St. John Restaurant, Smithfield. Vol. 1

1st October 2010, St. John Restaurant, Smithfield, London.



The bar area

As I got to St. John Restaurant in Smithfield, absolutely drenched in the rain, the first thing I noticed was how modest the restaurant front was. No big signs, smokers braving the rain with their drinks, a hole in the wall really, recognisable by the Nose to Tail Eating pig. But as soon as you walk through the white doors that make the place look like a mental ward, the experience truly begins. Servers running around getting things done, serving a good mix of people. We entered into the bar area that smelt of bread, not booze. Tucked in a corner, in the same room, is the bakery that bakes fresh bread to be served in the restaurant, and for punters to take away. Servers were shuttling bakewell tarts from oven to table. The day's breads jotted on a black board. The decor is functional. The place was probably a barn or maybe an abattoir back in the day. Hatches in in the walls, exposed iron girders painted in white to match the white, bare brick walls, and a iron staircase that, curiously, didn't seem to lead to anywhere. Into the dining room, a couple of pints later.

The dining room is more canteen than restaurant. Lots of small tables joined together to accommodate larger parties and the white-washed walls matched by white paper table spreads. The service was extremely human. No sir, ma'am non-sense. At one point a women doing her job bumped into me, crate of crockery in hand. Not even a glance. Apologies? Most certainly not. There seemed to be an understanding that everyone was their for the food, customers and servers, and that all else, including pleasantries were secondary. Good banter. We got the sense that the servers all worked in the kitchen as well, maybe on prep - stubborn ingredient can take a lot of prep time. They wore stained chef's jackets and whizzed in and out of the kitchen, which one could sort of look into through the service station and galley. Studying the menu did not take very long - I had been looking at it for weeks and knew what I wanted. Left the wine to someone who knew better.

Between the two of us, we ordered three starters, part curiosity part gluttony. Dr. Henderson's signature Roasted Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad - but of course - a Snails with Oakleaf salad, and Pig's Spleen. All with a basket of fresh baked brown loaf. The menu is very undescriptive. For example, for the Pig Spleen, it said just that. Good opportunity to have a chat with the server to enquire. They did seem to know their stuff.  

I did have my eyes on a Langoustine and Mayonnaise starter, but a 10 pm reservation does have its drawbacks. I did however see a portion, probably the last one, go to a table while we were at the bar and it looked just like how I had imagined it. Clean and simple. Maybe next time, but I am not complaining.



Snails with Oakleaf

I do like snails, but this was the conservative wild card choice - a damn good one though. The snails were warm, and texture more than taste. The dressing for the oakleaf lettuce though, bursting with flavour. My guess? Shallots (agreed upon after a bit of consultation), balsamic, red wine vinegar and seasoning. The croutons were buttery, boldly seasoned, crunchy and generous. Among a very rich and gamy menu, this is definitely the ladies' choice. Light, yet adventurous.


Roasted Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad

This is a mischievous dish. Food lego of sorts. From the top, roasted marrow bone of cow. Cooked till the marrow gives but not long enough so that it simply runs through. The flat leaf parsley was tossed with shallots. Sour dough bread, nicely toasted for real bite. And sea salt. This plate of food is genius. Not so much in the way of the ingredients themselves but the way they come together. Scoop the marrow out of the bone and spread on the toast. Not too thin though. Lump it on. Sprinkle some sea salt on the marrow,  lob on some parsley and sink your teeth in.

After the crunch, you are hit by the richness of the fat. The marrow is very rich but the beefiness is subtler than you would think. The salt soon kicks in and just before it all gets a bit too much, the parsley rounds it all off just perfectly. I have been holding back an oxymoronic blurb, but no more. This dish is extremely complex in its simplicity. And genius in its ingenuity. A worthy signature dish.

Pig Spleen

But for me, and for the fellow connoisseur of the pluck, this was the one. The blue ribbon for the starter went to the Pig Spleen. Everything about it surpassed expectations, and they were pretty high, may be because the brevity of the menu spurs on the imagination. The spleen was rolled with bacon and what I initially though was rosemary, but was in fact sage. Though served at room temperature, the bacon fat was a lot more giving that it looks. The spleen tastes a lot like liver but richer, more irony and also a little more fibrous. The spleen was served with red onions, pickled baby gherkins and red wine vinegar, all three pretty sharp condiments in their own right, but perfect complements to the spleen's richness. This one really surprised, in taste and texture. I was never forced to eat liver as a child and because of this I have come to really love it as an ingredient. Wouldn't have said the same for spleen. Until now.

The starters were followed by a dramatic pause and some 2007 Côtes du Rhône.