Martin's Reviews

Large, imposing doors opened with a determined grasp, high ceilings that seem to eat up noise, and a calm but cultured whiff of a meal where you might pay a little extra but walk out rather happier; coming from the Covent Garden tumult and into cavernous Sophie’s immediately felt like just the kind of illicit, red-meat filled sojourn that appears at the end of so many foodie cravings.

Sitting down, that impression only ratchets higher as the sultry lighting creates a devilled glow to your surroundings, and your smiling waitress drops off your complimentary appetiser – no baked-at-home bread or fresh-and-fruity olives here though. Instead, a generous serve of thick, salty salami that goes down rapidly; the point that Sophie’s does nice things with meat does not go unnoticed.

The wine list is typically bullish in order to stand up to this, and though you can go to town with some high-end picks, we found several decently-priced options by both the glass and bottle. The Malbec we selected had a fantastically full flavour and went down all-too quickly – at least until we had those meaty mains before us.

Steak, of course, is what Sophie’s is most likely to have dragged you over the threshold for and, although the prices seem rather Machiavellian at first glance, on arrival we found it hard not to offer a contented smile. The Cote de Boeuf we tried seemed of Jurassic Park proportions, yet retained an outstanding, iron-rich flavour of a cut of meat that had been both cared-for and cooked with some great skill.

A portion of mixed ribs were similarly colossal, with the pork baby back sitting so succulently under Sophie’s sauce that several minutes towards the end of our meal became a search-and-rescue mission for any remaining morsels we may have missed.

Sides were perhaps a little disappointing, with the chips and jackets both missing some kind of final, ecstatic hit of butter or salt, and a slaw salad rather getting overwhelmed by sauce and not offering the kind of fresh bite… More

As far as experiencing new tastes and ideas, Queen of Sheba, a short walk from Kentish Town station, seems to be something of a promised land.

One of London’s most renowned purveyors of Ethiopian cuisine, the marketing blurb will leave you thrilled at the idea of “unique and exotic tastes that will remain with you forever”.

And first impressions certainly seem to offer something different. Full of traditional figures, woven designs and earthy colours, Queen of Sheba shimmers in a warm red light. Beaming, open-armed staff, and a somewhat haphazard way with layout only add to feeling of being somewhere wholly honest and welcoming.

The sense of intimacy was harnessed also in the way the food seemed to bring people together, diners on other tables leaning in close to mop up their dishes from a huge, pancake-round serving of the country’s traditional injera bread.

A starter of spinach and homemade cottage cheese wrapped in the ubiquitous bread served to set the scene – both for good and bad; we loved the freedom of eating without cutlery and dropping the tiny morsels into our mouths, however found the filling a little under-whelming against the slightly lemon-sharp bread.

There was similar foodie fever at mains, as we gleefully tore at our bread in order to grab our dishes with hands and fingers – a feast for the eyes, perhaps even the soul but not, unfortunately, for the taste-buds.

A lamb dish with green pepper and onion was hugely disappointing, the meat gristly and tough, with little flavouring beyond the charred meat. It looked and tasted like something that might have been sitting under the heat lamps at a cheap Chinese buffet for far too long.

A traditional vegetable stew came highly recommended and packed a lot more punch, the flavours deep and yet with the chickpea, onion and pepper still easy to pick up on the palette. Yet, despite that success and the hugely enjoyable experience, there was a heavy-handedness in dry meat, under-seasoned filling and tangy bread… More

Close your eyes for just a second, and Arbutus felt as if it could be some hidden trattoria in some tiny mountain village you’d searched for hours for, not the gel-slick Soho operation you might expect.

That’s because good, honest food and genuinely warm service felt paramount on our visit – not the names on the door or the faces in the windows.

Though expertly styled and ultra-efficient, each member of staff was bright, personable and intelligent. Opinions were proffered only when asked for and, when given were as forthright as much of the great food we tasted.

That simple, unabashed approach was reflected in a menu that started at Crispy Pig’s Head and ended at Pavlova, with squid, lamb shoulder and several ways with tripe in between, along with many more conventional cuts.

In fact we didn’t love everything we tried – that tripe, for example, an acquired taste perhaps and a sweet onion tart with smoked eel tart that lacked a little piquancy – but there were flavours on every plate that tasted great and each one had a genuine love about it.

A squid and mackerel burger starter, for example, was the perfect balance of soft flavours. Mains of lamb and rabbit might have looked simple but had deep meaty flavours, while for dessert clafoutis was a joyful, buttery celebration.

Unlike so many other restaurants, drinks were given proper consideration too, with several decent bottles of wine under or close to £20 and, so rare, genuinely good coffee to finish.

Good food should be able to take you somewhere else. It might have been the wine talking just a touch but coming out of Arbutus I was sure, just for a second, that I could see the roads lined with olive groves and feel the hot Italian sun. In a colder light those might have been strippers and street lights but, for that brief, beautiful moment, Arbutus had truly done its job.

Le Bouchon Breton certainly looks the part of traditional French bistro. Heavy clarets dominate inside, while the large open terrace speaks of long, lost lunches. Warm staff seem to have both accent and ability to match the setting.

The menu heaves with French favourites from both sea and land, with steaks and shellfish equally prized here. Add more classics like French Onion soup, Confit of Duck and Rack of Lamb and there is something to appeal to even the most novice gastronome.

In the spirit, we tried frog’s legs; choicely cooked and doused with garlic and butter, these gave our evening something of a kick-start then, though too much of the flavour seemed to get lost on the plate and not enough left on the legs themselves.

Unfortunately, having something missing was a theme that seemed to carry on throughout the meal. One main of mussels was faultless (though having no pot for shells was a careless error and soon left the table looking like Brighton beach). Another main of calves liver and bacon with mash was again a skilled dish but missing a slick of sweet onion that might have made the dish much more than its fine constituents.

If anything, desserts delivered the most, with a gorgeous Clafouti and a huge ice-cream coupe full of crunchy, creamy, wholly complementary flavours.

For all its qualities, Le Bouchon seemed to be missing a touch of inspiration, both from the kitchen and service which, though always friendly and attentive, often felt a little nervous.

In a prime location in Spitalfields market and often offering online diners deals, this place would be a good bet for a partial slice of French cuisine at a partial price, but at full whack Le Bouchon Breton tends closer to Cava than Champagne.