Restaurants: The Butcher's Hook, Fulham

The Butcher's Hook, 477 Fulham Road

There are few things in life I love to hate more than Chelsea Football Club. Had I known anything about The Butcher’s Hook when I selected it, more or less randomly, from The Good Food Guide 2011, I likely would have reconsidered my choice. That would have been a shame, because this is a superior gastropub.

If you are as ignorant as I was, here’s a little background: The Butcher’s Hook sits at the corner of Fulham Road and Holmead Road in Fulham, directly across the street from the Stamford Gate (east) entrance to Chelsea FC’s Stamford Bridge[1] stadium. In 1905, the pub on this site was called The Rising Sun, and it was here on March 10 of that year that Henry Augustus Mears and Frederick Parker founded Chelsea Football Club. Indeed, The Butcher’s Hook hosted the Chelsea FC centennial celebration shortly after it opened in February 2005.

Wonderfully, none of this history is apparent in the pub. We arrived for a Saturday lunch to find the main room large, clean and inviting, with simple stripped-wood floors and furniture, white walls and natural lighting muted by sheer white curtains. The tables are well spaced, giving the room an open and relaxed ambience. 

Space for the pram, and a nice cabernet, too!.

The bar was pouring two cask ales, both from Greene King; my IPA was served at the perfect cellar temperature and carbonation level. The Butcher’s Hook emphasizes its wines, however, having been named the Best Wine Pub for 2008 by The Publican. They do have a large and varied wine list, with many selections also available by the glass and 500 ml carafe. The menu suggests wine pairings with several of the starters and mains.

The Butcher’s Hook describes its menu as having a “strong British slant,” and perhaps many of the dishes have roots in traditional British cuisine, but chef Jacky Lelievre’s French roots are plain to see in the preparations.



Delicious mushroom & gorgonzola pie.

 As we often do for lunch at a new restaurant, we chose to sample and share a variety of starters. We were pleased with all four; three of the four were excellent. The standout dish for me was the mushroom and gorgonzola pie; the mushrooms were musky and meaty and blended perfectly with a restrained, creamy gorgonzola; the pastry crust was flawlessly light and airy, vanishing in one’s mouth to leave a hint of texture and flavor. The confit pig cheeks were rich and tender, the crispy onions and lentils accompaniments giving it depth and range at each end of the flavor scale. The beer-battered whiting goujons[2] were light and crispy and delicious. Only the Old Spot port and sage terrine wasn’t exceptional—but it was still quite good, particularly with the caramelized onion marmalade. Even the basket of sourdough bread that preceded the meal was deliciously tart and crusty and notably superior.

The one flaw in the meal was dessert. Heidi had an own-made hokey pokey ice cream. The flavor was bland—on par with a generic supermarket vanilla—and the texture icy.

I have complained about gastropub service in the past; I have no such complaints about The Butcher’s Hook. The room was rather crowded by the end of our lunch, with one very large party occupying much of our server’s time. Nevertheless, she remained responsive and helpful throughout our meal, and the serving staff generally was quick and friendly.

Overall, we had a very positive experience and would happily return to The Butcher’s Hook—its unfortunate connections to Chelsea FC notwithstanding!!

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[1] The name of the stadium has nothing to do with the famous Battle of Stamford Bridge in 1066, which occurred nowhere near here. If you are curious how the stadium got its name, the story is on the Chelsea FC website.

[2] “Goujon” is, essentially, an upscale restaurant word for “fish finger.”

On Hampstead Heath: Golders Hill Park

We begin our exploration of Hampstead Heath in Golders Hill Park, 36-acres of manicured lawn and formal gardens appended to the Heath’s northwestern tip. Laid out in a rough triangle between West Heath Drive and North End Road, the Park is demarcated from the forested West Heath by a wide pedestrian path called Sandy Road. Technically, nearly all of the Park lies outside of Hampstead in the Borough of Barnet, but we don’t let that bother us too much.

History
The Park was not always part of the Heath. The Golders Hill estate was created in the 1760s by businessman Charles Dingley, an associate of William Pitt the Elder (namesake of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and father of the long-serving British Prime Minister, William Pitt the Younger). A later owner, John Coore, hired one of the great English landscape architects, Humphry Repton, to landscape the property.

Golders Hill Park in relation to Rosecroft Avenue (bottom right) and the West Heath



Golders Hill Mansion, c. 1905

The last owner of the estate was Queen Victoria’s surgeon, Sir Spencer Wells. After Wells died in 1897, the estate was put up for auction. No one bid the reserve price, however, and a second auction was held in 1898. A committee of prominent locals raised £35,000 to buy the estate to save it from development, but the bidding exceeded that price.  Soap magnate Thomas Barrett (who is credited or blamed, depending on one's view, for inventing modern advertising) purchased the estate for £38,000 on his own account, and then sold it to the committee at that price. The park—with its Victorian mansion still intact—was opened to the public in December 1898.

The mansion stood until 1941, when it was destroyed by a German parachute mine.

Golders Hill Park Today

Golders Hill is an exceptional children’s park. There is, of course, plenty of space for play. There is a large sloped lawn in the Park’s center, dotted with aged oak trees and perfectly graded for safe-and-sane winter sledding. Much to Heidi's delight, there are two playgrounds, one reserved for children under 5. Hopefully, we will still be living here when Jack is old enough to use it.

View from the walled garden toward the bandstand

There is also much to explore in Golders Hill. On the West Heath Drive side of the Park, a hilly path follows a brook down to a water garden, culminating in a large pond—imaginatively called Swan Pond—that serves as home to  several swans. On the North End Road side of the Park is a lovely walled garden with an arched bridge, a small pond that is home to a number of ducks and geese, and several sculptures. A café now stands on the site of the original mansion; by all accounts, it serves decent Italian food and very good own-made ice cream. There is a bandstand that, in the summertime, is a venue for live music.

Between these features are, for many, the Park’s two main attractions—a large enclosure that is home to a dozen or more deer, and a small zoo and aviary that houses a butterfly house, a huge owl and some very cute small mammals, including several  coati and four lemurs.

Here are some photos from two afternoons at the Park. Push play to enjoy the show:

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References:
A. Farmer, Hampstead Heath (1984).

Exploring Hampstead: Frognal, Pt. 3

Redington Road/Templewood Avenue

This final entry on the Frognal area of Hampstead focuses on Redington Road and Templewood Avenue, both part of the Redington/Frognal Conservation Area. Redington Road is one of the longest streets in the area, curving generally westward from Frognal past Heath Drive, then turning back to the northwest to terminate at the Heath. Templewood Avenue branches off from Redington, just west of Heath Drive, then parallels Redington’s path up to the Heath.

The Frognal end of Redington Road was among the earliest developments in the area, dating from the mid-1870s. The Heath end of Redington and Templewood Avenue contain some of the grandest and most expensive homes in the Frognal area, many worth substantially more than £10 million.



1 Templewood Gardens

1 Templewood Gardens

As far as I know, there is nothing architecturally or historically significant about this home; I just like it. Unlike most of the homes in the area, this is on a large, open corner lot—two corners, in fact, one on either side. There are no walls, hedges or trees to block your view. This is now the residence of the Malaysian ambassador to the U.K., one of three ambassadorial residences that I know of in the Frognal area.



15 Templewood Avenue

15 Templewood Avenue

Looking at the photograph, you might think this a charming house built of pretty plum-colored brick with a nice tiled roof and attractive rusticated quoins, perhaps worthy of its Grade II listing. You’d be right, but you’d also be missing most of the story.

Take a look at the bird’s eye view below (from Bing.com). Yep, that enormous mansion is the same house, most of it invisible from the street because the house was built at a right angle to, rather than facing, the road. Two of the other houses featured in this post are similarly configured (St. John’s Vicarage at No. 6 and The Wabe at No. 66, Redington Road). I guess architect C.H.B. Quennell hadn’t heard the term “curb appeal” when he designed this house in 1905.

Bird's Eye View, 15 Templewood Avenue

The original house has been modified and expanded, of course—for example, I rather doubt that the massive two-level solarium running along the back wall was an original feature. A 2001 newspaper article described the house as “a four-storey, 8,200 sq ft home on a double plot, with 9/10 bedrooms . . . .” Not mentioned, and not visible in the photograph (but visible from the street, if you peek over the wall and through the hedges) is a children’s playhouse that some less fortunate might consider a fine family home.

2-4 Redington Road

2-4 Redington Road

Development of Redington Road began in 1876 at the Frognal end with, among others, this “wonderfully subtle” pair of semi-detached houses by architect Philip Webb.  Both are listed Grade II*, indicating that they are considered “particularly important buildings of more than special interest.”

At present, No. 2 is covered by scaffolding, so I have not seen it. The street view to No. 4 is obscured by foliage, but you can see it angle-on from the driveway. It is a lovely Arts and Crafts-style house of yellow brick, with a vine-covered brick arch over the entry. (The photograph is another bird’s eye view from taken from Bing.com.)

6 (“St. John’s Vicarage”) and 6½  (“The Cottage”) Redington  Road



6 (St. John's Vicarage) & 6 1/2 (The Cottage) Redington Road

A study in contrasts. The “unrepentantly Gothic” No. 6—to the left in the photo—was built in 1876 by T.K. Green as the vicarage of St. John-at-Hampstead Church. The ground floor used to have stained glass showing John the Baptist and a picture of the church. Although the stained glass is gone, the house still has a distinctly ecclesiastical tone, from the turret to the peaked entryway to the leaded glass.

No. 6 1/2—the modern house to the right—is called “The Cottage.” It was built in 2007 and designed by architect John McAslan. When the developer put it on the market for £6 million in 2008, the sales agent pitched it not as a primary residence, but merely as the buyer’s “place in London” that he or she could “just lock up and leave.”  A newspaper article about the house is available here.

16 Redington Road (“One Oak”)

16 Redington Road (One Oak)

This lovely listed home was designed in 1889 by a founder of the Arts and Crafts Movement, A.H. Mackmurdo, and according to British Heritage, was “designed in an innovative style for its date.” The interior is “noted to retain many of Mackmurdo's stylized and richly molded doorways, skirting boards, cornices and fireplaces.” I haven’t seen the interior, obviously, but even viewed from the street, the house exudes a palpable, country tranquility.

27a Redington Road

27a Redington Road

As you walk up the hill on Chesterford Gardens toward Redington Road, this one will stop you in your tracks—it is utterly unlike any of the box-of-brick homes around it. Built in 2005, this is the signature piece of Monahan Blythen Hopkins Architects. It was built with recycled or certified sustainable timber, is insulated with sheep’s wool, and has a solar-powered water heater. I must admit, though, that the copper barrel roof with the porthole-shaped window always reminds me of the submarine ride at Disneyland. The ground-to-roof window displaying a spiral staircase also is interesting. Additional and some interior photos of the house are available here, and a newspaper article touting the house as an “Eco Home” is available here. (Although the address is on Redington Road, the house fronts around the corner on Chesterford Gardens.)

39 Redington Road

39 Redington Road

Another house with a copper-domed turret, and a pretty fancy one, too—the house was aptly described as “well-embellished” in the Redington/Frognal Conservation Area statement. The house is on a corner lot at Redington and Oak Hill Avenue, so there are good views from two sides. This is the front view, showing the plaster panels in the eaves and a large plaque bearing the house number. The Oak Hill side offers a view of a balcony to the rear of the house, a two-storey bay window and a plaque bearing the date of construction, 1903.

54 Redington Road

54 Redington Road

No. 54 and its neighbor at No. 56—both designed by Quennell and built in 1908-09—are similar in style, and both are listed.  I chose No. 54 for inclusion here because  the vertical lines created by the quoins, the symmetrical two-storey bay windows, and the central line from the entry to the three-light dormer, give the house a sense of grandeur disproportionate to its size.  The early 18^th Century-style scallop shell hood over the entry—an original feature—also caught my eye.

66 Redington Road (“The Wabe”)

This is another house that doesn’t present its best face to the road, but is well worth a look all the same. The house was designed and built in 1910 by William Garnett, an educator and an ardent fan of Lewis Carroll, for himself. The name, “The Wabe,” is derived from Jabberwocky:

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

 The design of the house strives to be similarly fanciful, consisting of an eclectic mix of styles and elements. You can get some sense of this from the street view, from the juxtaposition of the country-cottage entry, the sharply angled extension to the right ending in an six-light bay window, and what appears to be a crenellated tower rising from the middle of the house. The Google Maps view from above shows an irregular polygonal house, roughly arranged around the south-facing views. If any of the original interior features are intact, this is one house I’d love to tour.

  66 Redington Road (The Wabe)

81 Redington Road

This imposing Neo-Georgian structure is described by Wade as “architecturally significant,” although it is not listed. The house was built sometime between 1920 and 1927, and was designed by architect Sir Edward Maufe, most famous as the architect of Guildford Cathedral. Although situated among houses of similar size, this one conveys a gravitas its neighbors fail to muster.



81 Redington Road



For references, see Part 1 here.

Additional reference: Anderson, Modern London Houses: Camden: Hampstead, available at http://homepage.mac.com/doive/houses/hampstead.html (accessed 22 January 2011).

Restaurants: The Old Bull & Bush

Tucked away in a charming corner of North End between Golders Hill Park and Sandy Heath, The Old Bull & Bush bills itself as a “country pub and eating house.” In truth, since its renovation in 2006, The Old Bull & Bush looks and feels a lot more like an urban restaurant than a country pub—and a mediocre restaurant, at that.

The place certainly has historical pedigree. There has been a pub on the site since 1721, and the current building is Grade II listed. Artists William Hogarth (1697-1764), Thomas Gainsborough (1727-1788) and Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792) all drank here. The pub was the subject of a hit song called “Down at the Old Bull & Bush” before The Great War.

Yet one gets little sense of this history from the modern interior, and on a recent Sunday visit there was nothing about the place that felt like a “pub.” The bar has some period features—an open fireplace, an exposed beam running the length of the room, a plaster arch over the bar, a few well-worn wooden tables and benches—but they are offset by such jarring modern juxtapositions as silver metal tables with gray felt-covered armchairs, insipid charcoal drawings of wine bottles covering the walls, and cow-skin rugs reminiscent of the sort of roadside souvenir stand in the American west that hawks faux Native American jewelry to hapless tourists. The staff were promoting Bloody Marys rather than cask ales; they offered a wine list, but no beer menu. Only two casks were on, both London Pride.  A return visit on a weeknight proved better for the beer—they were pouring three cask ales, all in good condition—but the atmosphere still felt more like a modern restaurant bar, not a 300-year-old English pub.

A family Friday in the OB&B bar

Judged as a restaurant, The Old Bull & Bush gets mixed marks. The dining room has a pleasant ambiance: the black wooden tables are well spaced and provide a nice colour contrast to the light floor and walls. The indirect lighting provides a soft, comforting glow.  We sat in a cushioned banquette built into a bay window that was spacious and comfortable.

Some of the food was good. I had a side dish of wild mushrooms sauteed in garlic, and they were fresh and meaty and delicious. Our appetizer was a well conceived dish of scallops set on a bed of cold mango and mixed vegetables; the scallops were fresh and sweet, and I enjoyed the contrasting textures and flavours of the fruit and vegetables. (I thought the dish called for a better sear on the scallops, but reasonable minds can differ.) And, unexpectedly, the espresso drinks we had to finish the meal were excellent, and proved the highlight of the meal.



Ample signage, methinks

On the other hand, our main courses were very disappointing. Heidi, ever searching for mussels to equal those we had in Ballyvaughan, got a bowl of mussels so grossly overcooked they had the texture and flavor of a soapy kitchen sponge. My pan-seared duck breast was poorly executed, and turned out tough and flavourless.

The service, too, was spotty. Our server was friendly, quick and attentive—when she remembered that we were there.  Diverting her attention away from her telephone proved to be a challenge.

Overall, although there were high points, this was a disappointing dining and drinking experience at this price point.

Restaurants: The Holly Bush



The Holly Bush



There is no place quite like The Holly Bush.[1] Although only meters from Hampstead tube station, the pub is tucked away on a quiet cul-de-sac at the top of Holly Mount, accessible from Hampstead High Street only by a steep stairway or an uphill climb along a narrow road.  As a result, it is an urban pub with a country-pub feel.

The building is worthy of its location.  The pub was built in 1643 as the stables of a house later owned by painter George Romney; shortly after Romney’s death in 1802, the stables were converted to a tavern, and pints have been pouring here since 1807. Artist John Constable gave an art lecture in these rooms in the early 19th Century; physicist Michael Faraday debated, by gas light, the utility of electricity. It is rumoured that Samuel Johnson and James Boswell drank here, and that the ghost of a long-departed waitress still takes the occasional food order.

The Holly Bush is now a Fuller’s pub, pouring a range of Fuller’s products on five casks, including the ubiquitous London Pride and the richer, more flavorful ESB. The drier Harveys Sussex Bitter also is available, on a sort of permanent guest-beer basis.  I have been told that The Holly Bush pours the best pint of Sussex in London; I look forward to trying to verify that claim.

The food is generally very good gastropub fare, but it can be inconsistent.  I have tried only one starter, a terrine of foie gras with chutney, that I found very pleasant for the price point.[2]  My braised venison shank was excellent—served on the bone, the meat was flavorful and tender, and the sauce thick and rich.  The steak-and-ale pie is superior, and it looks as good as it tastes.  The fish pie is smokey and creamy, packed with fresh, firm chunks of salmon and haddock. The sides and desserts have been uniformly good—the roasted vegetables in particular were sweet and cooked to the just the right texture. 

Enjoying a recent Sunday roast at The Holly Bush

On the other hand, I have had a roasted lamb breast that, although beautifully presented, was very chewy and fatty. Similarly, I found the Sunday roast sirloin tough and under seasoned—although I must disclose that both my wife and daughter disagreed, and happily gobbled up their portions.

I have been quite pleased and rather disappointed with the service, sometimes simultaneously.  For example, on one crowded Friday evening during the Christmas season, we booked ahead through Toptable, but The Holly Bush never received our reservation. Nevertheless, and despite being fully booked, the staff quickly found us a table and seated us for dinner. But then, once our food orders were taken, our server seemed to disappear—I cannot imagine how much money has been lost by The Holly Bush and other gastropubs because servers infrequently (or never) return to take additional drink orders while diners are waiting for their food. If a pub is going to adopt a restaurant table-service model and charge restaurant prices, its diners have every right to expect restaurant-quality service.

And one more small complaint, while I’m at it—can someone please turn down the heat?! The place is unbearably hot, in both the front and back rooms, far too often.

That said, I have been very pleased with my experiences at The Holly Bush, and it has become our default local option for both a pint and a meal.  I recommend it highly.

[1] For my impressions of The Holly Bush as a pub-crawl destination, see my post here.

[2] I qualify my evaluation of the foie gras by price point because, perhaps unfairly, I cannot help but compare this dish to the transcendent terrine of foie gras de canard served at Thomas Keller’s Bouchon Bistro in Beverly Hills, which is the most delicious thing I have ever eaten.

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Exploring Hampstead: Frognal, Pt. 2

Lower Lodge, Branch Hill

Lower Lodge, Branch Hill
Continuing on West Heath Road into Branch Hill, you find this gem. It sits across from Branch Hill Pond (now gone, but immortalized on canvas at least four times by John Constable). This house had me with its name, the turret and the moss; add in the balconies, roof terrace and entry, and it seems to me the perfect writer's cottage. And that it was--left-wing Hungarian poet and writer Alfred Reynolds lived here from 1980 until his death in 1993. If I had £3.25 million burning a hole in my pocket, I might be tempted to put in a bid.





Branch Hill Lodge Gatehouse

Gatehouse, Branch Hill Lodge

One of the advantages that might accrue if I bought Lower Lodge (above) is the possibility that, one day, Stefan might live nearby in this neo-gothic beauty. This was, as the name implies, the gatehouse of stately Branch Hill Lodge, a grand old mansion that dates back to the 1730s.  The Lodge was sometimes called Bleak Hall and Judges Bench House, both due to its long association with lawyers of questionable repute.  Lady Byron also resided in the Lodge, shortly after separating from her husband in 1816. The gatehouse was added when the Lodge was remodeled in 1868 by architect Samuel Sanders Teulon, better known locally as the designer of St. Stephen's Church in Rosslyn Hill.

Today, the Lodge itself is a rather fancy retirement home, and its lower grounds are the site of some of the most expensive public housing ever built in England.  But the gatehouse survives, and we frequently pass it by on our way to the Holly Bush. Every time we do, I think it's the perfect house for Stefan: cozy, but with unquestionable character.

108 Frognal

108 Frognal
This ivy covered charmer is one of the oldest houses in Hampstead, dating from the early 1700s. Together with No. 110 (Grove Cottage), it was a pub for much of the 18th Century. More recently, it was home to prima ballerina Tamara Karsavina. Oh, and Sting used to live next door, at No. 110.


100 Frognal

100 Frognal

Built in 1891, this is a Victorian house that goes pretty much balls out. The cupola is an obvious extravagence, but hardly visible in my admittedly poor photograph (an iPhone on an overcast winter afternoon) is the ostentatious brick and tile work and the flamboyant panel bearing the date of construction. Better sunny day photos of this house are available on these interwebs, here and here.

99 Frognal (St. Dorothy's Convent) and 95 Frognal (Bay Tree Cottage)

I didn't like my photos of these two Grade II listed houses, so I've given you photographs of the house numbers and names instead. No. 99 was built around 1740; the house served as the Sailors' Orphan Girls' Home in the 1850s and 1860s. During the latter part of World War II, from 1942 to 1944, General Charles de Gaulle and his family lived here. The property was purchased by the Sisters of St. Dorothy in 1968, and it currently serves as "a boarding house [for young ladies, providing] a homely environment where guidance and advice assure the well being and comfort of the students."

Bay Tree Cottage at No. 95 probably was a gardener's cottage when built in the early 19th Century. It is a charming little cottage with prominent bay windows, set back from the street amongst copious greenery. You can see a photo of the cottage itself here.

To be continued.

For references, please see Part 1 here.

Exploring Hampstead: Frognal, Pt. 1

With Heidi and Jack out today with a friend and Lucinda off doing whatever it is Lucinda does, Jazz and I had a morning to do a bit of local exploration.
The Crofts are part of a larger area on the western downslope from Hampstead known as Frognal. The area is bounded to the west and south by Platt's Lane and Finchley Road; to the north by West Heath Drive and Branch Hill; and to the east by Frognal (no lane or street or avenue -- just Frognal), which meanders down from Hampstead Village to Finchley Road, terminating near the Finchley Road & Frognal Overground Station.

The first settlement in Hampstead parish was in the Frognal area, probably where Frognal and Frognal Lane now meet. The name "Frognal" most likely was derived from the great number of frogs who dwelt here when it was marshy meadow and farmland. Substantial development in the area did not begin until the mid-1870s, after the Finchley Road & Frognal and Finchley Road rail stations opened and the toll gates on Finchley Road were taken down.

Jazz and I struck out to cover the area as best we could, recording some of our favorite bits. This is a survey, not an exhaustive catalog; it includes only things that I found interesting and that I could photograph without trespassing; and I have included only buildings that originally were intended as family homes (no churches, public buildings, or purpose-built flats). These and the many lovely homes and estates that I omitted because they were inaccessible or insufficiently distinct from their neighbors you will have to discover on your own wanderings. (Due to the size of the post and the number of photographs, I have broken it into several parts; future installments will cover properties in Branch Hill, upper Frognal, Redington Road and Templewood Avenue.)

8 Heath Dr

8 Heath Drive
The college I attended when I lived in London in 1985, Westfield College of the University of London, was just down the street from this house at the corner of Kidderpore Avenue and Heath Drive (and only a few hundred yards from our home in Rosecroft Avenue). Westfield College merged with another college in 1989, however, and relocated to East London in 1992. The site has been occupied in part by King's College; the rest has been covered with a large, dull block of overpriced flats.

There is nothing of historical or architectural interest in this house, and I didn't give it much thought when we first walked past. But the view back across Heath Drive from Bracknell Gardens caught my eye. As you will no doubt surmise from some of the later entries, I am a sucker for turrets and cupolas, so a three-storey turret topped with a cupola will always put a house in the running, even (if the cupola is in desperate need of a new coat of paint).

16 Bracknell Gardens

The Huxley House, 16 Bracknell Gardens
Blue plaques denoting that a famous or historical figure once lived in a house are common in Hampstead. Indeed, the local paper once ran a cartoon showing a quizzical tourist debating whether to photograph a plaque stating, "The only house in Hampstead where no one famous ever lived." Most of the people so honored were, of course, British cultural or political figures, many from the 19th or early 20th centuries, whose names mean nothing to me. Not so with this house--although among the least interesting houses I saw today from an architectural perspective, I made a special point to pass by, for this was the house of Leonard Huxley and his brood of geniuses.

Leonard, of course, was the son of T.H. Huxley, a biologist and contemporary of Darwin, who publicly championed Darwin's ideas (even as Darwin himself shied away from doing) and who published a paper advancing the theory that humans evolved from primates eight years before Darwin published The Descent of Man. T.H. also was a religious philosopher, most famous for coining the term "agnosticism."

T.H.'s son Leonard, who lived in this house until his death in 1933, was best known for his multi-volume biography of his father. But his children were his major legacy: his sons included the Darwin Medal-winning evolutionary biologist Sir Julian Huxley; writer Aldous Huxley, most famously author of Brave New World; and Nobel Prize-winning biophysicist, Sir Andrew Huxley. A remarkable family.

No. 2 Greenaway Gardens

No. 2 Greenaway Gardens
Heidi likes the stately, manicured mansions of Greenaway Gardens. I feel they tend to be a little too well manicured and lack character. But there are exceptions, including No. 2. The protruding wing on the right and, especially, the ivy-covered front differentiates this from most of the clean-brick, rectangular houses on the block.

No. 10-12 Frognal

Spender Residence, 10 Frognal
Another building more interesting for its former occupants than its architecture. Poet Stephen Spender grew up in No. 10 (to the right in the photograph), describing it in his autobiography as an "ugly house in the Hampstead style, as if built from a box of bricks." Spender attended school just a few yards uphill on Frognal at University College School. (Actor Dirk Bogarde was a fellow alum of the school.)

Since we are what we are, what shall we be
But what we are? We are, we have
Six feet and seventy years, to see
The light, and then resign it for the grave.



28 Arkwright Road

 28 Arkwright Road
From the dragon atop the weathervane to the listed boundary walls, this is one of my favorites. It deserves a much better photo, but this was the best I could do with my iPhone.

The house was built in 1891 and was designed by Robert A. Briggs. It is a corner house on a deep lot, giving the house a substance the photo does not convey. Nor does the photo capture the Queen Anne-style features on the side of the house, or the fine detail of some of the brickwork.

Perhaps it's time to find some film for my Canon SLR.

No. 66 Frognal

66 Frognal
Not everything in Frognal was built 120 years ago or (to paraphrase Spender) from a box of bricks. There is also some excellent modern architecture to be seen here, as well.

In Frognal Close is a group of neat modern houses designed by Sigmund Freud's son, Ernst L. Freud, in the late 1930s. More famous is Sun House, tucked away at No. 9 Frognal Way, designed by Maxwell Fry in 1935. It is one of the few Grade II* listed houses in the area ("particularly important buildings of more than special interest").

The most notorious modern house in Hampstead, though, is No. 66 Frognal. It was built not in the late 50s or early 60s, as you might expect, but in 1938, only three years after and three doors down from Fry's Sun House. Designed by architects Amyas Connell, Basil Ward and Collin Lucas, the house was derided as "the greatest abortion ever perpetrated" at the time, but it is now "hailed as the best pre-war modern house in England," and is a Grade II* listed building. You can see a photo of the rear of the house here.

No. 9 West Heath Road

9 West Heath Road
Skipping geographically to stay with the modern theme, we next visit the James Gowan-designed No. 9 West Heath Road, called by some the finest modern house in Hampstead. Built between 1962 and 1964, the exterior has been described as austere and "Brutalistic." Indeed, the house does seem cold and alienating from from the street. But the child's toys visible in the middle of the central column of windows gave the house enough humanity to catch my eye.

No. 13 West Heath Road

13 West Heath Road
West Heath Road, as its name implies, directly borders the Heath, so it is no surprise that some of the largest (and gaudiest) homes are located here. In my opinion, No. 13, completed in 1895, manages to be spectacular without crossing into excess.  I have already noted my fondness for turrets, and this house has a good one, with its conical roof and deorative panels. I also like the clover-leaf chimney stacks, and the heavy columned entry and balcony that anchors and centers the design.

Interestingly, only the boundary walls and gate pillars of this house have been listed. Several of the pillars bear the word "Lipa" (visible in the photo) which one would expect is the name of the house, except that another pillar on the Redington Road side bears the word "Ashmount."

Continued in Part 2 here.

References:
1, Wade, The Streets of Hampstead (3d ed. 2000).
2. Denford, The Hampstead Book: The A-Z of its history and people (2009).
3. Erlington, et al., "Hampstead: Frognal and the Central Demesne" in A History of the County of Middlesex, Vol. 9: Hampstead, Paddington (1989), pp. 33-42, available online at http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=22635 (accessed 16 January 2011).
4. British Listed Buildings Online: Hampstead, Greater London, http://www.britishlistedbuildings.co.uk/england/greater+london/hampstead (accessed 16 January 2011).

Restaurants: Bye, Hi Sushi!

We realized last night that we hadn’t been out for sushi for over a year due to Heidi’s pregnancy and our move to London, and we determined immediately to put an end to that.  I wish we hadn’t.

For us, finding decent sushi at reasonable prices is one of the great joys of dining out.  Back when we were courting, Heidi and I often made a point of catching the happy hour special at Paradise in Hermosa Beach; I still yearn for their Rock ‘n Roll.[1]  And, of course, it was at his first sushi all-you-can-eat night that John Binford famously pronounced, “How can I know if I’m full if I don’t know what the hell I’ve eaten?”

First Impressions

Hi Sushi on Hampstead High Street

So it was with a great deal of hope last night that we visited the Hampstead location of Hi Sushi, which operates seven restaurants in London, for their all-you-can-eat buffet. The space was small but inviting, with bright white lighting and walls, light natural wood floors, frosted glass or laminate tables, and brightly colored cushions.  It is divided into three sections, with normal booth seating in the front and rear sections, and in-floor seating in the middle.  By “in-floor seating,” I mean exactly that—the floor has been raised and holes have been cut to accommodate the tables. Patrons sit around the tables on cushions set on the floor, with their legs beneath.  (See photo below.) This gives the visual impression of diners seated, Japanese style, on the floor, but is more comfortable for westerners accustomed to chairs.  Getting into the seat, however, is still a bit awkward for big fat guys like me.

The Service

We were four (three adults and baby Jack) and had not booked a table (travel tip: always book ahead at a London restaurant, if possible!), but they quickly found space for us at a shared, in-floor table. Score one for the service. But while Lucinda, Jack and Heidi took their seats, I was sorting the pram outside, and when I went to join them I was brusquely challenged by a small, sphinx-like woman garbed in black—one of the staff, I later discovered—who demanded to know whether I had reserved a table. I will say only that it is possible to make this inquiry politely, and that perhaps sphinx-woman might try harder in that regard.



The "in-floor" seating at Hi Sushi

Having passed the gatekeeper, I sort of half-slid, half-rolled into my seat to have three tacky laminated food menus (and a rather sparse drinks menu) tossed onto the table in front of me. This was a persistent problem throughout the evening.  Because the tables were so low to the floor, the staff is forced to bend down or squat to reach the table top.  This is particularly difficult when carrying armloads of plated food, resulting in the staff pretty much dropping or tossing things onto the table rather than placing them gently down.  The couple sharing our table, for example, saw their long-awaited, carefully arranged platter of sushi scattered when the server put the it down edge-on and then let it drop clattering to the table top. I swear one of the salmon rolls executed a perfect Fosbury Flop into the soy sauce.

We glanced at the menus and quickly put them down, because they said nothing about the all-you-can-eat buffet. We waited (and waited, and waited) for our server to return; when she did and we explained that we wanted the buffet, she reacted (in Lucinda’s words) as though we were second-class citizens.  Which was quite odd, as everyone in the entire restaurant was having the buffet.  In any event, she took our drink order and promised to return to explain the buffet, which (eventually) she did.

An aside about the English use of the word "buffet": As far as I can tell, it does not denote here that you're going to grab a plate and serve yourself from a bunch of chafing dishes. Both "buffets" we have been to in England involved traditional table service. The only difference from a regular restaurant meal was that the menu was limited and (theoretically) we could get more food if we wanted it without paying more money. But more on that below.

The many all-you-can-eat sushi nights that we’ve been to in L.A. have all had a consistent, simple structure: You pay a set fee per person, and you can order as much sushi as you want for a fixed period  of time, usually 90 to 120 minutes.  Drinks and a la carte items are extra, and if you order a bunch of sushi you don’t eat, you might get hit with a small surcharge.

In contrast, the buffet at Hi Sushi is governed by a complex and arcane set of rules, and by the time our server finished explaining them to me, I was glad for my legal education and 20 years of experience—particularly as our server lost patience with explaining the rules to the entire table, so she charged me to explain them to Heidi and Lucinda.

Anyway, if I understood correctly, the rules go something like this:

You pay £16 (about $25) per person, plus service charge, and you get two lists.

List #1 contains about a dozen items of hot food (tempuras, teriyakis, spring rolls, etc.). The table can order up to 7 items of hot food, but you only get one shot at it—you don’t get second portions of anything, and you can’t place a second order to get items that you missed out on the first time around. So, I was cautioned, consider carefully whether you want the chicken teriyaki or the chicken katsu, because there’s no going back once you've made your choice.

Our List #2, with the unfulfilled second sushi order

List #2 contains sashimi, nigiri sushi, and rolls. The table can only order 5 of these items at a time, but you might get a second shot at it, because you can order 10 of the items up to 3 times. The other 8 items (the "Extra Bonus" items) can only be ordered once, but unlike the hot food, they don’t have to be ordered in the first go—you can order additional previously unordered single order items in your second order or third order. (Did ya get that?)

And apparently there’s a time limit, too, but the server didn’t really explain that part.

So we place our orders and they promptly bring out some miso soup and, a bit later, some edamame (both off our hot food list), and then the server comes to tell us that because they’re so busy our sushi order is going to be delayed 30 minutes.

We look around. The place isn’t that busy.

So about 4 minutes later, they brought out the entire sushi order.

And that was pretty much the last time we saw our server. We prepared a second sushi order—Heidi calculated that the meal would only be an accetable value if we ordered at least  four more items, some of which had to be sashimi—but no one came to take the order, and we were sufficiently indifferent to eating more indifferent food (see below) that flagging down a bus boy of the speeding bus boys seemed more effort than it was worth.

The Food

The food was not terrible. But at these prices, "not terrible" is not nearly good enough.

The hot items we ordered were, without exception, mediocre to poor. I have had far better food at the Mitsuwa supermarket food court for less than half the price. The miso soup lacked the rich umami flavor and mouthfeel that is the whole point of miso soup; the chicken katsu was dry and the katsu sauce unremarkable; the chicken teriyaki was bland and a bit stringy. The Japanese spring rolls were decent, with a crisp exterior and hot, crunchy vegetables inside.

The sushi was somewhat better than the hot food, but it was not good value.  The fish was fresh enough and the rolls were well constructed with fresh ingredients, but neither the negiri nor the rolls were especially flavorful.  The nicely textured seabass negiri was perhaps the best of a mediocre lot. Heidi thought the undisclosed use of imitation crab in the California rolls was a major negative; I cannot really complain about that, as the classic California roll has always used imitation crab.

The Beer

Finally, a note about the beer.  As far as I’m concerned, the highest and best use of a Japanese light lager is to accompany sushi.  Last night, I drank Asahi and Heidi drank Kirin.  The beers were £3.50 for 333 ml (12 oz.).  That’s pretty expensive, but I might pay £3.50 for a good Japanese beer to accompany a good meal.

Note that I said Japanese—if you have ever had a Japanese light lager from Japan, you will know that they taste different than the licensed products widely available in the United States and, it turns out, in the U.K.  The Japanese versions (or so I am informed) are slightly higher gravity and higher alcohol, and to my palate taste richer and maltier than the licensed products.

The “Asahi” I had last night was brewed not by Asahi in Japan, but by Shepherd Neame in Kent. The “Kirin” Heidi had was, in fact, brewed by Heineken in Edinburgh. I can tell you unequivocally that I would not pay £3.50 in a pub for a 20 oz. pint of any Shepherd Neame or Heineken beer.  I see no reason why I should pay £3.50 for a 12 oz bottle in a restaurant.  Again, not good value.

So, bye, Hi Sushi. You weren’t the worst I ever had, but there’s no reason to give it another go.

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[1] Don’t consider that a recommendation—Paradise has fallen far and hard over the years. Based on the visible lack of basic hygiene when last I was there, they should probably change the name from “Paradise Sushi” to “Paradise Now”.