Gin gin ginned – The Elgin

Once in a while, you’ll form a tumultuous relationship with a food or drink that will rock you to the core and never leave you the same again, in the manner of Scarlett and Rhett. The first one I remember was with Marmite. As a nipper I loved the stuff.

I won’t go into full details in case you marmite haters chunder a little in your mouth but my memories include the usual suspects – Marmite and Toast, Marmite and crackers but also a few more erratic dishes (Marmite, baked beans and mashed potato anyone) and sometimes a grubby finger dipped straight into that brown pot and transferred straight to the mouth. Then, one day, I woke up and I hated the stuff. I still can’t get my nose near the pot without going an unflattering shade of ashen brown and getting all wriggly about the mouth.

The reverse has been true of gin. I don’t remember having any childhood opinions about gin (well, it would be rather worrying if I did) but I know that when I went to uni, the general impression I had about the stuff was that it was a) The drink of old whiskery ladies b) absolutely vomit-inducingly vile.

To say I disliked it could take the prize as the understatement of the century, so much so that when a friend decided to start up the Oxford Gin Appreciation Society (OGAS), I put myself forward for the role of equal drinks opportunities officer. But, as Sam wrote more and more letters to the various gin distilleries dotted about the UK and the bottles of free gin started to land on our doorsteps, I found myself increasingly tempted. Surely it couldn’t be that bad?

The ice was completely broken one night when we held the OGAS Gin Olympics (known as watching Eurovision with various gin-based dishes such as gin pineapple upside down cake and gin jelly to the rest of the world) and I discovered that gin was really quite nice. And we’ve been in love since, happily ever after and all that crap.

So, when the old gin palace in Ladbroke Grove The Elgin reopened a year ago, I was intrigued... Other than their continuing association with dodgy Victorian types, gin palaces haven’t received much attention over recent years. And this was one that claimed to have over 35 gins behind the bar and served some excellent food to boot.

My recent trip to Bob Bob Ricard had got me thinking about the pairing of alcohol and food. Wine of course, but even beer and vodka have received their fair share of exploration in terms of pairing with food. But gin? Not so much... So I had a chat with the manager at The Elgin to see if she could put together a few things and she did.

A dense, meat-packed smoked duck salad was paired with a Cauronn gin all the way from Speyside, Scotland, which brought out the rich flavours of the duck quite well, the smoked salmon salad with a saffron gin was another winner.



My favourite by far was the grilled sea bass, which was served with a Hendrick’s gin and tonic with cucumber instead of the lime. Not only was the cucumber an ideal foil for the delicate sea bass, but the overall effect was one of a light and refreshing meal that suited a late-summer’s evening to a t.

Unsurprisingly Clare voted that her steak would have been better off with a red wine, but it was an experiment that was worth doing and, she was still left with a gorgeous steak that she put swiftly away before guzzling the gin afterwards.

We were too full for dessert – so instead we sipped on a sloe gin on the rocks as a sweet ending to the meal before tottering off home. It definitely got me thinking, if you have any ideas about the pairings, give me a shout I’d be very interested to hear them.

Waiting rating: Ingenious pairing of food and gin. Nuff said.
Scoffing potential: Almost as good as the drinking potential, which is almost unlimited.
Wallet buddy: Not too cheap, not at all steep as we like to say down at the Grove.
The crowd: Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts popping in from Notting Hill for a quiet bite and drink rah rah rah
96 Ladbroke Grove,
Ladbroke Grove
020 7229 5663

Girls Love Steak Too! The Lonsdale

I'll start this blog post by admitting that I'm slightly embarrassed because it is mainly about steak. Again.

Someone (male) said to me the other day 'You love your steak an awful lot for a girl'. Yes I do. But what does that even mean? Because I have mammaries that I am not supposed to like eating a healthy slice of big fat steakiness? Not this girl my friend. He of course tried to retract it with some kind of mumbled jumble about well 'girls normally like salads and stuff, you know, all that rabbit food, tofu, salad err'. He slowly stuttered into silence under the glare of my withering gaze.

'So I'm not girly then, is that it?' 'No no, of course not, you know what I mean' I obviously didnt and said words much to that effect before he uttered the singlemost worst thing he has ever said to me. "Well, it's not very ladylike Julianna." 6 days later and I am still barely speaking to him. So here it is for the record.

I will totter around in heels, much to my simultaneous pleasure at looking about 5 inches taller and chargrin that the price is the discomfort of considering every movement I make in them in terms of potential pain factors. I very rarely wear trousers (apparently another unladylike thing according to my prehistoric-era neanderthal buddy). I like the so-called girly foods such as salads, tofu, brown rice, soba noodles - in other words HEALTHY food that my dear little friend the oik doesnt seem to have got his head around. But I also like, scrap that, love a steak 'raw and wriggling' to quote Gollum and blue as can be. So there.

Which is why my Thursday night sojourn to The Lonsdale was really a very pleasant one. Myself and Anne-Laure from Tasty Diaries descended on Notting Hill's newly reopened bar/ restaurant/ club ready for a night of girly chatter, cocktails and steaks. And that's exactly what we got.




The Lonsdale achieves that rare combination of being as much of a bar as it is a restaurant. It's one of my pet hates for a place to be described as a bar and restaurant, only to find when you arrive that if you're not eating you're shoved onto a high stool at the front and treated with a disdain normally reserved for lepers. No such thing in existence here, you're encouraged to plump yourself down wherever you like (if you're clever, on the leather banquettes towards the back of the venue) and peruse the cocktail or food menus, whichever takes your fancy.

It wouldnt have been too hard to get rather steaming on the cocktails alone, which were worth the trip themselves. Expertly mixed, the list would take weeks to work through - you may regard this as a challenge. I'd be thoroughly interested to hear if anyone ever takes it up.

Overall the food was very good. The steaks at The Lonsdale are bought from Allens of Mayfair, the oldest of London's master butchers who are, confessedly a dab hand at the craft after 120 years of practice. While the Sirloin steak with mustard sauce was admittedly, a little on the tougher side than we would have liked, the filet with bearnaise was flawless: a moderately large slab of meat that would have shone even being eaten on its own but went perfectly with a few chips and a fresh tomato, basil and onion salad. Sorry kiddos, no photographic evidence of the actual steak..

To round it off, we got stuck into the Sticky Toffee Pudding and Creme Caramel, both of which were very tasty, but proved too much after the other two courses.
And then, off we tottered in our high heels, post cocktails, post giggles and post steak. So far, neither of us has grown a mystery beard or hairy feet as a consequence. So a message for my friend. Girls like steak too. Please drag yourself out of the 1800s, I love you too much to let you run around alienating the fillies as you have been known to call us with silliness such as that above...