Rochelle Canteen - Food Focussed On The Diner
……….Written Listening To - Penguin Cafe - A Matter Of Life
It was one of those special London weather days; glistening sunshine, the sky so blue it’s almost as retina singeing as staring straight into the sun, a gentle but gloriously cool breeze regulating everything to perfection. When London’s like this, it’s my favourite place to be. There’s some sort of anticipation in the air, an ease to it all. The busy streets seem quieter, London feels more open, the walls and buildings somehow feel lower and less intimidating. The shadows are the darkest, the breaks of sunshine the brightest. This is the London to fall in love with.
When you overcome the slight trepidation that you’re trying to enter through the tradesman’s entrance and you walk through the door into Rochelle Canteen, you can’t escape the tranquility, you’re not forced to immerse yourself in it, but you also don’t have a choice, the unassuming door built into the walls has shut and it almost feels like the door has blended back into the wall and disappeared. You’ve taken less than 10 steps and already, you can’t remember how you got in. I assume this is how Alice felt in her Wonderland. It’s a different world, a curious world, it’s total peace. There’s not much there but at the same time, nothing’s missing; something that would be apparent throughout the entire meal.
The tranquility is unavoidable. It’s instant when you make your way through what seems like a magical door. I feel like there's an almost spiritual force in the doorway when you enter. A force whose job is simply to lift all weight off your shoulders and to hang it by the door, you can collect it on the way back out if you need it. The shared garden, brilliantly sunny with glowing green grass and a few pub style benches dotted around is quite possibly the most perfect welcome to any meal. Try not to smile, it’s impossible.
The high walls that shut off the world have forged an oasis. An oasis that feels almost like another world. It’s as if we’ve walked through a door into a wonderland. It’s transformative and totally juxtaposed to the hectic streets of the trendy end of London just a few hundred yards away.
On the other side of the wonderland, there are some open doors to the brightest and lightest, most welcoming glass conservatory. A proper paradise, acting merely as a light rain cover for those days that maybe aren't quite so beautifully picturesque. The doors wide open creating an extension of the garden, a reminder that you’re still in that wonderland. Lightness is the theme. In the decor, in the air, in the service, in the atmosphere. Everything seems effortless and light. A curated simplicity that is anything but simple to achieve. It’s spacious without feeling lonely. It’s remarkable! Looking around always with my work head on, my mind is playing Tetris with the tables, fitting another 2 covers here, another 4 covers there. But from the moment you walk in there is a sense that this isn’t about the business, this is purely pleasure. The consideration is with the eater. It’s with the customer and their experience. A rarity in this game these days! There’s generosity and restraint at a remarkable balance.
The dining tables are large, there’s plenty of room and there’s no clutter. They are laid up with all the essential tools you need and nothing more. It’s not confused, it’s not complicated. There aren’t any place mats - but why do we need them? I know where I’m going to sit - the chair is there, my single knife, fork and napkin are there. My wine glass and water tumbler are there, along with my menu - that’s all I need. The only other items on the table are small pinch pots of salt and pepper - a demonstration of a restaurant and kitchen without much ego and a focus entirely on the diners' experience. The table has everything you need, nothing is superfluous. The dining tables are set for exactly what they are, to eat off. The food sets the scene, so there is no need for the complication of table decorations and it’s a complete breath of fresh air. The tables are clear, clean and light, like the wonderland, like the conservatory. They fit perfectly. There isn’t much there but nothing’s missing.
I can’t remember the last time I read a menu that was so pleasing. So easy to read, so concise and so easy to plot your lunchtime journey. You can see where the start and end points are but there are so many junctions to choose from along the way. Whether you want to share plates or whether you want to hoard your own choices, there is something for everyone. To be so concise while also offering so much choice is incredibly intelligent. It doesn’t force a single diner down the same road as anyone they are with. I struggle with our requirement to label everything in the food world, even the menu style. This seems to sit in its own world, a rare breed with its own label…….‘The Menu’.
I am at my happiest talking about food with my wife. The breakfast conversations about what we might have for dinner that night, a glancing thought about what we might cook for guests the following weekend or simply sitting at a dinner table considering a menu. We are so aligned with food. We never just choose, we curate. We share everything and collaborate to make sure we taste as much as we can. There is never a bad suggestion, nothing is off the table, no idea ever shot down, merely balanced with a counter offer. Eventually we hit the nail on the head and it just feels right. It curates the delicious journey we are about to set off on as much as it puts the reins on me and stops me from ordering one of everything. Something I genuinely suggested in this case and something my wife knows I was not joking about. This was probably the most enjoyable menu to toss to and fro. I found delight in discussing every nuance.
When we ordered I felt a big internal ‘PHWOOAAR’ as our journey was vocalised. Over the years, I have learnt that these sorts of noises are far more suitable to my internal voice than having a full Meg Ryan moment in the middle of a lovely restaurant.
I can’t think of another meal that made me feel so considered. My experience of eating seemed to be at the top of the list of priorities in this place. From the wonderland setting of the restaurant itself and the table settings, right through to every single mouthful of delicious food.
The bread was extraordinary. Sticky, chewy, almost heavy sourdough with the most toastiest of toasty flavours on the crustiest of crusts. It would be beyond delicious on its own but smothered with the delicious butter and a little sprinkle of salt from those magic pinch pots, my internal Meg Ryan fired up again. I should never be left alone around this bread. My wife has the most amazing amount of restraint with these things. I admire her for it so much, I copy it whenever I can and I’ve never regretted it, something I would do well to remember more often! I don’t eat much bread these days, my pesky gluten intolerance has put pay to my bread gorging days. Which has actually taught me just how special real bread is, and this bread is as real as you’ll ever get. I urge you to quit bread for six months, then go to Rochelle Canteen and order the bread - then just let Meg Ryan out right there and then!
During our menu discussions we ended up sacrificing one of the smaller plates (were they starters? Were they some of the dreadfully trendy small plates? Not really sure and who really cares?!) so we could enjoy all the sides with our main events. The smaller dish we opted for was set around confit garlic, goat’s curd and mint. A fearlessly simple combination packed with excitement. It arrived on another piece of that bread, this time toasted - I almost shot out of my seat. Apart from the effortlessly delicious nature of the entire dish what struck me the most was the generosity without anything overbearing.
This whole idea that you can strip things back to the essentials, be generous with those and serve a dish that comprises very little but misses absolutely nothing! It’s simple when you look from the outside but creating it is pure genius and so complex. There are some confit onions and garlic spread generously all over the goat's curd toast but the unexpected star of the show is the mint. It’s freshly picked and the leaves are left whole. Tossed generously in a vinaigrette to order, it’s so freshly dressed, the tart vinaigrette hasn’t had a chance to even slightly dampen or wilt the mint yet. The whole leaves allow you, as the diner, to construct each mouthful. Whenever fresh herbs are around, the temptation is always to smash, to chop, to sprinkle and scatter over everything. This mint is kept in its finest form. The diner can do as they wish. There is no intention from the chef in this sense.
I feel like I could write about this philosophy for days but it’s on show throughout the entire meal and the entire restaurant. In a food world where the temptation in the kitchen is to break things down, to make things smaller and subjectively neater; the decision is so often to deconstruct an ingredient, to then re-construct it in your own vision, only for the diner to then deconstruct your construction before reconstructing the de-construction of your construction in their own vision on the end of a fork, then shoveling the whole thing in their gob! Seems a little contrived when you think of it like that. Rochelle Canteen stands proudly against this. Seemingly leaving things in as natural of a formation as they can, preparing the food with the eater in mind. Leaving the decisions on construction vs deconstruction at the dinner table.
Nothing demonstrates this better than the lamb shank with romaine lettuce, a few capers, some raw peas and a delicious aioli dressing. The lamb is revolutionary in its simplicity; roasted in the oven until golden, crisp and just cooked enough. It doesn’t fall off the bone, it doesn’t come with a red wine and mint gravy! This is a celebration of a cut of meat the way it should be enjoyed. There’s plenty of fat and plenty of juice in this cut so it doesn’t have to be drowned within an inch of its life and cooked until it falls apart. It can be enjoyed with texture. Trying to create an unctuous softness is so often the name of the game when cooking slightly tougher cuts, an unnatural softness for this particular cut. An example as cooks, where we fight against the status quo of our ingredients rather than embracing their natural state. Rochelle Canteen seems to embrace the natural qualities of their ingredients in the most inspiring and accepting of ways.
There’s a comfort to chewing, there’s excitement in having to perform some light work in order to enjoy the spoils. Holding back the cooking, showing that magical bit of restraint to allow the meat to have its natural texture while allowing the eater to enjoy their work and ultimately their reward. I find this kind of cooking pushes me to explore what I’m eating a little more. I have to look more intently, I have to plan my attack, it's a thoughtful way to eat a cut of meat in a very natural way. It connects me with my plate.
The smell of roasted lamb fat coming off the lamb shank was as comforting and soothing as it was exhilarating. Sunday lunches of the past and happy memories were flooding back in my mind. The lightly charred but still crisp romaine lettuce, the very lightly cooked, possibly raw, peas, the salty pop of capers and the well balanced aioli provided the perfect frame to showcase and really highlight this incredibly well cooked lamb shank. The textures were as impressive as the flavours - something we could all do well to remember whenever we are in the kitchen.
Generosity is a common theme in my food thoughts. I think almost every cook would or should consider themselves to be generous. But generosity has to have restraint, and this is the balanced sweet spot all cooks should be hunting for. It’s the difference between good food and great food. The trout was an exceptional and magnificent piece of fish. It felt steamed, or maybe poached but regardless of how it was cooked, it was so unbelievably soft, rich and flavoursome. Everything you want an oily piece of fish like this to be. It was as generous in flavour as it was in size. Served swimming in a deliciously seasoned stock with some spring vegetables and asparagus. The vegetables were roughly chopped more than wastefully trimmed and immaculately diced, the way I feel that vegetables want to be chopped.
We ordered the Jersey Royals on the side. It was a considered decision, based largely on our instant agreement to order the trout dish. I was overjoyed to see the art of simply boiling a potato is far from lost here. It’s the ultimate comfort potato that no one will admit is their favourite way to eat them! The world seems to be desperate to roast or fry them; I want them the Rochelle Canteen way, boiled, smothered in butter and coated with a few fresh herbs.
That fish with those potatoes took me to a special place. Memories of home, my mum would butter some tin foil, wrap some salmon fillets and bake them in the oven until soft. Served with some boiled new potatoes and some butter on the table. The butter, ready for you to drown your potatoes to your own hearts content. A drowning that would bring both a disapproving look from my mum as well as a look of pride from the generous cook inside her. Just thinking about this dish now has brought another smile to my face - surely the best compliment a dish could ever receive. This is thought provoking cooking. It’s completely inspirational and to a certain extent, aspirational.
I dunked my final piece of bread into the remaining juices in the bottom of the bowl. A mouthful I won’t forget. All of that stock and fishy juice just waiting for me, that chewy, orgasmic bread ready to soak it all up and shove it right into my internal Meg Ryan’s mouth. Saving this bread was a rare demonstration of eating restraint on my behalf. A real achievement for me. I focus on instant gratification and devouring anything delicious as quickly as possible. My wife plays the long game and is always better off for it. I am learning, or at least trying to. I looked proudly at my wife like I was in Year 1 receiving my first ever certificate at a school assembly. She looked at me, a mixture of pride and pity, possibly wondering how a grown man could be so hopeless when it comes to restraint at the dinner table!
I find dessert is still largely an over complicated beast in many restaurants. People chasing ornate complication on plates. I am overjoyed that we all survived that horrendous period of dessert deconstruction. Everyone ‘taking inspiration’ from a classic dessert, focussing on the deconstruction but forgetting the all important reconstruction. It was an underwhelming experience, an underwhelming period for everyone. So many mundane mouthfuls of pudding, wishing each one was just a good old version. Classic desserts living disrespectfully on menus contained within apostrophes. Years gone by, I would have feared the word Pavlova on a menu for these very reasons. When you order this pavlova, it arrives exactly how your heart desires.
The most brilliant, light meringue, sat on a small amount of really rich eggy and sweet vanilla custard, swamped in whipped cream and finished off with some wonderfully tart stewed apricots. Cooked just soft enough to still be recognizable as an apricot and with hardly any sugar, they kept a natural, fruity tartness that allowed for more cream and meringue - the sort of deal I am here for!
My wife sat eating her scoop of rhubarb sorbet with another one of her mixed looks. One moment content watching my happiness at what had been put in front of me, another confused (possibly with a touch of disgust) as to where I was actually fitting this extremely generous dessert……’are you not full yet?’......In Rochelle Canteen, I am unsure that I could ever be full! So perfectly delicious, I will always be able to make room for more!
On the surface this tranquil, laid back and undeniably delicious wonderland is packed with simplicity. It’s stripped back to perfection and a simplicity that's so often strived for, yet so rarely achieved. Dig a little deeper and you find a complex philosophy set round a deep understanding of the ingredients they use with a desire to let the ingredients be the best version of themselves they possibly can be. It’s about choosing the right ingredients, at the right time, using them in the right quantities and preparing them in the best way possible all with the end game constantly in your mind, the customer.
It is a truly memorable and inspirational meal full of consideration and thoughtfulness towards the diner and the eater. A consideration that may seem obvious but its foundations are in a natural thoughtfulness that only comes from having a deep connection with food. It is so far from simple, I’m not sure it’s something you can even teach, it’s more of an inspiration. It comes from being a natural born cook, a joy giver, a sharer and first and foremost, an eater.
At Rochelle Canteen you get fed by brilliant cooks who love (and know how) to eat really really well.
