British Boy's Birthday at the Smokehouse

A few weeks back, my beloved, caring, supportive and at times annoying and infuriating man turned 33. As has now become the norm, we take each other out to a nice restaurant to celebrate, just the two of us. Generally, there will still be a party or night at the pub with our friends at a later point, which I also love, yet the actual birthday dinner is special.

To make it that bit special, we choose restaurants the other person would like but not normally go to. In the past, I have taken him to The Ledbury, Galvin at La Chapelle, a dodgy Greek restaurant in the deepest darkest East German borderland to the Czech republic. Yeah, that one was a highlight... Well, this year, I was selfish and booked us into a much hyped and highly anticipated newly launched place called Smokehouse.

The restaurant received rave reviews in the press and the menu reads like a dream. I was really looking forward to the evening, also because I like supporting places that take the sourcing of their ingredients seriously and cook with the seasons. The Smokehouse definitely ticks all of these boxes.

The atmosphere on the evening was vibrant, hip and welcoming. Almost all tables were filled with a happy and relaxed crowd, the last few remnants of summer in the air. Upon sitting, I looked around, taking in the 'oh so right now' décor and huge beer selection. The craft beers on tap and in bottles were impressive and I want to come back purely to try some of them. Luckily, the Smokehouse is in our neighbourhood.

Anyway, I ordered a negroni and started the torturous back and forth dance of what to order. Because we were seated close to the open kitchen pass, I was able to drool over all the dishes coming out, which makes choosing something even harder.

Having chosen and settled in with our drinks, we soaked up the vibe until our food arrived. My starter of smoked mullet and pickled clams sounded inventive and looked so very pretty. Sadly, I felt disappointed with how bland it was and Max agreed with me. The smokiness of the mullet was barely detectable and the pickled clams lacked a vinegary kick to liven up the dish.


Smoked mullet, sea purslane & pickled clams

For main, I had chosen the flank steak with roasted vegetables and roast potatoes. By then, we had moved on to a punchy red wine, which name I forgot to write down. Since Max had ordered the braised ox cheeks with cauliflower cheese, a red was certainly called for. My steak was juicy, charred and exactly what I wanted. That was, until I tried Max' food. Having bribed the British Boy with promises of sexual favours to allow me to try his dish, I had to concede that he was the clear winner. The ox cheeks were meltingly tender, rich and just so moorish. I hate it when that happens. A) I am notoriously competitive and dislike not coming out on top and B) I ended up with food envy. Well, it was his birthday, so I snapped out of it. 

Steak at the Smokehouse

Coincidentally, a couple of our friends had also made reservations on the same night. They sat right behind us and because they are generous, or on second thought, quite vindictive and mean, they let me try the short rib bourguignon they had ordered and that I had initially put on my shortlist.

Fucking hell, that was amazing.

Really amazing.

Like, so good I know I'll have to come back just for that.

And the beer.

And the atmosphere.