Everything but the Pickles

A very long day of getting lost in Piccadilly and Soho. Londoners will tell you that this Soho in the West End is named for a Tudor-era hunting cry. I didn’t cry in Soho yesterday (well a little bit when it started raining again) but I definitely hunted. 

First, I went back to Fortnum & Mason to finish what I started exactly four years ago, when a bomb scare necessitated an immediate evacuation of the store, ending both my intense conversation with a lovely retired hair stylist named Philip whom I recognized from my beloved Come Dine with Me on Channel 4 and my future plans for a basket full of cheese truckles. 

Sat in the same spot and ordered a smoked haddock Scotch egg and triple-cooked chips. The egg was a surprise, with a spiced rice coating and curry mayo on the plate; a chunk of haddock was nestled cleverly under the sprouts. The fries were the best I’ve had in London so far. 

Then upstairs to the gin distillery in search of Amalthea gins and the Cornish smoked anchovies I’d read about. 

But further questioning revealed them to be Portuguese, so I bought some from Dorset instead. 

Then on to Soho for the greatest snails after reading about them in the book I’m taking all year to finish.

 

A snail is not a wonderful thing to photograph.

Truffle danish. The snail butter was so potent with garlic that I couldn’t tell this was truffle at first and had to ask the server. A nearby table of women who had all stated at the start of their meal that they were allergic to truffles overheard and became very dramatic about there being truffles in the bread, despite having already eaten theirs without incident. 

They got their meal for free.

Then met Cait at the Quo Vadis Club for Wednesday martini happy hour and a sublime smoked eel sandwich with horseradish mayo.

Then on to Poon’s Wontoneria at Carousel.

We tried two kinds of wontons and most of the other dishes, but it was an off night and everything but the pickles underwhelmed. Especially after that eel sandwich.

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