Wagamama

While traveling, locals can direct you to some cheap eats that, for better or for worse, you would not have discovered otherwise. Wagamama in London is one such place.

After months of pleading from some British friends, I finally found myself taking a seat at one of the long wooden tables in the Covent Garden location. The pan-Asian noodle restaurant has an extensive menu covering everything from ramen to rice. A server whizzed by, asking if we had dined before. I hadn’t, which didn’t seem to matter, because everything was happening so fast and, before I knew it, I ordered as if I had thrown darts at the menu. Our waiter scribbled some gibberish on our paper menus before scurrying off.

Soon after, deep-fried pieces of something arrived at our table with a sesame/soy dipping sauce. After taking a bite, I concluded that this was chicken that I was eating, meaning we ordered the tori kara age for £4.60. The fried chicken pieces tasted exactly how they sound. They were simple, inexpensive when split among three people, and a fun finger-food to start off the meal.

The deep-fried duck dumplings (£5.45) arrived next. The breading on the gyoza was a little heavy, but you could have put anything in that spicy cherry hoi sin sauce and it’d be fantastic.

Then, a filet of grilled salmon, drizzled with teriyaki, served over teppan fried soba noodles landed in front of me (£11.00). After being told is was mine, I started to dig in.

Each dish must be placed in the proper context. Bare in mind that this restaurant is a chain serving affordable Japanese fast food. With that said, the dish was fine. I suppose I was expecting more sauce, more oil, more fat. That came with the Chicken katsu curry.

The chicken katsu curry (£8.95) was perfect in the sense that it was creamy, saucy, and fattening. I finally understood what had brought us to Covent Garden that day—sliced pieces of friend chicken breast, topped with a mound of white rice and smothered in a fantastic pool of creamy curry sauce. The type of curry?—the fast food kind. Delicious.

         

wagamama

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Hakkasan

Tucked away from the bustling streets of central London, Hakkasan is camouflaged into the small dead-end street of Hanway Place. As if its exclusivity had yet to be established, the black-carpet entrance is guarded by an employee standing solidly with a clipboard and the intent to intimidate.

After being turned down at around 9pm on a weekday, I decided to make a reservation. The elegant, candle-lit glass stairway leading down to the restaurant was worth the wait. The dining room was nothing short of stunning. A wall of thin wooden planks placed in various geometric shapes held the occasional white lamp as it lined the main seating area. White tables surrounded by black leather chairs were minimally dressed with the essentials—no tablecloth.

The fried homemade pumpkin tofu was too odd to not order. Stacked like pyramid bricks, the blocks of tofu were garnished with dried chilies and a shower of tempura flakes. The combination failed to be as bizarre as expected, with meager traces of pumpkin. All in all, I was disappointed that the tofu tasted, quite simply, like tofu. I suppose one could make the argument that, seeing as I am not an avid tofu follower, I walked right into that one; however, when you see homemade pumpkin tofu on a menu, you don’t think, you order. And, for a little over 14 US Dollars, I had hoped that this stack of tofu would make me a believer. The creativity was there, but the execution was lacking.

Of all the entrees we ordered, I’ll show you the highlights, as I was too intimidated by the stern-looking staff and the overall atmosphere to attract too much attention to myself by taking excessive photos.

The grilled Chilean sea bass in Chinese honey was a table favorite. The baked honey created a thin, crunchy glaze that coated the two filets. Topped with a mushroom tempura, the dish displayed vibrant golden red colors, however the flavor combination failed to be as cohesive. In isolation of the mushrooms, the sugarcoated sea bass was delectable.

When we ordered the Jivara hazelnut bomb, we questioned whether the menu would be more enjoyable to read than eat. We were forced to shamefully swallow our doubts once a rice-crispy-coated ball seated in a light pool of milk chocolate and swirled with a fruit-flavored gel dusted with pop rocks arrived at the table. Yes, wow. I’m not sure how I felt about all the flavors combined with the hazelnut ice cream interior, and, frankly, I don’t care. When you put pop rocks on a plate, all bets are off. It’s difficult to disagree with the sentiment that there’s a pretty spectacular situation happening on this plate.

Dining at Hakkasan is a production from doorman to dessert. Once you’ve been there, you’ll feel like you share a kinship with fellow diners—bankruptcy—but, with price in mind, I will venture to say that Hakkasan did live up to the hype. So, if you have money to spend, I know Hakkasan would love to take it off your hands.

Hakkasan

8 Hanway Place

London
W1T 1HD

+44 (0) 207 927 7000

Dinner
: Sunday-Wednesday 
6pm-11.15pm
     Thursday-Saturday
6pm-12.15am

http://w3.hakkasan.com/hanway-place

Some Old-Fashioned Non-Salsa Karaoke

The other night, Ariel invited me to go salsa dancing with some people from her program at Mestizo: Restaurant Tequila Bar. I haven't worn high-heels since I've been in London, but in the world of Latin dance, you either go big or go home, so I laced up my most menacing-looking heels and wobbled out the door. 
The venue was only about a ten minute walk from my dorm, but those ten minutes felt like an eternity to my feet. I finally understand why they mix salsa dancing with tequila.
We arrived to find a rather empty underground bar scene, so we decided to eat dinner in the restaurant upstairs first. While waiting for our table, we went to the bar for drinks, and you better believe this tequila bar's menu was a force to be reckoned with! I sat next to Kelsey, one of Ariel's roommates. Her and I decided that we weren't even capable of reading the list in its entirety, so she covered up the right side of the menu with her hand and we just read down the left.

The options were still overwhelming and I was too indecisive, so I resorted to ordering the oddest-sounding drink I could find. I don't remember what it was called, or even what was in it -- I suppose that's the sign of a good drink -- but I believe there were some crushed strawberries combined with a mixture of chilies, creating what tasted like a Tabasco Sour Patch Kid. As everyone choked as the drink hit their lips, they asked me if I liked it. The chili infusion burns as it goes down, which makes it too painful to like, too awesome to hate, and too intriguing not to finish.

Once we were seated, we ordered immediately. Everyone seemed to decide on the more basic Mexican dishes found in the appetizer section of the menu, except for Dan, who ordered one of the restaurant's Moles. His dish definitely won for Best Plating. Kelsey ordered the Quesadillas-Empanadas, a dish whose second half we all seemed it ignore until it arrived at the table.

They were indeed empanadas and only empanadas, so I think some menu clarification is in order.
And finally, my dish:

The Mexican Jackson Pollock -- as vibrant with flavor as it was with color. It was basic and delicious and, yes, there were beans. The toppings fully coated the plate, leaving no naked chips -- a nacho epidemic that Mestizo fortunately knows how to ward off.


By the time we finished eating, the salsa bar downstairs was only open for another hour or so. We decided to ditch the dancing and find a place to perform some serious karaoke. Everyone wanted to find a place to regroup and plan out our next destination, so I took them to a bar near my dorm, cleverly titled "The Bar." It was really crowded relative to the two other times I had been there and made up about a third of the population.


There was a lively bar scene,

obviously some great dancing,

and, as fate would have it, karaoke.

This generous stranger asked me to sing "A Whole New World" with him -- an offer I couldn't refuse. Little did I know that this "amateur" singer sounded like he wrote the song himself, but I still stand by the fact that I made him look good.

Italy tomorrow! Arrivederci!

Touristy Travels

As a visitor of London, there are just certain things that need to be seen. We played our part as the typical American tourists by visiting some of the London sites, and, given my interest in history, I was obviously thrilled. Actually, I was quite excited after I got some sustenance. Thank you to my handy Italian sandwich shop!

Next to my dorm is a truly authentic Italian bistro -- and most likely cafe, although I was too eager to read that far down the menu. Hoards of Italian friends and family always fill up the small joint. I think of them as props, adding to the whole experience. Served on freshly baked breads, Italia Uno's traditional Italian sandwiches remind you just how special simplicity can be. 

I ordered what looked like the mother of all their sandwiches: three different meats, cheese, home-made sun-dried tomatoes in olive oil, eggplant, pesto, love. I think the grease-stained parchment paper explains it all. Or the fact that we resorted to chowing down on the platform of the tube station because we couldn't wait until we were seated.

After making a complete mess on the tube, we arrived at the Tower of London. Five surprising finds and two letdowns: 

First, the Tower of London is less of a tower and more of a fortress. In fact, that's exactly what it is -- an old royal palace that takes hours to navigate. Second, if you alert the clerk at the ticket counter that you have no desire to make a donation to the Tower, then you'll receive a cheaper ticket that is not advertised on the price list. Evidently, they automatically add a donation into every price. What wankers!
Third, visitors are able to view and test out King Henry VIII's toilet.

Fourth, evidently Swarovski makes embellished guns for royalty. Whoever believes in gun control has obviously never tried a 9mm in amethyst.

Fifth and finally, I discovered the Church of Holy Fat Palate.

This ceiling oddly resembles a molding my orthodontist once took of the roof of my mouth.
The letdowns were much more shocking. First, when viewing the Crown Jewels, you can neither take photos nor fragments of any jewel with you. And most disheartening of all, I think I may have finally found the novel of my dreams, but it was unfortunately locked behind a pane of glass.

Cameron and I later ventured to St. Paul's Cathedral.

Making a quick trip to the Cathedral's toilets so that I could wash some spilled tahini sauce out of my shirt, we managed to get sufficiently lost on the cathedral floor before hiking up to the Stone Gallery, then the Dome, and finally the Golden Gallery.

The trek up the stairs was like a cross between an old episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark? and a reoccurring nightmare I used to have when I was five.

The majority of the steps were open enough so that you could have some room to breathe and pretend as though you had an idea of the remaining distance to the top. 

The hard part came when the stairwell narrowed, and we couldn't see beyond the person in front of us. Suddenly, a cold wind rushed down the corridor, and we were reminded of our height. Our excitement picked up with the breeze until we finally found the light at the end of the tunnel.

The view was amazing, and the hair styles were even better.

The wind at the top was incredible. We could barely see with all the hair flying everywhere. We tried to take a picture of it -- the crazy hair, I mean --in the reflection of a window. This fellow traveler made it into the shot because, like I said, my vision was impaired.

It took us a few minutes to realize that we hadn't arrived at the absolute peak. After wandering in circles, we found yet another stairwell that took us to the top. Somehow, at the highest level of the dome, the air was completely still. The view was of course outstanding and made for another romantic excursion for Cameron and Paige.

Chocolate Smoked Salmon Sandwich

Once I'm in Borough market territory, I do consider myself a master of navigation, so much so that I decided to venture out to some of the surrounding cafes and shops. The first store I passed, Rabot Estate, sold everything chocolate, including sandwiches, and that little temptress of a store steered me straight to the smoked salmon and chocolate toastie with cocoa nibs.

Upon opening this modern twist on a Chinese takeout box, I couldn't help but appreciate the authentic chocolate fingerprint smear around the outsides. Oh yea, this baby was for real. Atop a vintage beer-barrel-turned-cafe-table, I tore open the box to reveal my prize.

Perhaps not the most gorgeous item to ever come out of a takeout box, but she had a hidden charm to her. My senses were a bit confused, picking up aromas of bittersweet chocolate mixed with fish, but I refused to let that deter me. This was going to be delicious. The arugula was a little unexpected, but surprises were welcome -- let us not forget what I ordered here. 
I took my first bite and instantly tasted the rich chocolate. I didn't pick up the salmon immediately, but the smell permeated through the sandwich--not like a smokey fish smell, but more like fishy fish smell, the type you don't want lingering around your chocolate. The whole thing was a little off-putting, but I refused to let it go down like that, so I sunk my teeth in once again. 
Now the arugula was joining in on the dance. For those of you who are unfamiliar with arugula, it is a bitter green that is wildly unpopular, and this sandwich was not helping its case.
For a moment, I grew legitimately angry that this chocolatier would actually sell a sandwich like this to human beings, but, surprisingly, I still want to go back. I can't leave any chocolate stones unturned.

2 Stoney Street
Borough Market
London
SE1 9AA
http://www.rabotestate.com/index.html

Borough Market: take 2 and 3 and....

Nothing can keep me away. I even walked to the market by myself last Friday without any sort of map or online route finder -- which was an experience within itself as I somehow wound up on a highway that was by no means pedestrian-friendly. Following vacated sidewalks and construction signs, I stumbled upon a building of King's College. Nice campus you've got there...

The most outrageous part about Borough Market is that I seem to go almost daily (that's not outrageous, that's just to be expected), and I still discover entirely new worlds of food with each visit. For instance, this empanada stand must have sprouted out of the ground since my last visit. And with the variety of fillings, you can try something new each time, and I plan to.

I somehow found yet another sausage station, but this one was cooking up something different.

I think I ordered the wild boar sausage, but I honestly couldn't tell you with certainty. There were so many options, and, when it came to ordering, everyone else seemed like an exotic sausage veteran, so I just became overwhelmed. I was so clueless that when it finally came time for me to order, I simply pointed to the one that looked the best on the grill. Whatever it was, it was the right choice.

But if you're in the mood for something a bit more familiar, then the Borough's got you covered.

Yes, that is a mountain behind that man's elbow, and yes, it is made up of cheese. This station is all about toasted sandwiches stuffed with nothing but layers and layers of shredded cheese. They will also make you a plate of potatoes coated in their melted cheese, but they seem to do it in the most inefficient, labor intensive way. These large, metal heaters are installed, inside which the master chefs and cheese carvers place half of a giant wheel of cheese. After the heater has melted and browned the flattened part of the cheese wheel, the entire cheese wheel is taken out of the heater, and the melted edges are scraped off and onto your potatoes.

And if you like oils, look at this keg lineup. It's like the frat party of olive oils.

You can taste, choose, and bottle up whichever flavors you like. Or, if you're in the mood for something sweet, make your way over to meringue heaven:

Or, my personal favorite which I can never seem to pass up, the chocolate-covered nut and dried fruit bar.

This station pours chocolate over everything from hazelnuts to dried bananas. They recently added a new milk-chocolate-covered honeycomb to their selection which is superb, but my favorite is still their chocolate covered almonds dusted with cinnamon. The best combination is getting a scoop of these bad boys in the same bag as another chocolate-covered treat. Then, you shake the bag so the cinnamon dusts everything with its bittersweet goodness.

Then, Cameron and I ran into these mega frying pans filled with different curries. 

The curries had brilliant color and smelled incredible, but after viewing it neighbors, I think curry may be the one food we will never try.

Hanging next to these oversized pans were freshly killed (I'm assuming fresh, but it's hard to tell these days) rabbits. They were bloody, covered with flies, and tourists still insisted on taking pictures with them. One man even went up and touched one in order to really make a memory. As Cameron is not only a huge fan of bunnies but also a vegetarian, we left the scene immediately to go get her a drink, and boy did we find it.

The market had a huge selection of wines in addition to an even larger selection of beers. The beers were arranged by country, and some had really beautiful bottles that resembled champagne. Many of them were also flavored, and Cameron picked out a bottle of raspberry beer.

But if you haven't yet acclimated to the British culture of starting your alcohol consumption at noon, you can make your way over to the Natural Smoothie Company's booth for some freshly squeezed smoothies and juices.

 Aaah, the delicious taste of success. Again.