Day 0 in London.
Dinner at The Sea, The Sea, a seafood wholesaler and market that supplies a ton of great restaurants in the UK.
They have a tiny (mostly) raw bar in Chelsea.
“Martini, Martini”
“Chewy Octopus & aromatic glaze” that lived up to its descriptor. Your mouth says no. Your heart says no.
Your brain says “swallow”.
The glaze was thick and snotty, flush with coriander and a spiced fish stock that tasted familiar, like Emirati baharat.
Not a good dish.
Best anchovies ever, served rather confrontationally on their own, tin to plate, without accoutrements. The server wouldn’t tell me the brand, even though the company sells tinned fish and I would have happily bought some.
A really irritating practice.
Anyone who suffers “Santa Fe Foodies” has seen this done on Facebook. “Here are the best tacos that you can’t enjoy because I’m not sharing where I got them.”
Ok Scrooge, small businesses thank you.
Raw razor clam special with enoki mushroom and nasturtium. Mild and sweet.
The best dish of the night.
Seared dry-aged trout with crispy skin and pickled daikon.
Roasted monkfish was ok, but the juicy nuggets of mushroom in this scallion and garlic XO butter were great.
Tiger prawns made using the same fish stock as the octopus with a lot of added ginger. Big ginger.
An intimate study in the stubble of ginger.
“Smoked eel & carousel cucumber”. They forgot this twice, and it showed up at the end like an awkwardly timed cigarette.
My dad spent the entire dinner ducking from Arabs he thought he knew and didn’t. That’s because we all look the same.
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