Review: Tom Aikens Restaurant
There is a quotation emblazoned on the wall of Tom Aikens Restaurant reading ‘Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.’ It is a curiously sentimental touch to what is otherwise a rather masculine space. Dark walls, simple wooden tables, sleek crockery... It is essentially a bachelor’s pad masquerading as a restaurant.
However , this quotation (by Harriet van Horne, if you were wondering) does shine light on Tom and his staff’s attitude to food. Having just been awarded a Michelin star, one senses this particular brand of abandon is meticulously executed.
We went for a mid-week lunch and there were a healthy smattering of diners creating a convivial atmosphere. The à la carte menu, which is the same for both lunch and dinner, is creative without being confusing. I opted for the housemade ricotta to start. Accompanied by honey jelly and pine nut ice cream, it was a curious mélange of textures. It’s the sort of thing where each bite defies description, and before you know it your plate is clean and you’re not quite sure what was so enjoyable about it. My guest went for the venison tartar which was served with a delicious dollop of hazelnut purée or, as one of the chino-clad waiters described it, ‘posh peanut butter.’
Both dishes were light, which turned out to be a very good thing when the bread was whipped out. A rustically charming hessian sack rather than a basket, it contained a teasing selection of baked goods including an especially exquisite bacon brioche. Served with a trio of butters (bacon and onion, mushroom and sea salt) all notions of sensible eating flew out the window.
The selection of main courses is dominated by fish – an excellent thing for those with a pescatarian penchant, though it a bold move to lessen the selection of meaty provisions. My guest went for the braised turbot – an artfully arranged plate of which the sauce was the star of the show. Not too rich, neither sweet nor acidic, it is another taste which is difficult to define (beginning to sense a theme here?). My main was similar in that the most succulent element was not the main component. The cutlet was rare and tender, but the shoulder topped with sheep’s cheese was an explosion of juicy, aromatic richness.
Needless to say, we ordered puddings. The sweet, slightly sticky carmelised delice d’or apple was perhaps the most straightforward dish of the entire meal. First place, however, must go to the simply-named dark chocolate. It encompassed no fewer than seven forms of chocolatey fare, all topped with delicate sheets of the hard stuff. Again, it is the differing textures which keep you going back for more. Or at least that’s what you can claim.
It being lunchtime, we sadly did not partake too much of the vino. Special mention must go the list, though, which is quite literally a book. As Fergus, the enthusiastic assistant sommelier, explained, they have glued their wine lists within the pages of a wine encyclopaedia so that you can learn more about the production as your make your choice. Eschewing all opportunities for educating ourselves, we opted for Gonzalo Gonzalo’s Gran Cerdo (‘Fat Pig’) purely for the name. It’s light, berry-like notes were a happy advantage.
Just when you are about to claim you can eat no more, the petit-fours are brought out to ceremoniously signify the end of the meal. Of course, the carrot cake, truffles and other bite-sizes goodies are wholly unnecessary, but still managed to find their way into our eager fingers.
That’s the thing about Tom Aikens Restaurant. Everything just has to be tried. And, as von Horne says, you might as well enjoy it with utter abandon.
However , this quotation (by Harriet van Horne, if you were wondering) does shine light on Tom and his staff’s attitude to food. Having just been awarded a Michelin star, one senses this particular brand of abandon is meticulously executed.
We went for a mid-week lunch and there were a healthy smattering of diners creating a convivial atmosphere. The à la carte menu, which is the same for both lunch and dinner, is creative without being confusing. I opted for the housemade ricotta to start. Accompanied by honey jelly and pine nut ice cream, it was a curious mélange of textures. It’s the sort of thing where each bite defies description, and before you know it your plate is clean and you’re not quite sure what was so enjoyable about it. My guest went for the venison tartar which was served with a delicious dollop of hazelnut purée or, as one of the chino-clad waiters described it, ‘posh peanut butter.’
Both dishes were light, which turned out to be a very good thing when the bread was whipped out. A rustically charming hessian sack rather than a basket, it contained a teasing selection of baked goods including an especially exquisite bacon brioche. Served with a trio of butters (bacon and onion, mushroom and sea salt) all notions of sensible eating flew out the window.
The selection of main courses is dominated by fish – an excellent thing for those with a pescatarian penchant, though it a bold move to lessen the selection of meaty provisions. My guest went for the braised turbot – an artfully arranged plate of which the sauce was the star of the show. Not too rich, neither sweet nor acidic, it is another taste which is difficult to define (beginning to sense a theme here?). My main was similar in that the most succulent element was not the main component. The cutlet was rare and tender, but the shoulder topped with sheep’s cheese was an explosion of juicy, aromatic richness.
Needless to say, we ordered puddings. The sweet, slightly sticky carmelised delice d’or apple was perhaps the most straightforward dish of the entire meal. First place, however, must go to the simply-named dark chocolate. It encompassed no fewer than seven forms of chocolatey fare, all topped with delicate sheets of the hard stuff. Again, it is the differing textures which keep you going back for more. Or at least that’s what you can claim.
It being lunchtime, we sadly did not partake too much of the vino. Special mention must go the list, though, which is quite literally a book. As Fergus, the enthusiastic assistant sommelier, explained, they have glued their wine lists within the pages of a wine encyclopaedia so that you can learn more about the production as your make your choice. Eschewing all opportunities for educating ourselves, we opted for Gonzalo Gonzalo’s Gran Cerdo (‘Fat Pig’) purely for the name. It’s light, berry-like notes were a happy advantage.
Just when you are about to claim you can eat no more, the petit-fours are brought out to ceremoniously signify the end of the meal. Of course, the carrot cake, truffles and other bite-sizes goodies are wholly unnecessary, but still managed to find their way into our eager fingers.
That’s the thing about Tom Aikens Restaurant. Everything just has to be tried. And, as von Horne says, you might as well enjoy it with utter abandon.