast bar, occupied today by lone diners and piles of Sunday papers. The space is compact, the diners many and the staff busy, yet the atmosphere is relaxed and unhurried.
Settling down at our table we take in the surroundings: statement white lamp shades draw your attention to the high ceilings in the centre of the room while oversized unadorned light bulbs dangle over our heads, their orange elements glowing brightly. The interior is clever, the lighting creating an illusion of space where there is none, features like nifty coat hooks hiding under tables keeping clutter minimal.
The menu is a revelation. Ingredients like sumac, yuzu, miso and tamarillo sit alongside bacon, bread and oats. Pancakes of sweetcorn and blueberry (£8.80), baked beans with smoky molasses (£2.80) and perhaps the most intriguing of all the combinations – poached Turkish eggs with yoghurt and chilli butter (£6.20). Read on further and the choice becomes impossible so intriguing are the dishes.
Tumblers of strong rich coffee arrive, the frothy topping bearing the baristas arty signature. A pot of fragrant earl grey is accompanied by a tea cup into which a small milk jug has been snugly slotted, another space saver or perhaps just stylish after thought.
Our eagerly anticipated choices arrive and we are impressed. A generous slab of French toast (£8.80), stuffed with bananas and pecans, topped with plenty of streaky bacon and surrounded by a pool of vanilla syrup disappears in seconds. This indulgent combination takes the best from European and American classics and creates a satisfying winner.
Opaque flakes of hot-smoked salmon, layered with spinach and perfectly poached eggs on walnut toasted bread, dripping with yuzu-hollandaise (£10.40) is mouth watering (yuzu being an oriental citrus). Labelling this a variation on the ubiquitous Eggs Benedict does it no justice, the dishes may have similar origins but I belie any classicist to try this without undergoing instant modernisation.
And finally: a bowl of porridge. Not just any old oats but “brown rice, apple, maple syrup and miso porridge made using soy milk and served with tamarillo compote.”(£6) A description so pretentious I couldn’t resist it. This porridge is so ridiculous it doesn’t contain a single flake of oat and despite not wanting to like it, the verdict was good. The brown rice lent an unusual texture but the finished dish was creamy not rich, sweet not sickly and made fresh by the apple puree, though nearer to rice pudding than the menu description suggests.
As our squeaky clean plates were whisked away it became clear that a return trip was a necessity. This first visit was just a sample of a menu brimming with intriguing and innovative combinations. It updates and questions the classics and is not afraid to be provocative in doing so.
The clearest illustration of this restaurant’s nature though lies beside the boiled eggs: the toasted soldiers come with vegemite. Any restaurant on British soil ballsy enough to usurp marmite with its cousin from the subcontinent has to be worth a visit.
The Providores & Tapa Room
109 Marylebone High Street
London W1U 4RX
020 7935 6175
http://www.theprovidores.co.uk/
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/
As my best breakfast buddy and I step into the café interior with its black and white floor tiles, our first impression is of Parisian chic, right down to the disinterested waiter who greets us grumpily from behind the bar. We are quickly led into the adjacent railway carriage style diner, seated in roomy booths, intimately lit with cute chrome reading lamps, and transported away from the early morning bustle of Mayfair.
The surrounding tables are occupied by smart local businessmen, presumably breaking transatlantic deals over their espressos and muffins, lending the room a buzzy atmosphere without being noisy. The compact menu seems promising with classic egg dishes, buttermilk pancakes, waffles, muffins and a full breakfast including fillet steak for those of ambitious appetite.
Being classicists and on the British side of the cultural exchange we both order egg dishes, and of course tea, and then watch with slight envy as a pile of pancakes is placed at another table.
Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon arrive quickly and are unfortunately substandard. Dry, pale eggs on quite acceptable toast, surrounded by a couple of slivers of relatively tasty smoked salmon. Sadly, it is no tastier than you could find in the fish section of your local supermarket. Knowing that in a renowned dining room, just across Piccadilly, a generous stack of Scottish salmon, buttery eggs and soft brioche will greet you for a similar price perhaps puts Automat at a disadvantage but it is one that they chose through default of location.
The American options on the menu: muffins, pastries, waffles and milkshakes served in elegant bulb glasses, are received warmly at the nearby tables and the baskets of baked goodies seem delightfully decadent so early in the day. Our large glasses of apple juice were tangy, fruity and refreshingly cold but the pots of stewing Twinings tea were disappointing considering their hefty price tag.
When it came to paying, spending ten minutes attempting to make eye contact with any of the three waitresses left us feeling a bit neglected, especially considering there were only six other tables of diners.
Automat’s opening website statement mentions nothing about food and we left with the sense that for both the people who frequent it and for those that run it, the style of the crockery is more important than the breakfast upon it. Which is a shame, because this well decked out and atmospheric brasserie has plenty of character, an enviable location and unrivalled milkshakes. Next time, I’ll cross the Atlantic divide and have pancakes.
Snackbite 