the clerkenwell
Fresh from coolography’s newfound resolve to take a (temporary) hiatus from pan-asian dining, we sought a more varied menu for our inured palate. Interest piqued around the buzz surrounding the City’s new fine dining spot the Chancery. Then it dawned on us: we had yet to visit the Chancery’s sister restaurant, the older and more established Clerkenwell. Boasting not only the same owners, but also an almost identical modern European menu, we decided to go and visit the original, and hopefully the best…
Located on St. John’s street, a minute’s walk from the previously reviewed Cicada (and a literal stone’s throw away from the inexplicably popular abomination that is Tinseltown), we found the Clerkenwell – its frontage not the bright red we expected, but rather lacquered with an ebony sheen. A matching, inoffensively modern decor was to be found within, and after a pleasant welcome and an efficient cloakroom service we were shown to our seats.
Moments after ordering we were quickly brought a complimentary breadbasket – exuding a comforting, freshly baked warmth. Additionally, an oversized shot glass of spinach velouté topped with feta cheese arrived, rich and buttery, as a surprising amuse bouche. Tongues intrigued, our high expectations were already partly met, and the bar set a few notches higher.
Starters began with us receiving a colourful arrangement of barbecued quail – sweet and tenderly tangy – that matched well with the crunch of the accompanying pickled cabbage. The adventurer within then enthusiastically deconstructed the steak tartare starter – delicately flavoured kernels of raw steak strewn across a thin strip of toasted bread, topped with a quail’s egg and partnered with a small dollop of truffle cream. The accompanying polenta ‘chips’, though more cakelike in consistency, sat on the plate sadly, both physically and culinarily sidelined by the rest of the tartare.
Sipping on a mellow cabernet (and a tee-total orange juice), we then patiently waited for the mains to arrive. Surveying the buzzing, rapidly filling dining room, we spied other diners’ plates; mouth watering seabass, hake, and cote de beouf aromas wafted through the air, leaving us to reflect on our veal and lamb orders with trepidation. Soon enough, our fears were allayed; the spiced rump of lamb, soft and perfectly cooked, was partnered with a surprisingly tasty aubergine. The couscous, however, was disappointingly flavoured and the addition of a merguez sausage seemed to exist as an afterthought.
The shin of veal, on a lumpy bed of particularly bright yellow risotto, left a lot to be desired in terms of presentation, but more than made up for this on taste alone. Ridiculously tender, the rich, dark meat practically melted apart on contact with my demanding utensils. The buttery smooth saffron risotto added to the luxury of the dish; the combination of flavours amazing enough to draw daggered stares of jealousy from across the table.
Spoiled by the richness of it all, we reluctantly(!) opted for dessert; an almost cloying chocolate marquis (saved by a white chocolate ice cream and a succession of alcohol steeped cherries), and a praline parfait resting on a duo of miniature waffles, complete with syrup and a richly perfumed plum compote. Desserts were as sweet as the mains were rich, and we finished the meal thoroughly indulged.
Which in one word, is how we’d describe the Clerkenwell: Indulgent. The food, the ambience, and most refreshingly, the service; we were catered for by no less than 7 staff throughout the length of the meal, each of which showing the same level of friendliness, attentiveness, and of course, the uncanny ability to deliver fantastically good food.
Indulgent indeed, and highly recommended by coolography.
