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Architecture Luxury People Restaurants

Bermondsey Larder London +

Dairy Air

Despite living a Cacklebean egg’s throw from The Dairy in Clapham for all eight years of its existence, we never quite made it to that renowned restaurant. Fortunately, sometimes you can repeat the past or at least extend a presence, for The Dairy has reopened as Bermondsey Larder, a shortish south London drive away. Dublin born co owner Chef Robin Gill trained in classical cooking at The Oak Room (once in the Hyde Park Hotel London) run by Marco Pierre White. He met his wife Sarah, who’s also now a co owner Chef, when they were both working at Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons (still going strong in Great Milton Oxfordshire) run by Raymond Blanc.

The Gills’ other enterprises include Darby’s, a New York style restaurant close to the American Embassy in Nine Elms, and Sorella, a neighbourhood bistro in Clapham. Fashion designer Zandra Rhodes trailblazed the rejuvenation of Bermondsey when she opened her Fashion and Textile Museum on Bermondsey Street in 2003. Its shocking pink exterior matches her shocking pink hair. The surrounding warehouses have all been converted now to apartments and workspaces. Bermondsey Larder is on the ground floor of a new mixed use development next to Newhams Yard off Tower Bridge Road. Meanwhile uses like nearby Vinegar Yard, a collection of prefab style eateries and bars, keep the area vibrant and constantly changing.

The restaurant’s airy interior is eclectic industrial with white painted exposed ceilings and polished concrete columns. It’s several times larger than the petite Dairy. A variety of tables, banquettes and bar seating is complemented by mismatched crockery. There’s a central tiled bar and metal framed kitchen hatch. The industrial chic reaches a zenith in the unisex bathroom with trough basins and factory taps.

Robin and Sarah’s aim is “to create memories” or sometimes “to create memory loss”, the latter presumably depending on the volume of Pebble Dew sauv blanc consumed. Their goal for The Dairy was “to create an experience as close as possible to dining by a farm or coastline a in central London with direct relationships to our beloved purveyors from the land and sea”. The same goal applies to their new establishment. The word “larder” has a comforting old fashioned feel to it, but while the duo’s is clearly well stocked, this is cutting edge cuisine.

The brief menu is divided into starters, small plates, large plates and puddings. Going vegetarian, we share potato and rosemary sourdough with smoked butter followed by broad bean dip, onion chutney and heritage radishes. The sharing continues with tartlet of grezzina courgette and Westcombe ricotta, then grilled English asparagus, Cacklebean egg and furikake. Cauliflower is the vegetable of the moment in London so we opt for a roasted one with coco beans, almond and sorrel. Whey poached loquats, natural yoghurt and seeded honey tuiles complete the gastronomic journey. SW4’s loss proves to be SE1’s gain.

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Design Luxury People Restaurants

Fu Manchu Night Club Clapham + Rosewood Hotel Holborn London

Opium for Mass

Fu Manchu Clapham High Street © Lavender's Blue Stuart BlakleyWhen King Lud plays chess … Until lately Clapham High Street was lookin’ a tad down at heel, a touch downmarket, a trifle unpalatable. The chattering classes first discovered it in the Nineties. Gnocchi was knocked back and dotcom bubbly guzzled in minimalist restaurants. Consuming consumé against an appreciation of a consummate command of line. That was, until they sniffed out Northcote Road and jumped one mile west and several notches north up the junction | property ladder. Clapham High Street went downhill. The clattering bells of St Mary’s cloud splicing spire, the only constant. Yummy mummies and faddy daddies retreated to the ‘burbs, tossed with lilacs and red may, blind t’ the unflattering stare of charity façades. Meanwhile multimillionaires’ rows, they became chocca. Now the High Street is doin’ a Blur, having a comeback, a stationary tour. Waitrose? Yep. Byron. Yes. Protest free Foxtons? Yeah. The Dairy and its monosyllabically subtitled menu (Bespoke; Snacks; Garden; Sea; Land; Sweet; Cheese)? Yah.

Fu Manchu Clapham North © Lavender's Blue Stuart Blakley

Awake, north wind, and come, south wind! Aspire to a cornucopian diet of multi layered Michelin starred musings. Rediscovered Clapham’s gone all Louboutin heel and Saturday farmers’ organic food market and sherry trifle on a plate. Yup. Even the gents have been gentrified. The WC conveniently next to Clapham Common Station’s been sanitised to become Wine & Charcuterie. North London’s got The Ampersand. South London’s got an ampersand. Thankfully there’s still a bit a’ danger lurking ‘neath the railway arches. We’re off to the hard launch of Fu Manchu for some moustachioed mischief and fiendish plotting with Lavender’s Blue new intern, blonde babelicious Bristolian Annabel P. “Life’s a beach. No make that a stage.” Quadruple doctorates aren’t a prerequisite. A lust for life is. We give good party. Fu Manchu attracts shady characters. Yep that’s us, we’re on our way. Time to play bridge and tunnel with our arch enemies in a deadly game of Cluedo. You don’t have to be in Who’s Who to know what’s what. But it helps.

Fu Manchu Clapham Launch Night © Lavender's Blue Stuart Blakley

Rosewood London Courtyard © Lavender's Blue Stuart Blakley

Calum Ducat’s Fu Manchu’s Events Manager: “It’s not a generic venue. When you enter Fu Manchu it’s like your own little world. Clapham’s secret. Las Vegas’ Tao Asian bistro and night club. In SW4.” A rim of light installations by Louisa Smurthwaite, beloved by Alison Goldfrapp and Grace Jones, periodically illuminates the exposed brickwork. In between it’s dark like the tents of Kedar. The tall, lean and feline waiter seductively suggests lovely steamed Tai Chi Bo Coy Gow (£5.80) and baked Wai Fa Chi Mar Har (£4.50) dim sum. What a devious mastermind. “That’s going to happen.” Duty bound we help ourselves to a portion or four. Pure evil. Immortally hypnotic cocktails infused with Chinese essence and Asian flavours as fragrant as Jeffrey Archer’s wife. The Kiss of Death’s (£9.50) liquid rejuvenation, elixir vitae. Pure genius. Mancho’s Mind Control’s (£10.00) peril incarnate. Pure fear. Spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices. DJ Andrew Galea takes to the decks. Time to play the Sax Rohmer. Yo. Let’s indulge in some insidious dancing; monopolise the floor, a game of risk, human Jenga, conscious coupling, connect two, crimes of passion and, eh, rumbustious rumblings (trains overhead anyone?), by the watchmen of the walls, under the unhaggard midnight sun. Pure lust.

Rosewood Holborn © Lavender's Blue Stuart Blakley

From a Victorian opium den to an Edwardian five star. Money can’t buy happiness but it can buy dinner at the Rosewood Hotel. If it’s not on your radar you need to quickly recalibrate. The hotel’s Holborn Dining Room is where it’s all going on, a macédoine of next seasonness, fashion fastforwardness. A recipe for excess. Forget trays or envelopes or woe betide by hand; bills in books are just so now. Rosewood might be a chain, but more Tiffany than Travelodge. If you could perfume glamour, it’d come up smelling of Rosewood. Money can’t buy dinner with the Right Honourable David Lammy in the Regency Carlton House Terrace (truffle arrancini, kale Caesar salad, asparagus wrapped in grilled courgettes and summer pudding washed down with Laurent Perrier Champers, Châteauneuf du Pape 2005, Mâcon-Lugny Louis Latour 2011 and Château Raymond Lafon Sauternes 2010). Pure gold. Rosewood London © Lavender's Blue Stuart Blakley