The New English Dining Room

 

 

 

 

I detect a whiff of change in the air.  I've just got back from lunch at the Princess Victoria, a former Victorian Gin Palace in Darkest Shepherd's Bush. That's right- in that valhalla of discarded litter, mini cabs, kebab parlours and the imaginativly named "Chicken Land". The Princess Victoria, apparently, won the "Time Out Gastropub of the Year" award; but I don't think that's doing it full justice. I find gastropubs slightly tiresome, who doesn't?  But, like Great Queen Street in Covent Garden, it's one of the new breed of re-invented Dickensian Dining Rooms flogging well-cooked, plain British food at its best.

There's a large dining room painted a blueish austerity grey, with mid-Victorian portraits of various whiskered worthies that would do the Reform Club proud.  Add to the mix a heavy William IV mahogany sideboard, etched glass, long oak dining tables in the refectory manner, bare floor boards, non-matching chairs and leather armchairs.  The type of austere room that I can imagine the directors of The Great Northern Railway having a hearty luncheon in, in say 1865.  The whole effect was decidedly architectural, which was an interesting observation, as the architectural historian, Dan Cruickshank, happened to be tucking in at the next table.

Now to the food.  My parsnip soup was to die for.  Creamy, sweet, and savoury, with nuggety mushrooms lurking in the bottom of the tureen.  The belly of pork was, perhaps, a trifle disappointing (cooked properly and topped with a decent bit of crackling, but, a smidgen on the mean side), however, the brussel sprouts were beautifully undercooked and crunchy, which, I suggest, is the only civilised way of cooking the critters. Pudding was bypassed in favour of a generous and gooey cheese board (including the obligatory goat's cheese) served with walnuts, and some form of Germanic looking, nutty black bread.

It's refreshing to see a restaurant- or should I say, dining room?, which we can claim as genuinely one of our own. English. Unpretentious. Cromwellian, yet full of Rabelasian cheer. It's the New Austerity.