Review of the reviews
Eagle-eyed restaurant chasers may have noticed that Zapote’s address was, until recently, the fancy and trendy St Leon- ard’s, which burned bright and fast – until it didn’t. This new incarnation is both brighter and cosier, with an art deco-leaning collage of clashing, colourful wallpaper creating a backdrop against which to eat raw beef tacos with a side of wobbly roast bone marrow, or the beauty contest-winning roast red pep- per and black bean tostada – a vibrant explosion of red almost too pretty to eat, but well worth the ensuing wilful destruction, because it zings with freshness. Vegetarians do well at Zapote,
Grace Dent describes Zapote in Shoreditch, London, as a ‘labour of love’
too. Coal-roasted sweet potato with smoky chipotle is cooked in embers until just so, before being festooned with chilli: this is thoughtful, meat-free cooking. The crisp baby artichokes are also very good, plus it makes sense to let someone else take the strain of cooking those little crit- ters, especially when they serve them with a lush, green pipián sauce. And I last saw black- bean pozole in Las Vegas, when I helped a Mexican cook make about 50 litres of the stuff using a mechanical stirrer that was almost as big as me, but, hap- pily, here at Zapote, the pozole
And on it went, from heav-
William Sitwell says Humo in Mayfair, London, is “gastronomic wizardry” The menu is divided into cat- egories: Ignite, Smoke, Flame, Embers. Achingly, next-level grilling-concept-trendy, then. The food glistens; each plate
is immaculately balanced in design and colour. For an appe- tiser, a pair of de-boned chicken wings seasoned with Japanese sansho pepper transports the humble wing to delicacy status. A tender curing of yellowtail combined with a citrus sauce and Colombian coffee was pure culi- nary alchemy: the fish, lent some earthiness from the cure, was extraordinarily both fresh and bitter from the citrus and coffee – an exhilarating combination.
10 | The Caterer | 28 April 2023
enly trout decked with caviar to lamb, rudely pink, soft as a downy pillow, and, further enhanced by a beetroot sauce, richer than Warren Buffett. Technically
complicated,
mind-boggling wizardry. And don’t they know it. Because between every mouthful come the explanations. Draw breath and a smartly dressed, exacting waiter shimmers in to deliver the next plate of food and a glass of wine along with a lecture. Nine courses shared, wines
paired. Yellowtail, trout, salsify, langoustine, scallop, lobster, lamb, turbot, pudding. A heady cocktail of complex, sublime cookery. Give me a genuflecting superlative, and I’ll match it to a dish. Go if you dare, and maybe ask if there’s a menu with a no- spiel option. Price: nine-course shared lunch for two with wine, excluding service, £366
is a much more refined affair, topped with picked white crab and served inside a crab shell. In fact, the menu is a deft mix
of the recognisably Mexican as a Brit might view it and some- thing altogether more classy. Yes, there are tacos, tostadas and tortillas, but this is also fine, thoughtful, worldly din- ing where refined slices of lamb neck, charred outside and pink within, turn up on a sleek bed of smoked aubergine flesh with tamarind purée.
Finish off with one of their white-chocolate-topped dough- nuts, which are dark, brooding and covered in a glorious, thick marmalade; or a delightful crème caramel made with coco- nut and topped with coriander and soft pineapple. Zapote is a place to have up your sleeve whenever anyone mentions “going up Shoreditch”. Proceed straight to the bar and order a mezcal. This is not a drill. Price: from about £40 a head, plus drinks and service
Jimi Famurewa says the Parakeet in Kentish Town is “quintessentially London” If the engine room of this place – an opening from ex-Brat chefs Ben Allen and Ed Jennings – presents as pressurised or fran- tic, then that only heightens the serene, smoke-wreathed brilliance of the dishes that eventually arrive. Because here, drifting through the chaos, is the rolling lusciousness of smoked chicken terrine, a vast, crackled expanse of grilled whole sea bream, and the potato bread of the actual gods. We properly began with smoked mutton sausage: an indecently plump length of housemade charcuterie with the barreling spice of lamb
kofta and the snap of a brat- wurst. A small plate of brothy white beans, strewn with blood orange and bubbled slices of tempura butternut squash, had unusual lift and textural dyna- mism. Asparagus – julienned and set in ravishing almond and nettle purées – brought a welcome crazed maximalism to a vegetable often approached with austere reverence. And then there was that sea bream. This is not to say that there
were no erratic moments — a pretty flower of confit potato was, for me, somehow both limp and burnt, and a forcefully bitter chocolate torte felt like luxuri- ous punishment. The Parakeet is thrillingly anachronistic, it is quintessentially London, and if you approach to join its growing, appreciative flock on a busy Fri- day night, there’s every chance you’ll hear it before you see it. Price: meal for two plus drinks, about £130
www.thecaterer.com
PHOTOS: SIM CANETTY-CLARKE
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