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St. John
26 St. John Street, London, EC1M 4AY
Video Reviews for St. John
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Professional interview and interior views
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Reviews for St. John
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This is a great place, and if you have the need for a quick snack and drink, then pop in early evening for some Welsh rarebit, and a glass of red. Really nice atmosphere too.
2 found this helpful
I love the bar at St. John more than anything. I like its no-frillsness. The service is always informed and friendly, and I like how over the years, I generally have seen the same few people over and over again.
When I'm in the bar, I normally just get a pint of Greenwich Meantime and a slice of Welsh Rarebit. The Welsh Rarebit is deliciously unctuous, cheesy, and spicy. You should order one. Soon.
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Illustrated Critique:
http://foodsnobblog.wordpress.com/category/restaurant-reviews/st-john-restaurant-reviews/
Text-only Critique:
Whilst reflecting on the previous evening’s meal at St. John, embellishing on the notes I had made mid-mouthful, it came to my attention that I had not left a tip when settling the bill. I must admit, having idly inured to seeing that now-standard syntax, 12.5%-discretionary-service-charge-included, so often, when it came to paying, I literally did not give the gratuity a single thought. An honest mistake, n’est-ce pas? Well, it was a mistake that would return to haunt me that very day…
This aforementioned reflection had made me hungry and memories of that lovely posset in particular stoked within me a pining for pudding(s). Now, I do think it a little particular to patronise the same restaurant twice in two days, but there were mitigating circumstances: I had yet to try anything truly curious or unfamiliar on the menu and St. John would be closing for the summer just two days later, making another visit impossible (for two months anyway). I had to make the most of this opportunity.
On arrival, given the same table as the night before – I was on the road to becoming a regular – I wasted no time analysing the menu. The pudding list, which was where my attention first focussed itself (please note the passive tense here), was indeed enticing, but alas, once again the rest of the menu disappointed: no sign of lambs’ fry, squirrel, not even that Langoustines & Mayonnaise starter I had read of just about everywhere. I had to reconcile myself with rabbit.
A waiter approached. It was, of course, the very same gentleman that served me last night; as if it could have ever really have been anyone else. Now, not that I was expecting/looking forward to a hug or a bout of cheek-kissing, but I do think a friendly welcome should be de rigueur. He acknowledged me (just about). I greeted him with a joke. He (grudgingly) admitted remembering me. He demanded my order. ‘Any specials today?’ I asked hopefully/gingerly. ‘None.’ Of course not, I said to myself. ‘What do your recommend?’ ‘Everything is good.’ Oh boy, this is going to be fun. ‘How is the Squid, Fennel & Green Sauce prepared?’ (I am a glutton for punishment). ‘With a Salsa Verde.’ ‘And the Cured Beef & Celeriac?’ ‘It comes cold.’ OK, enough of this, I thought, it was becoming irksome; he had spurned the chance to milk my appetite. ‘The rabbit please…and for pudding, Gooseberry Crumble & Custard, Chocolate Terrine & Crème Fraiche and half a dozen madeleines. I do love your puddings. That posset you recommended last night was excellent, thank you.’ What’s wrong with you? I sighed to myself.
Rabbit Saddle & Dandelion Salad was today’s incarnation of one of my favourite meats. It certainly sounded enjoyable, but when it arrived, I quickly became dissatisfied: what appeared a decent cut of meat was on closer inspection a rather pathetic portion. The only flesh left for me to devour on the little beast consisted of two skinny shards either side of the backbone. Though served rare, with blood still visible closer to the bone, the rabbit’s certain lifelessness was evident by its total blandness. As if out of spite, the meat having already been stolen, what was left had been bled bone-dry of all the rabbit’s natural gamey richness. The salad of capers, radish and dandelion was, on the other hand, full of sour and bitter tangs. These converged in a last-bid attempt to revive the dull little bunny…but failed. The tender flesh did at least play nicely with the crisp roots and at least I did get to try dandelion for the first time. It tasted like chicory.
Unfortunately, over the course of my meal the attitude of the waiter did not improve. There was no pleasant banter. Dishes were brought and taken away unceremoniously. The bread was never replaced voluntary nor was the butter; if I wanted more, I had to ask for it. Then, when it was finally brought, instead of removing the empty bread basket from the table, the new one was indelicately plopped on top of the old; it was the same with the butter plates. Luckily for me, after my main course, a different waitress took over. She was sweet and friendly and for the first time that night, I received a smile.
Finally, it was time for the real (secret) reason behind my return: the puddings. Desserts are pretty, delicate objets d’art, usually better on the eye than in the bouche, but puddings, however, are real pleasures. The word itself conjures up, for me anyway, memories of cold winter days, curled up on the coach, wrapped in a warm blanket spoiling myself with a rich, naughty treat (I think I’m treading a rather fine line here). Though not always attractive, not at all fancy nor pristine in preparation, they are gorgeous and luxurious nonetheless. At St. John, the retro-comfort puddings take the biscuit. I ordered three, well, two and a half dozen madeleines.
They arrived more or less together, allowing me to enjoy mixing and matching mouthfuls of each…mmmm! The madeleines were brought first and brought the warm, comfy, happy aroma of baking with them. On tasting, the slightly crisp delicate coat yielded a fluffy centre, all of which dissolved instantly in the mouth. Then came the Gooseberry Crumble & Custard. I rather like the humble old gooseberry; it is like rhubarb in use and tartness, just less cool. The white porcelain bowl could barely hold back its gushing, eager contents: the golden crust struggling to conceal the wealth bubbling beneath. The gooseberry filling had a satisfying balance of sweet and sharp. Broken almond pieces studied the firm crumble enjoyably enhancing the crunchiness of each bite. The accompanying custard was excellent; slightly runny, not too sweet and lukewarm, it tempered the thick, sugary, burning hot pud. A hint of vanilla was a nice addition. Finally, the Chocolate Terrine & Crème Fraiche arrived. The presentation was austere: a clean thick brick of dark chocolate and one spoon of milk white crème fraiche. The taste was decadent: the chocolate, deeply dark in flavour, had a playfully defiant consistency making each indulgent spoonful a game of push-and-pull. Having to fight for it only made it better. This is what a chocolate dessert ought to be. On the other hand, the crème fraiche, there to tame the chocolate’s intensity, proved superfluous and pathetic in its pacification.
I would certainly return to St. John once it reopens: hopefully in not too long, but just long enough for that waiter to forget my face. As much as I enjoyed the marrow bones, loved the bread and adored the puddings, I felt short-changed by the mains. Having tried four in all, only the devilled kidneys were a hit. The petty attitude of the waiter disappointed too. After all, a tip is not an obligation, it is a reward; as far as I am concerned, you get paid a wage to do your job and a tip for going above and beyond that. However, in good Christian fashion I will forgive him. I just pray this disciple of St. John will forgive me…
26 St. John Street, London, EC1M 4AY
tel: 020 7553 9842
nearest tube: Barbican, Farringdon
www.stjohnrestaurant.com
0 found this helpful
Illustrated Critique:
http://foodsnobblog.wordpress.com/category/restaurant-reviews/st-john-restaurant-reviews/
Text-only Critique:
I must be spending far too much time in Chowhound chat rooms; a post from the esteemed Hermano Primero, of Dos Hermanos. kindly informing Chowhounds that St. John would be closing from late June until late August for “a much needed programme of refurbishment and maintenance” was all it took for me to immediately book a table for ‘final week’.
A visit to St. John, only a marrow bone’s throw from my office, was already long overdue. As one of London’s most critically acclaimed restaurants – it was the biggest British winner in this year’s San Pellegrino ‘World’s 50 Best’ list, rising 18 places to 16th (even above my beloved l’Arpège) and named the ‘must visit’ restaurant of 2008 – it is a destination de rigueur on many foodies’ London itineraries.
The restaurant is iconic to say the least. Since self-trained Fergus Henderson opened SJ in 1994, it has spawned a cult following. The world famous home of ‘nose-to-tail eating’ has a fan base that includes the full spectrum of eaters – chefs/foodies/professional critics – all of whom lovingly make the pilgrimage to Smithfield to sample the simple, classic ‘British’ cooking on offer. Indeed, there are now a host of eateries that follow the gospel of St. John; Hereford Road, Rochelle Canteen, Great Queen St, Anchor & Hope…
In post-mad-cow Britain, where eating red meat is almost stigmatised and offal almost taboo, SJ is a leading proponent of the foodolution (food revolution) against against eating meat. Indeed some of its attraction certainly rests in the coolness factor attached to being unconventional, to being a rebel and also the minor mischief in eating such unmentionable cuts as heart, brains, fries etc; all of which have helped make SJ the fashionable institution it is.
The restaurant is located, rather fittingly, in what appears to have previously been a butchers or warehouse (actually it was a bacon smokehouse) adjacent to London’s most famous meat market, Smithfield. The interior has been striped to its bare bones to reveal an ‘abattoir-chic’ minimalism; 30ft high whitewashed walls enclose today’s stainless steel bar; exposed corrugated iron staircases crisscross from floor to ceiling; wooden tables and chairs bedeck the floor. One may assume it a clinical, sterile environment, but far from it. Yes it is clean, simple and precise, but also it is honest, open and fresh. This impression is no doubt fostered by the cosy, welcoming aroma of just-made bread which, emanating from the in-house bakery found in one corner, envelops and warms the whole room. In a former life, Fergus Henderson trained and worked as an architect; no wonder then that so much emphasis has been placed on the restaurant’s setting, creating what is a genuine architectural space.
Once at St. John, I was ushered into the dining room where, expecting to find food for eating, I was first to find food for further thought. ‘Victorian refectory’ sprang instantly to mind: again whitewashed walls; long rows of uncomfortable wooden tables and chairs; battleship grey parquet. The focal point is the open kitchen, which allows customers just a peek inside. I half-expected, fully-would-have-loved-it to see an Oliver Twist cast of little street urchins flood in and take their rightful places along these rows, but of course, nothing as lovely and as fantastic as that could ever have happened to me.
There is a complete absence of adornment about the room and no ostentation. In their place is a charming austerity. The intention is to focus eaters’ minds on what they are eating. Henderson wants no distractions; even asserting admirably, ”you come here to eat, not to pose.”
This dogma of simplicity and focus pervades every detail, from the white smocks worn by the staff (homage to the market porters at Smithfield) to the lack of background music and even the terse dish appellations on the menu (above). Even the food must abide by these same commandments; what you read is what you get. Peas in the Pod is literally a portion of garden peas, albeit fresh and sweet ones, served in a bowl, which you must pod yourself. The preparation of the food, the ingredients, even the presentation is utilitarian.
The waitress who took my order was delightfully charming and patient. She answered amiably my constant questions (you too will have questions given such limited descriptions) and was eager to help accommodate my eating wishes. Under her guidance, I ordered a selection that allowed me to sample both some traditional dishes as well as some more adventurous ones. Unfortunately however, there was nothing especially ‘out there’ that day.
After taking my order, the bread basket was brought and a new love born. This bread was superb; light, fluffy, crusty and wholesome. It tasted great and would prove ideal for soaking up all the juices from off my plates. It is the best bread I have had in some time…
The first starter, Squid & Tomato, was a generous serving of gently braised squid, cherry tomatoes, parsley and onions, splashed with lemon juice and topped with a dollop of butter. The lovely tomato and lemon aroma and green, red, zinnwaldite and yellow colours evoked memories of the Mediterranean, with the parsley in particular whisking me back to sunny Cyprus, where I have spent many summers and where this herb is an almost ubiquitous meal additive. The braised squid had an unusual texture, rather more tender than expected and not at all chewy. Some of the squid’s cooking juices had been added to the butter, giving it a gentle and felicitous spiciness. The obviously fresh ingredients, each bursting with their individual flavours – sweet, sour, bitter and acidic – were in harmony, neither one overpowering the others; it was a pleasant and delicate mix.
The dish that one must try at St. John is Henderson’s signature Roast Bone Marrow & Parsley Salad – actually, it is the only item that can be a must-order as it is the only one always on the ever-changing menu. As I awaited its arrival, warm childhood memories came flooding back to me; my grandmother would often serve me the leftover bones she had used to flavour broths and soups. I would take these bones with both hands, ripping and tearing at the few remaining thews with my teeth – a generally almost fruitless endeavour, but worryingly addictive. I would always leave the best bit till last; sucking the marrow out. Those measly (lamb) bones only ever yielded just enough yummy fat to deliver the hint of a taste, but it was worth it.
Four roasted bones, shaped like mini Gaudi apartment buildings, were served oven-hot with a garden-fresh salad of parsley, capers and shallots and two crusty slices of St. John’s trademark toasted sourdough. The waiter provided me with a long lobster fork-like implement, necessary for the successful extraction of precious marrow, and spooned a large helping of French sel gris onto my plate. After seducing my sense of sight, the dish subdued my sense of smell with its rich, roasted, meaty aroma. I eagerly began attacking each little burning-hot volcano, piercing the soft mouth, diligently working my fork around its core, urging every last drop of that luscious lava out onto the toast. Garnishing the marrow-on-toast with some of that refreshing salad and a generous sprinkling of those large powerful salt grains, it was ready, I was ready. Wow! An unforgettable memory was created there and then. Gooey, oozing, fatty marrow, fresh bitter parsley, sweet shallots, zesty capers, a hint of lemon, sharp salty smack, crunchy bread; all these simple, intense, gorgeous flavours whirled around in my mouth. It was blissful. I was happy.
I refused to relinquish my plate until I had desperately dug out every last drop of gungy goodness from those wicked little vessels, finally using the delicious bread to mop up any (greasy, oily) salty, lemon-sour juices. I savoured the deep, sinful and yet comforting flavours. This was a great dish, simplicity and perfection combined; it was simply perfect.
The next dish to come out was the Calves’ Liver & Onions, today’s special and my waitress’ personal favourite. A decent serving of rare pan-fried liver came with onions fried to within moments of evaporation, swimming in sherry vinegar. The pungent odours of the dish, of sweetness and succulence, filled my nostrils. I cut into the liver and discovered the sticky exterior concealed a pleasingly bloody, molten, milky centre. The onions, a comme il faut Eve to the liver’s Adam, were a little too mushy for my taste; considering the already soft texture of the meat, maybe less limp onions could have provided a pleasing crunch. The sweet-sour sherry vinegar complemented the dish well.
Ox Heart, Carrots & Horseradish followed. Thin slices of heart were served with braised, caramelised carrots and a tablespoon of horseradish. The meat, rare again, was delicate and tender. One might have expected a more imposing taste and special texture from this beast, but it actually turned out to be quite gentle and mild-mannered. That said, the meat did have a very familiar, very specific taste that though I have tried desperately to since, I just cannot place. Nevertheless, it was pleasant if not exciting. The sticky, shiny carrots were nice, with juicy amber pulp encased securely in a rusty burnt orange straightjacket of skin. The freshly prepared horseradish, impotent on first taste, delivered a classically-delayed, sorely-needed slap to rouse the ox.
Then came the Devilled Kidneys on Toast. This Victorian delicacy was by some margin the pick of the three main dishes. The velvety kidneys, strewn on crunchy sourdough toast, were submerged in the most intoxicating of sauces. The simple blend of cayenne, mustard and Worcestershire sauce packed a potent, spicy, sweet and above all, delicious punch and each bite brought tears to my eyes (well, actually it wasn’t good enough or hot enough to do that, but the metaphor is worth the hyperbole). Then again, it is said (well, said by Belgians at least) that well prepared kidneys are comparable to luxurious foie gras.
Whilst working diligently though these plates, a side order of Welsh Rarebit was duly delivered. It was indeed unnecessary when considered from a (boring) utilitarian viewpoint, but I was wearing my hedonist hat that day and rarebit is one of those items I always want to order (hot bread, melted cheese; who would not?), but I just never do. The mammoth size of this specimen actually shocked me a little, but in a pleasing, someone-has-just-come-up-behind-you-and-jabbed-you-in-the side sort of way. A rusted layer of molten cheese magma that struggled to stay atop the thick slice of toast was flavoured with Worcestershire sauce, beer, cayenne and mustard. However, as glorious as it looked, the taste was surprisingly mild, too mild for my liking. Considering the dynamite-like components, I expected/craved a flavour explosion, but instead landed a dud; making £5.00 a rather dear sum to pay for good old cheese-on-toast.
The first pudding to arrive was the St. John classic, Eccles Cake & Lancashire Cheese. This is a good example of what an easy target I am. Though I do like cheese, I almost always ask to substitute the cheese course for an extra dessert and I also (nearly) hate raisons, sultanas, currants, etc (except for green raisons…do not ask me why). Yet, fully self-conscious of my own predilections, I still ordered this. To be honest, it was decent, but nothing great. The cheese was good, lush, soft and mellow, it was a perfect foil for the swarm of super intense, contemptible currants that disgorged themselves from the sweet and crunchy Eccles cake with its icing-covered shell.
The second pudding was an inspired choice: Raspberry & Lemon Posset. Lovely – that sums it up rather well. A lemon juice infused mixture of cream, sugar and possibly egg was zesty yet sweet, dense yet smooth. Upon breaching the sand coloured surface with my shovel/spoon, I was able to dig out a precious treasure of raspberry pearls. Sour lemon. Sweet raspberry. Great match. The posset alone would have sufficed, but served alongside were two perfect shortbreads, each so delicate, each ready to crumble and submit their buttery, biscuity goodness the moment they were in my mouth and mine. The contrasting consistencies of silk and grain between the cream and cookies went very well.
All in all, I enjoyed my St. John experience very much. The service was good; my initial waitress was excellent, but as the restaurant filled, she was replaced by another waiter who, though friendly and helpful too, was just not as endearing. The kitchen was also kind enough to let me have some main courses as half-portions, something which I was told the chef normally never does. The food definitely had its moments. The culinary highs (bread, marrow bones, kidneys, posset) were very high, but the lows (ox heart, liver, Eccles cake) were rather bland/disappointing/just not to my taste. In terms of value, I would admit starters were good value, as were puddings, but the mains, though not blatantly expensive, were a little overpriced for what you received.
I am a big fan of offal and the less common cuts of meat: I always steal the liver, gizzard and neck from the chicken/turkey before it’s even carved; claim fish eyes and cheeks for myself; bugsy the bunny’s head; and, when available at my butcher, roast a whole lamb’s head, which I refuse to share (not that anyone else ever wants some). St. John is one of only few places that cater for such intrepid tastes. This, plus the fact that the dishes I did like here, I liked very much and the dynamic menu, capable of genuinely exciting dishes, will definitely have me coming back for more.
26 St. John Street, London, EC1M 4AY
tel: 020 7553 9842
nearest tube: Barbican, Farringdon
www.stjohnrestaurant.com
4 found this helpful
Halfway through my starter of Rolled Pig's Spleen at St. John, and who should wander in but Fergus Henderson himself. Looking healthy and happy with his trademark inch-thick pebble glasses, he soon settled into a corner table with a few friends and held court while a succession of people congratulated him (I assume - I wasn't close enough to eavesdrop) on the newly refurbished restaurant. At the bar was gastronomic superstar Mark Hix, who I didn't see eating anything but his presence alone was presumably enough of a blessing. And during the course of the evening I think I spotted Fay Maschler amongst a healthy smattering of food critics and food lovers. St. John, where the British food revolution started, is as much a pilgrimage as a meal out for true foodies, and although not exactly hushed in the echoey whitewashed warehouse room, there was certainly a good deal of reverence from what I could tell of the other tables.
And yet. As if I haven't been in this situation enough before to learn, it's really never a good idea to build up somewhere too much, as you can only be disappointed by the reality. St. John, restaurant to the stars and voted an incredible (literally) #16 in the Restaurant Magazine top 50 restaurant list 2008 (above L'Arpege and Alaine Ducasse at the Plaza Athénée!) served me a perfectly pleasant meal which wouldn't have been out of place in any half-decent gastropub in the capital. But #16 best restaurant in the world? The mind boggles.
Back to my meal, then. Now I've never had rolled pig's spleen before (shocking, but true) so I have no way of knowing if this is better or worse than your average rolled pig's spleen. But although the bacon was clearly of high quality, the offal was tasteless albeit with a pleasant texture. I wasn't sure what to do with the accompanying little pot of vinegar, as when it was paired with the meat it completely overpowered it, and on its own was just odd. Pickels were decent and sliced onion was just that. So far so ho hum.
My main course, fortunately, was much nicer. Chitterlings (pig's intestine, in case you were wondering) were rich and salty and resembled pleasantly boiled bacon. With them were little boiled radishes, which were a bugger to spear on my fork but had a lovely subtle flavour. Around the table we variously had a pretty standard smoked mackerel, fresh if hardly mind-blowing Brill steak, and a good liver and bacon.
My dessert was "Eccles cake and Lancashire cheese". An unlikely combination, you might think, but it worked surprisingly well - the cheese wouldn't have stood out served in a cheesecourse, but its bland creaminess went nicely with the sweet raisins and pastry. And I suppose none of it was cynically priced and service was good. But unless there's something crucial that I'm missing, this is just a good gastropub, this is not a world-beating restaurant. Credit where credit's due to Henderson for cooking up parts of a pig which must cost next to nothing in wholesale and turning them into something people are prepared to pay for. But after the novelty of eating Sheep's Appendix has worn off, the elephant in the room remains - people don't often eat offal, because it usually doesn't taste very good.
The supremely ironic thing about my experience at St. John was the similarities with another restaurant that has forged a brave new gastronomic path recently. Constraining themselves to use only ingredients from an oft-neglected and inexpensive source, serving competently cooked dishes in attractive surroundings and charging premium prices, and most importantly trading on the novelty of the sourcing of said ingredients and the environmental benefits thereof, St. John has a natural sister restaurant - Saf. True, one is purely vegan and one uses offal, but I believe the connections are too strong to ignore when you consider the Raw Food Revolution is supposed to be the next big thing after nose-to-tail eating was ten years ago.
Despite the glamorous surroundings and star factor, I was left distinctly underwhelmed after the bill (£50 each since you ask) was paid and the last dregs of a rather nice Muscadet sur Lie were drained from the bottle. The best thing I can say about St. John is that you are likely to try unusual and interesting cuts of meat that you will not find anywhere else in the country, and you will have them cooked well and served with a smile. The worst thing I can say about St. John is that, most probably, you won't want to try them again.
4 found this helpful
Forgive my title, I couldn't resist!
This former part smokehouse/part townhouse, is a stunning location for a restaurant with whitewashed walls and high ceilings. Fergus Henderson is famous for his book Nose to Tail Eating, and this is reflected in the daily changing menu, which, frequently includes many types of offal including bone marrow and chitterlings.
My fellow diners were very excited about this, I was slightly nervous. In principal, it fits with my ethic, no waste and the best parts of the animal are not abandoned. I love black & white pudding and other products that are offal related but I had not braved the hardcore offal products. I’ve only been eating meat for a couple of years now (excuses!), in a serious sense anyway, but as always, I am open to experimentation. I wasn’t alone in my trepidation, we even had a pescetarian on board, so we decided to go for a group menu at £40 a head, with our choices of a fish starter and main course and a meat starter and main course. We would also be allowed to get two a la carte starters and main courses. This was perfect, allowing me to play safe and dabble. I was quite excited at the prospect, knowing that I would definitely have a good meal and opportunities to explore.
We arrived and entered the impressive bar, and ordered some wine. Well, a kir royale first and then some red & white for the table. Not long after were ushered to the private eating area. It was quite compact but very sociable, I really liked it. I do think it made life difficult for the waiting staff, however.
The food arrived promptly, and was presented in a no frills way on large sharing plates, again very sociable and I approved. For starters we had Mussels, Leeks & Salsify and Venison Saddle, Beetroot & Pickled Walnut. I had both and they were really good, the salsify was beautiful, an unusual ingredient that deserves to be used more. It complemented the mussels perfectly and appeared to blend with the leeks. The venison was tender and delicious, although the beetroot might have overshadowed it a little. We also had a la carte Roast Bone Marrow & Parsley Salad, which I didn’t taste but it was generally very well received. Add to list for my next trip there!
For our main course we had Roast Beef & Horseradish which was served rare. We almost had a scene as everyone wanted some. Really (you know who you are ;)). We also had Brill Baked on Green & White Vegetables, predominantly fennel from what I gathered. I had the brill and it was superb, moist, tender and fragrant with the fennel which cushioned it underneath. The mains were served with big bowls of baby potaotoes and delicious spring greens.
Last course was yet to come, and already I was full. We indulged in Chocolate Mousse & Steamed Marmalade Pudding. Both enormous and decadent. I am not a fan of steamed puddings generally and this one didn’t convert me, but the others liked it. The chocolate mousse was sloppy and divine, I could have dived into it.
What did I think overall? The service was a little erratic but then so were we. A friend there that night, had been there before and she was quite surprised as the service had always been excellent on previous visits. The food was delicious and I definitely want to go back again, except next time, perhaps in a smaller group. It’s an opportunity to try great english food: good ingredients cooked very well (my mantra!), all in a lovely setting. It’s also a place to be brave and try something you might not normally eat, like chitterlings or bone marrow. I would recommend it and will be going back for more.
2 found this helpful
Genuis in simplicity.
St John is a unique restaurant serving great simple food that is beautifully executed.
It is not the 10th best restaurant in the world - as suggested by one well known top 50 list - its not even 1,000th .
Fergus Henderson has created a classic and long may he and it ssurvive.
2 found this helpful
Solid British cooking, from the simple to the offaly - backed up with a great bakery and bar.
3 found this helpful
This is one of my favourite restaurants in London. Very British cuisine with a modern twist. The dishes are fairly simple but are cooked really well. They only make a certain amount of dishes for each service so when they run out, then that's it which ensures everything is freshly made. Also, it's fun to keep an eye on the blackboard to make sure the dishes you want are still available! I tend to pre-order my dessert if I can see it's running low.
I've been lucky enough to try their suckling pig (feeds 14-16). I can't recommend it enough. It's the only thing I've eaten that has made me cry because it was so good (although I'd had a few drinks...)lol
It's not the cheapest place but it's somewhere to go for a nice treat. Enjoy.
3 found this helpful
I was always wary of going in here in case it didn't live up to the hype, but I finally bit the bullet. My only regret was not doing it sooner - the food was utterly gorgeous, especially the bone marrow on toast and the rare roast beef. You certainly couldn't eat here day in day out (not just the cost but the sheer richness) but an absolute must for anyone who appreciates the fine art of meat. Food to die for.
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Can we split this out to a separate entry, like the St John Bread & Wine entry?