Rotterkhana

If this website is all about celebrating what makes Britain great, then it’s a bit late to mention the humble ruby. Arguably, that should have been week one.

And well, when you take the most delicious spiced foods from one of the nation’s best restaurants and mix them with one of the places, I told Connolly was a must visit… What do you get?

Rotterkhana, or Noble Rot x Gymkhana. 

A one day Lamb’s Conduit Street’d meeting of minds. 5 courses of deliciousness, 5 courses of our finest British ingredients and some supreme skill. 5 courses which left me in need of a long walk through crisp autumnal London & a couple (5) Bar Termini negronis to process what just happened.

Noble Rot is the bar from the people behind the magazine, they call it a shrine to the vine. I think of it more as the non wine obsessives drinking manual of choice, with its humour, beautiful photography and interesting insights it is aimed at those who know their way round a wine list and those that don’t but are intrigued. Just not at the bores, because wine bores, well...

The bar is the same, unpretentious, welcoming and just edgy enough. O’Toole & Burton sat in the corner with platers of Whitstable oysters and black velvets, followed by slip sole in smoked butter and chicken leg in sauternes sauce. 

A place to eat alone, as two or in large groups. It doesn’t matter, you leave feeling fortified and inspired, gazing at the Bloomsbury sky and invariably getting lost on the way to the tube.

Gymkhana, less the talking shop of bedraggled country mothers, more the local Mayfair curry house and I mean that with love. Since its launch in 2013, it has been a mainstay of the best restaurants list and a celebrity haunt. Don’t let that put you off because the charm was of course the beautiful food. A re-energised vision of what we believe ‘curry’ to be, and, a glorious welcome. A place I always felt you could just be you and greatly missed since the tragic fire earlier this year. 

So when, Instagram announced a one day extravaganza, I had to be there.

Having booked and waited the intervening weeks, I walked on over from Soho, taking the short cut, which should have meant being early, but who knows how, I arrived bang on time. 

Noble Rot is a simple set up. Tables outside, bar at front, and restaurant at back. 

You feel like you’re in Paris but a slightly trippy London version. 

Led through to our table, and whilst stripping off the countless layers which come with living out of town, aperitifs. A black velvet for me, because simple cocktails are the best, but only work if they are greater than the sum of their parts. They must elevate the ordinary, into something special. 

It’s good gin & tonic, decent whisky and soda or this, Guinness and champagne.

The booze is of course integral to the Noble Rot experience, but a wine list without flash, just good stuff. For lunch, the house Vinho Verde does the job, a sophisticated reminder of summer just gone and miles away from the pile them high and drink them cheap usual green wine suggested to British holiday makers. 

With a little flourish, course one, three small plates. 

Rock oysters in jaljeera with boondi on top, just enough citrus and peppery spice, with slight sweetness from the chickpea, to feel your palate wake up and tune in. 

Crunchy, soothing and enticing aloo tokri chaat, The grated potato snapping like fresh McCoy’s crisps with pops of pomegranate, yoghurt and spiced vegetables. 

Wild rabbit achari masala sat atop of crisp chicken skin, deep rabbit tang meets Simon Hopkinson’s roast chicken.

The best three plates of food I’ve eaten this year. 

Well that was until the star. Because as much as Noble Rot is about wine, it’s also about their slip sole. This time cooked in ghee, spiced with curry leaf and ginger podi. Elegant and questioning, it is the sort of dish you close your eyes and in complete silence eat slowly. 

The first half was modern British cooking at its finest, innovative and respectful. I could eat on repeat three times a week. 

But, like all skilful artists, what followed was an about turn, something which left you wanting more but satisfied. A return to perhaps what would be seen as a slightly more traditional meal, although one which showcased the wild produce around us, from red partridge a true sign of European integration. This time cooked in a spiced jammy sauce, rich in tomatoes. 

Followed by wild muntjac biryani. Muntjac are cute, and a constant presence in my village. But this properly hot and moreish dish, has me hallucinating each time I see one across the fields. 

Plates cleared, the maître d’ came over for a chat before bringing pudding. I’ll confess, falooda is new to me. A mix of vermicelli, fruit and dairy in various forms. It acts as a palate cleanser and offers a variety of textural contrasts, the saffron kulfi with sweet William pear sat on a bed of noodles. It makes sense in the eating and like the dishes before, poses questions.

Question’s which necessitated a walk back through London, ending in Bar Termini where, perched on table by the door, the pink pepper of several negroni ‘superiore’ enhanced discussion. 

Then home. In a past life, the walk back would have taken me north, rather than south to Waterloo. Down Old Compton Street and depending on my mood up one of the intersecting roads, sometimes, Greek Street, where on the right you passed the left Gay Hussar, which next year becomes Noble Rot Soho. 

Glass of tokaji anyone?