“Not many people get that one,” he said, a brief look of sadness clouding his eyes. But imagine my unalloyed joy at seeing anchovy hollandaise on the menu. Now they do a Stichelton hollandaise that reduces grown men to gibbering. Hawksmoor used to do a horseradish hollandaise that was merely breathtaking. I want to digress for a moment to talk about sauces. There’s an Asian-inflected red cabbage slaw, served warm, to fend off guilt or scurvy, which was lick-the-plate delicious and I bet there aren’t many Hawksmoor-goers who ever thought they’d say that about a salad. The insides stay juicy, creamy and . . . you know that thing on a pork chop, where the meat ends and the fat begins but you can’t tell exactly where? Yeah. The meat is taken off the bone in chunky slices, which are crisped on the outside in their own abundant fat. It might be difficult to imagine that pork ribs could be dainty, but that they are. Some people might look at “Old Spot belly ribs” in the starter section and think them a little too much. Sometimes you can’t help but smile at a dish because it tells you something, in this case that whoever dreamt up this treasure had an unwavering and borderline indecent lust for crab. Blunt dissection with the butter knife revealed a thick layer of mayonnaise under the white meat and a substantial smearing of the brown meat on to the bread and under the mayo. Purifying, not punitive.ĭevon crab on toast was a construction of elaborate cunning that looked like a big old dome of fresh-picked claw meat on a slab of sourdough, but tasted about 14 times better than it deserved to. Micro-thin slices of everyone’s least favourite liquorice-flavoured radish, combined with slivers of celery heart, Spenwood, a hard sheep’s cheese, and a dressing, douce to mollify.
It’s counterintuitive to go to a meat temple like Hawksmoor and start with a salad, but I was drawn by their pluck in centring it around kohlrabi, Orphan of the Veg Box.
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This may be the first time they’ve tried this in a light, airy building with plenty of windows and, if I was being hypercritical, I’d say it works marginally better in a lugubrious, subterranean setting. On the inside, it’s been done with Hawksmoor’s trademark Gentleman’s Club chic. A louvred cube that, if it ever gets nicknamed in the same way as the Shard or the Gherkin, will probably get called “the Dehumidifier”. The area seems in a constant state of development, the latest of which is a “floating pavilion” housing a Hawksmoor restaurant.įrom the outside, it’s impressive. Therefore, when I surface from the car park into the centre of Canada Square, my first thought is not of the magnificence that man and money have wrought, but of the exterior scenes in the 1993 Sylvester Stallone vehicle Demolition Man - great locations, bloody awful film. I am also confident that my understanding of high finance is the lowest of anyone who has ever written for this august publication. In many respects, I am a low-net-worth individual.
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