Quo Vadis, London

 

Quo Vadis

26 - 29 Dean Street, Soho, London W1D 3LL

020 7437 9585  www.quovadissoho.co.uk

Quo Vadis Interior

The Bill

The Bite! £7.50 - £8.50 | Starters  £9.50 - £16.50 

Mains £17.00 - £38.80 | Pudding £9.50 - £11.00

The Score

Cooking 8/10 | Service 5/5

Flavour 4.5/5 | Value 4/5

TOTAL 21.5/25 

Did we always crave reassurance, or is it an age thing? I have just bought a cuddly toy in the shape of a giant ice cream cone for my granddaughter's first Christmas. I hope it will bring her comfort. During the same trip I had to choose a suitable venue to feast with my oldest pal to celebrate a significant birthday. I won't say which one, but we are contemporaries. Hit 2 treble 20s and a single 20, divide by 2 and you're there.

It had to be good, obviously, but in the capital you're not short of choice. So was it the assurance of tradition which brought me here? It will celebrate its centenary in a couple of years, and has its own entry in Wikipedia for heaven's sake. I suspect, however, it was the presence of chef Jeremy Lee. I'd known of him for a long time, though I'd never eaten his food. He was

Jeremy Lee

chef at Conran's The Blueprint Café for a couple of decades, and more comfort comes when I discover he trained with the great Simon Hopkinson. I met him at this year's Edinburgh Book Festival when he was plugging his much acclaimed book.

So, off to Soho we go, to a building with a history as exuberant as the man himself. It was once, apparently, a brothel - hardly a rarity in Soho. It has a blue plaque proclaiming that Karl Marx lived there. To be accurate he was in a two room hovel, part of number 28. It is now owned by Sam and Eddie Hart. Lee, I believe, is a partner. The much extended building now comprises the restaurant, three private dining rooms and a members' club.

The dining room isn't at all as I imagined: to some tastes it might be downright plain. I had, as usual, broken my rule and read the carte in advance. In short, I was concerned. Some menus have you wishing that you could sample simply everything. This list is not a showy one. But fairly soon it dawned on me that the relative simplicity is one of its huge strengths. Reading reviews of Lee's food over the years, it appears that his style hasn't changed much. As they say, if it ain't broke... Jay Rayner describes Lee as, one of those rare phenomena in the London food world: a chap everyone agrees is a good thing.

It will come as no surprise to learn that virtually all of my closest friends tend to share a very high quality of trenchermanship: R & J definitely fall into that category. We turn to the menu. With its artwork and idiosyncratic arrangement, it deserves close scrutiny. (Don't let the portrayals of the Addams Family, Frankenstein, and other ghoulish figures put you off.) While these may not be conventional amuse-bouche, you have a couple of possibilities under the heading The Bite! We ordered two of each to share. Baked salsify and parmesan came in the form of a thin filo wrapped cigar. Artichoke, black olive and ricotta crostini were as advertised. We're up and running in good seasonal style. Starters proper saw a table of two halves. J & I enjoyed our dinky, dolls house sized salted mallard, but I thought the onion chutney was over vinegary. Never mind - it went down well with the plum jam, spread on the wonderful rye sourdough bread.

Facing us on the other side were two groaning plates. A tower of chicken livers with bitter leaves, walnuts, sage and more delicious bread. Hear the phrase pickled sardines, and you can almost feel your cheeks pucker. Not here. The fish had a delicacy and, bizarrely, a freshness which went perfectly with the beetroot and horseradish salad. Now well up to a gallop.

The menu has been described as modern British, so it's fitting that there is a single section simply headed Pie of the Day. Thursday was mutton pie day. No, not football type pies. Ours would have been banned from any sports stadium, as their sheer heft could be lethal. We are a table that likes to share, but by the end we had to fend off attempts by R & L to put large chunks on to our plates to make it look as though they had eaten a respectable amount. J's pork chop, while of a good size, was a sensible portion by contrast. That left me with my partridge with braised cabbage and mustard jam. It came with a large bowl full of soup or gravy, take your pick. I misuse the word with. In fact the beautifully roasted, perfectly pink, plump bird was nestling or nesting on top of said soup. Whole. I defy even the neatest carver to cut that up without creating a soup tsunami to envelop cloth, clothes and fellow diners. I asked Fabian to return it to the kitchen for dissection. I think chef should have thought of that.

It speaks volumes that this is almost the only criticism I can think of for the whole experience. J bravely ordered pudding, pistachio tart, quince & co.  We all managed a spoonful or two. Absolutely historic, and just the right amount. If restaurants cans serve 250ml carafes of wine, why can't they serve quarter sized puddings? Continuing the somewhat laboured racing theme (must we? - Ed), you might say that we staggered across the finishing line, sated and satisfied. No stewards' enquiry - you're a dead cert to eat well here.

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