Me At Hawksmoor - thrilled to my marrow by well-hung perfection

Perfection - 900g of Porterhouse 35-day (minimum) aged beef medium rare

I've never said this before, not even about the gorgeous Sushi of Shiori (surely another candidate) - but this is a time when I actually want to marry a restaurant.  Obviously, I'd marry Sushi of Shiori if they'd have me, but Hawksmoor is in its own way quite perfect.  It may be because I hadn't eaten red meat for a long time (bar the Byron Classic last week - yummy) - and certainly not beef that came looking like this.

How did I come by this stroke of good fortune?  Put simply, through the good offices of my friend, Mike.  I call him Mr Pease - because, um, that is his name.  Enough with the movie references.  There will be a distinct lack of links to film clips in this blogpost, not least because any appropriate visual filmic references would not be suitable for a family blog.  I suppose I could show you a photograph of a cow, but that wouldn't convey the beauty on the plate of the happy Hawksmoor Heifer.  A wonderful lady who gave her life in a good cause having lived a (comparatively) long and undoubtedly happy one herself.  She's from the Ginger Pig, so for all you omnivores out there who like real meat all is now clear.  I used to buy my ribeye there, not least because they cut the steak the way I want it - that is, a steak (at least 1.5 inches thick) not a slice of meat.



Happy Hawksmoor Heifer

I have, however, been on fast forward, so let's rewind to the beginning.  The marvellous Mr Pease and I made for an early dinner (to fit in with the trains to Suffolk where the lovely Mrs Pease and two cute Westies can be found).  Perfect timing for a pre-dinner cocktail.  I force myself to do these things in anticipation of events like London Cocktail Week which started yesterday.
You know my reverence for the Martini and won't be surprised when I say I chose a classic with a twist (not on the menu but the lovely bar persons responded with alacrity).  Beautifully made if I may say so.  I plumped Grey Goose vodka, deliciously smooth as ever.  Noilly Prat.  A truly lovely twist, where the barman pared the lemon, lightly bruised the perfect slice of peel, releasing the essential oils and ensuring that the perfume shimmered over the top of the cocktail.  Just the one, perfect.  Mike went for a pomegranate juice (he was driving).

We deliberated over our choice of cut.  These are all chalked up on the blackboard, with their weights and are crossed off as they are ordered.  I must say that as we were there for the start of service and had left by 7.30pm it was worth noting that there were only two of our choice (the Portershouse 900g) left on the board.  Our lovely waitress told us it would take a little while (20-30 minutes) so although our original intention had been to eschew starters we relented.

Sadly, my first choice: Potted Longhorn and Plum Pudding Bacon with Piccalilli was not available, but Mike's potted mackerel with sourdough toast was. So we settled down to share and I ordered a very delicious glass of Rioja.

Potted smoked mackerel

The mackerel was delicious.  Usually I tend not to have as a starter food which I would usually make myself, and I make a delicious smoked mackerel paté (both a central European version with dill, and a Middle Eastern version with za'atar) with good quality smoked mackerel from Walter Purkis in Crouch End.  This was a particularly unctuous smoked mackerel and I will forgive them the teeny bone which I had in one of my mouthfuls.  It came with a lovely little salad of cucumber with snippets of dill on top, the cucumber marinaded in something sweet and sour, a perfect match for the mackerel.

Then it was on to the main event.  One of the starters was grilled bone marrow on sourdough toast with slow-cooked shallots.  I'm sure it's delicious.  But those clever people at Hawksmoor also have grilled bone marrow as a side and I ordered one of these, some triple-cooked chips, steamed spinach (I'd also done extra in the gym in anticipation). 

Grilled Bone Marrow

Mike had lightly crushed new potatoes with a little butter and a few strands of chiffonade mint, giving just the right hint of mint. 

Lightly crushed, slightly minted and perfectly steamed

Great chips too.  Need I mention they were triple-cooked?

They are triple-cooked

They were deliciously crisp with soft, fluffy, potato-tasting innards.  I know I do go on about the importance of chips tasting properly of potato but it's rarer than you might think.  And talking of rare, this was the ensemble on my plate.

(l-r anti-clockwise) Steamed, medium rare, triple-cooked, grillled

I was actually miaowing at this stage, but very, very quietly.  When I bit into the softly yielding, melt in the mouth, piece of beef I expressed a wish shortly afterwards to marry Hawksmoor (not the staff, you understand, pleasant and professional as they are, but actually to marry the restaurant).  As for the miaowing, I do sometimes.  When, I'm very thrilled by something, I let out a little miaow, unless I'm talking to cats in which case obviously I miaow in the same way that one would learn a little French before visiting France or another francophone country.  Generally, I miaow over shoes.  Prada a couple of seasons ago led to much miaowing, involuntarily (in the shoe boutique at Liberty) aloud.  I think the sales assistant was a little surprised.  On that occasion, I was moved to stroke (the shoe, silly!), and miaow (very softly) simultaneously.  What can I say, there are worse things to do in public.  Don't even get me started on standards and manners in the public space. 

I admit that there's very little about this post which is good for you if you don't like meat.  So let's move on to pudding (Mike) and cheese (me).  First up, here's pudding.

Sticky Toffee Pudding

What a good choice Mike made (he very sweetly let me have a little taste after I mentioned that I could smell waves of toffee wafting over me).  It was in a puddle rather than a lake of sticky, lovely, gooey, toffee sauce.  A light, moist sponge, and a little quenelle of cream accompanied it.  Heaven but then so was my...

(l-r anti-clockwise) Fig jam, oatcakes, delicious English goat (probably Dorstone), Colsten Bassett Stilton, Montgomery Cheddar

Cheese.  Well-chosen, in perfect condition (someone really knows there affinage) from Neal's Yard Dairy.  The fig jam was heavenly and went with each of the three cheeses.  Normally, I'm a Stichelton woman.  If I'm going to eat cheese I buy top quality.  If I'm buying top quality then I really don't see much point in buying pasteurised cheeses.  Having said that, I buy it rarely as I have a major problem with portion control when it comes to cheese - I don't have any.  However, not all Colston Bassett Stiltons are the same, certainly not when they have been loved, matured, nurtured to a peak of ripeness (the aforementioned process of affinage) by people who know what they're doing, NYD bods in other words.  It really was very good, a revelation.  The Montgomery Cheddar was typically delicious.  The English goat, I didn't quite catch the name, I think was probably a Dorstone, light and moussey, gorgeous.  More miaows.  And if you're in the mood to test your cheese knowledge, here's a link to the Guardian's cheese quiz.  I scored 16 out of 21 and was described as having 'solid cheese knowledge' - believe me, I'd be a lot more solid if I ate all the cheese I would like to.

Look, a word about the miaowing.  Unless we're dining together and you're sitting right by me you'd never hear me.  Also the tables to either side of us were empty (it was very early remember), so there was no-one to overhear.  Thank you, Mike, for a most delicious meal and the most delightful company.  And for Hawksmoor, 5 miaows out of 5.

Just a couple of brief asides before I sign off.  You'll know doubt have noticed a lot of coverage of a certain squirrel and his nuts who appeared to great acclaim in the final of the Great British Bake Off.  If you haven't here's the photo.



Great British Bake Off Squirrel with Nuts

I consulted Dalston about this because he is my guru and the fount of much knowledge.  Also, he doesn't have a TV and I thought he might have missed a story which he'd enjoy.  He did enjoy it and characteristically had an additional and typically erudite point to add to all those made by people who gazed with awe at the young squirrel's physical attributes. 

Dalston pointed out that the squirrel in question appears to be a Jewish squirrel.   Dalston is your man to notice these things as he has considerable authority being both theologically trained and an expert in inter-faith matters.  Yes, readers of this blog, I can exclusively reveal that the Great British Bake Off squirrel is a kosher squirrel.  Which rather begs the question as to whether there is a rodent rabbi performing bris mila (Ashkenazi - as that is my background) or brit miloh in Hebrew, the rite of circumcision.  Whatever.  As a squirrel he's certainly a fine specimen, and he's definitely out and proud - and why not?

And finally, you remember that teeny tiny bone in the potted mackerel (no, Hawksmoor, it doesn't affect your score).  It might not have been a teeny tiny bone.  It might have been a teeny tiny person.  Bon appetit. Gut appetit.  Buon appetito a tutti.

Hawksmoor

Spitalfields Branch

Score: 5 Miaows out of 5

Scores based on:
1 Miaow = Poor;
2 Miaows = Average;
3 Miaows = Good;
4 Miaows = Very Good
5 Miaows = Julie Andrews as Mary Poppins "Practically Perfect in Every Way"