The Bell and Brisket, Soho

I'm not trying to make a habit out of it, honest, yet I can’t help but notice that my blogs frequently extend beyond the boundaries of linguistic decency. Two thousand words might be fitting for an obituary to Marie Colvin but possibly not for a post that can essentially be summarised as “Pitt Cue Co good” or “Newpub in East London bad.” In the end, it turns out that there are things in life more important than eating, even if people like me are generally loathe to admit it. So in the interest of not punishing reader’s attention spans – and the fact that a ‘waste liquid removal’ is presently encamped next to me outside The Euston Tap – here’s an exercise in marginal brevity.

The Bell and Brisket is a new salt beef pop-up run out of the The Queen’s Head in Soho and it is very good indeed. At £7.50 for a sandwich or around a tenner including chips, it’s not the cheapest sandwich in town, but it is one of the best and a reasonable price for a sit-down lunch: an overly generous pile of juicy, well-seasoned brisket spilling out of one of the UK’s better attempts at rye, topped with liberal amounts of gherkin and an ample spreading of English mustard. American mustard, of course, would have been preferable as it is mild enough to be applied in industrial quantities, but after the first bite I honestly forgot about my lone compositional quibble. 

The pub itself was a more than ample venue for London’s latest great pop-up: a small but well-kept establishment that featured a very good guest ale and a decent take on the capital’s latest drinks craze, the pickleback. Not quite up to the standard of Pitt Cue’s dangerously moreish beetroot brine version, but nevertheless a thoroughly enjoyable if potentially inappropriate lunchtime digestif. Of course, it should really have been a bourbon rather than Jamesons, but possessing the shamrock streak that I do, I’m hardly one to complain.

There's no doubt that I'll be back. Not only is the simple concept of a proper sandwich in a proper pub such a rarity on these shores, but salt beef is an especially hard number to master, especially if New York delis are used as your benchmark. Perhaps pop-up formulas are the remedy because these guys got it seriously right. The last eye-opening meat-and-bread combination I got in a pub was at The Jeremy Bentham, one of my former employers, where the Kiwi landlady knocks out an audacious meatloaf, mustard, and beetroot number. Thankfully, it looks like she’s finally got some real competition in the centre of town. Here's to hoping there's more to come from intrepid sandwich artists like The Bell and Brisket this year.

The Hunter S.: Fear and Loathing in De Beauvoir Town

There’s been a lot of excited Tweeting lately about the opening of a new pub, The Hunter S., in De Beauvoir Town, so as I was heading down that way to check out the new Honey Drizzle cooking school in Hoxton, it seemed natural to pay a visit. Given the concept, I was expecting to love it: Hunter Thompson was one of the first literary voices I connected with, his work helping to instil in me the idea that journalism was about more than just reporting three-car pile-ups. While I’ve long since given up my futile attempts at gonzo writing, I’m nevertheless instinctively pre-disposed to like a pub in his honour. What a surprise, then, that I’m writing my first negative review. It’s not just that I can’t really see what the fuss is about – I actually actively dislike the place.

Let’s start with the beers. Beer is the single most important thing about a pub. Great beer can be found in run-down establishments generally frequented by borderline sociopaths and featured on Danny Dyer programmes, while bad beer can be found, well, pretty much everywhere. To be fair, the beer at The Hunter S. wasn’t exactly bad - there just wasn’t enough of it. Not counting the myriad lagers, each one as predictable as the next, there were two cask ales available on the night and space for a third. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, as having three well-kept, regularly changing ales is more than enough to satisfy the grumpy old man in me. Unfortunately, the ales were both Sharps. You know - the Cornish brewery that was alright way back when but then got bought out by Molson Coors and started appearing as the token ale in every second-rate boozer in the south of England? 

Having a contract with a multi-national brewer (or the distributor for a multi-national brewer) means that these two hand-pulls are unlikely to come up for air very often and, given the close proximity of breweries like Redemption and East London Brewing Co, it’s hard to fathom why they haven’t opted to go a more local route. Likewise, having imported lager isn’t deplorable in and of itself, but how many trendy Asian and continental imports do you really need? A couple would suffice and free up space for more interesting concoctions like those emanating at an alarming rate from Aberdeenshire.

That said, my Doom Bar was OK. Fairly bland as usual but it seemed to have been kept reasonably well and didn’t offend. Still, it’s a lazy ale choice and what’s even more unforgivable than underestimating the curiosity of the punter’s palate is overcharging them. In this, The Hunter S. seems to be aspiring to new heights. £1.90 is a lot for a half of ale. Doing the maths, that would beg the question as to whether they are charging £3.80 for one of the most bog-standard, samey cask options on the market. Maybe not, as many pubs inflate half-pint prices, a practice the government might want to look at the next time they’re having a whinge about the Great British Binge. It’s not just mean, it’s irresponsible to penalise people who are trying to take a more responsible approach to drinking.

The Market Porter & Brindisa Grill, Borough

On my most recent trip to Borough Market, I found myself in a reflective mood, contemplating some of life's big questions. Chief among these: is there a better real ale pub in London than The Market Porter? Regulars at The White Horse in Parson’s Green will surely stand up for their local. My boss at The Jerusalem Tavern might well draw up a rap sheet laden with various treason-related charges. And sure, The Euston Tap, Rake Bar, and Craft Beer Co all offer a more diverse and eclectic drinking experience. But for a classic pub atmosphere and an immense selection of rare ales that you’re unlikely to find anywhere else in a major metropolis – a recent visit turned up Harvey’s Bonfire Boy, which I’ve previously only ever encountered in the brewery’s hometown of Lewes...on Bonfire Night – it’s hard to argue with. But I sincerely hope you do, as I always love an excuse to go check out a new boozer.

And also: where do you find the best sandwich in London? Quite possibly at the Brindisa grill just over the road. Open lunchtime Tuesday through Saturday, it serves chorizo sandwiches and only chorizo sandwiches: sweet red piquillo peppers contrasting with the spicy, top-quality sausage still sizzling from the grill, everything stuffed into a soft toasted ciabatta roll and brought together with a simple drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and finished with some crisp rocket. There are various, semi-comfortable places to perch outside the MP where you can drink and munch your meaty masterpiece free from persecution, a really attractive proposition in June if not December.  If it came smeared with a good glob of alioli, it would almost certainly top the John Montagu list. It might do anyways – at least until I finally get my hands on one of Mark Gerveux’s creations. Or until someone says: "Hang on you pleb! What about that place that serves the amazing bánh mì out in East..."

The Market Porter and Brindisa Chorizo Grill, Borough Market, Stoney Street side, SE1