London: Coming Late To Arbutus

[Pigging by Wilfrid:  September 28, 2015]

This finally clears the outbox from last month's trip to the UK and Ireland.  Late to Arbutus came I, not because I was indifferent to its appeal. I tried hard to eat here when it first opened, but couldn't get a reservation which coincided with a London visit.

Then there was a period I didn't get over to Europe hardly at all.  This time around, on a weekday evening in summer, the restaurant--still Michelin-starred--was largely deserted.  (And yes, badly lit for photography.)

But it wasn't completely deserted.  Oh no.  We had some distracting dining companions.  We were seated a table in the middle of a banquette in the room to the right (facing in from the street).  Next to us on one side, a pleasant American woman finishing up an early solo dinner. On the other side...a normal couple.  To the right, at one end of the banquette, a slightly tipsy couple, featuring (from her) one of the loudest voices I've ever heard in a restaurant. And there was no need to shout here.

At the other end, to the left, another couple--and a noise which was hard to place.  It sounded like a distant lawnmower or a nearby bumble bee.  A relentless, annoying, humming sound. Soon enough the three tables in of normal people realized the noise was coming from the female member of the couple, who conversed--apparently--only by humming loudly.  One of the weirdest settings for dinner I can think of, with the normals looking at each other in amazement.  "Bark, bark."  "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm."

But there was food (preceded by a disappointing riff on a Negroni).

The Arbutus menu, in a fashion familiar to New York diners, includes a snack section as well as appetizers. From the former, I chose for the tabke "A load of ‘Bollocks’ – crisp lamb’s testicles and tripe." I've cooked testicles many times, but my daughter hadn't (knowingly) eaten them before.  She tasted the crisp-crumbed delicacies and praised them highly.  "Do you know what you're eating?" I asked.  No.  I told her.  "But I thought bollock was a kind of fish."  Oh dear.  Anyway, the testicles were excellent, but the tripe came in rubbery strips which didn't benefit from being breaded. A sauce gribiche was a good accompaniment.

Actual appetizers: Lincolnishire smoked eel with smart garnishes--some shards of Rene Claude plums (a kind of greengage, I think), shiitake mushrooms, thinly sliced radish, sorrel sauce.

A nicely crisped plank of pig's head meet, nectarine slices, and I think a sort of bean purée (I did get a taste).

Entrées were absurdly generously portioned.  Essentially, both of our choices came in two parts. I asked for pieds et pacquets--a dish I don't remember seeing in a British restaurant before. It features sheep tripe and trotters, and shoulder meat formed into a large sausage. At Arbutus, it's turned into a kind of cassoulet, served over beans in a huge dish.

Sadly, exactly that same rubbery tripe showed up again as a final flourish. Perhaps the chef likes it that way.

In case you're peckish, there's diced trotter meat served on a thick slab of toasted country bread on the side.  This is a dish which could be shared by two--or even by four people of modest appetite.

If anything, my daughter's choice was heartier.  Not just a neatly butchered and garnished loin of rabbit.  But the thighs braised and incorporated into a healthy-size cottage pie with whirls of smooth potato on top.

The pie was the hit of the meal, and I admit I tried to help with it.

Cheeses to follow, and a bread pudding I found to be spiced more like a Christmas cake than I'd have expected.

A huge and pleasant meal, not flawless.  I've always loved the location and space, since it was Bistro Bruno under Bruno Loubet in the early '90s.  Cost is eased by the availability of their wines in 250ml carafes.

Here's the website.