Stephen Farmer

I was beginning to think finding a London hotel room that was both good and affordable was turning into an art form. Believe me, I’ve given it a good go. You see, I’m good at missing my last train home and I don’t really have any friends who’ll give me a sofa to sleep on. Plus I’m really, really tight. But now I know where I’ll be staying when I’ve had a lager-top too many, because this new-ish Whitechapel hotel is a corker.  And yes, yes, the smashed bus-stop glass a few metres from the entrance was a reminder that this part of town isn’t exactly Richard Curtis’s idea of London, but really, the location is great. You’re right at the end of Brick Lane, which means Spitalfields, Shoreditch and the City are basically on your doorstep, and you’ve got good transport links from Aldgate East, which means exploring London is pretty easy.  And really, those prices are excellent – for them, it’s a high-spec hotel, slickly run. You’re bagging a bargain even if you stay in one of the suites (complete with very spacious balconies overlooking the City), and the cheapest rooms are very affordable, especially with the quality this high. It’s a polished hotel from a brand that knows what it’s doing. Oh, and special mention to the superb in-house restaurant and bar, Zoom East – which looks, on our visit, like a bit of a destination spot already.  The neighbourhood: Ignore its Jack the Ripper past, Whitechapel is a great place to explore, even if we’re not 100 percent sold on the rights-of-pas

Okay, let’s get this out the way first: this place is punchy. You’re not getting much change from four figures for a standard room, and the suites are really only for those with proper FU money. But you know what? It’s worth it. Honestly. If I was minted (ha!), this is totally the London hotel I’d hook my travel plans to.  It’s surprisingly understated, given it’s from a fashion house not exactly averse to a bit of bling. Maybe that’s because it’s clearly very confident in what it’s doing (this is one of eight Bulgari Hotels worldwide – run in collab with Marriott), or maybe I simply don't know enough about the fashion industry (probably a fair point – you should see my shoes). Either way, this place clearly prioritises sophistication over gaudy opulence. I liked it a lot.  There’s also a lot more to this hotel than meets the eye. There are five subterranean floors (yes, really) playing host on various levels to a really decent-sized swimming pool, a swanky two-floor spa, a gym, a conference room, and a cocktail bar. Oh, and there’s a private cinema down there, too. You know, just in case you want to invite forty or so of your pals over for a flick. You’ll probably not be surprised to hear service is shockingly good. The staff were at once exceptionally polished and jovial; deferential and funny – to the point where they became a genuine highlight of my visit, especially the Greek girl on the front desk who didn’t get offended when I asked if she was Italian, and was inexplic

If you’re as old as me, you might remember this as the place where ‘90s celebs would get papped spilling out of the Met Bar. Today, it feels a bit more sedate. And while it’s still very much five-star plushness all around, it’s definitely a lot more minimalist than some of the hotels around here. The entrance is economical to say the least: just enough room for a small army of exceptional staff, a door to a doozy of a restaurant, and a short little pathway to the lifts transporting you to your room.  And those rooms are very lovely, even if that minimalist aesthetic might not be as jaw-dropping for some as the buck-dropping might suggest (this place ain’t cheap). Still, welcome petit-fours, iPads operating everything, and quite possibly London’s comfiest bed make it pretty dreamy. Man, that bed. I’m still pining. Oh, and the views out across Hyde Park are epic, so make sure you ask for a room up high. My only real gripe? It was a bit of a drag getting served a drink in the lobby, but first-world problems and all that. I’d return in a heartbeat. The neighbourhoodLet’s make no bones about it, there’s not a huge amount close to here. Hotels in this part of town tend to be luxe bases for the moneyed to be whisked off in fancy cars but that does mean the in-house restaurants and bars tend to be pretty good. Transport links on the Piccadilly Line are decent (once you’ve navigated the maze of Hyde Park Corner tube), with fancy-pants shopping in Knightsbridge one stop westbound, and

I’m officially ‘poor’ at walking. Truth is, my flexibility is well below average too – and don’t get me started on my body fat. You see, this is the kind of analysis you can put yourself up for at this classy retreat in the Surrey Hills. This established spot on the outskirts of a pretty village an hour from central London is a health spa in the truest sense, complete with week-long programmes where diet and activity are closely controlled. Honestly, the last time I heard so much chat about carbs I was channel-flicking past Towie. It’s a beautiful, stately spot that was once home to Lord Tennyson. It’s certainly had a lick or two of paint since then (most recently when it was taken over, back in 2015), but it’s retained its wonderfully creaky charm. It’s nothing like the overly slick and sometimes-snooty spas of the world – and all the better for it.  And while the main building might be old, the outlook certainly isn’t. You can get stuck into classic spa treatments, but those health regimes are as scientific as they come. I didn’t book in for one of those (are you mad?), opting instead for a Thai foot massage, deep-tissue massage and cranial osteopathy. All excellent, but if you want my top pick? Sound healing, which is basically gongs and crystal banged about a bit while you lie prostrate on a bed. New Age and perhaps a little bonkers, sure, but also incredibly relaxing. I totally zoned out and am not ashamed to say that I dribbled. The food here is genuinely excellent. I f

They know what they’re doing, these international hotel groups. So it’s hardly a shocker that things at this new Aldgate addition to the Dorsett group were already running as smooth as a baby’s bum on my visit, just a month after opening. This is actually only the group’s second London hotel (they launched in Shepherd’s Bush back in 2016) but with two more soon to come it looks like this big-player in the Asian market is looking to quickly grow its footprint in the capital. And judging by my stay, that’d be welcome. Sure, rooms are compact but every inch of space is packed full of super slick and expensive fixtures and fittings – all with an easy-on-the-eye east-meets-west slant that carries all the way from the lobby to the (very impressive) rooftop bar. But if that doesn’t do enough to help the Chinese middle classes (surely a target market) feel right at home? Mandarin translations everywhere and authentic Nong Shim Shin Cup noodles in the mini-bar should do the trick. The food and drink output should draw the eye of locals, too. It’s got one of the capital’s best doers of dim sum (Shikumen) and the 24-hour VQ downstairs – a bar and restaurant from an admirably reliable stable with outposts in Bloomsbury, Notting Hill and Chelsea. Plus there’s that gorgeous sky-high bar (Jin Bo Law) fourteen floors up, where you can either gaze out across the east London landscape or, like me, simply contemplate why there were three massive breasts on one of the walls. My conclusion? An

I’m guessing the crowds being turned away from this new South East Asian restaurant in Waterloo were lured by the high-end menu from a chef with previous experience at Soho’s super-spendy Spice Market. And yup, the food is mostly great, even if the prices sometimes border on bananas. I ordered nasi goreng, the classic Indonesian/Malaysian fried rice dish, simply to see if it was worth the £14 price tag (not really). But oysters with a late, gentle hit of heat from chilli tapioca pearls were superb, the meat in an ox cheek rendang was gloriously tender and pork belly steamed buns had me cooing like a pigeon. Service was a bit scatty but staff were clearly keen to please and there’s scope to make the two-floor rabbit warren of a restaurant feel less dated. Overall, good food, could do better on the rest.

I hadn’t expected to leave this Shoreditch branch of the Beijing dumpling specialist bowled over by a cold, slippery noodle salad that I’d only ordered as an afterthought. But then I hadn’t expected to be nonplussed by the dumplings either. All I could think of when tucking into one filled with beef and spring onion was: Cornish pasty, a foodstuff I find baffling at the best of times, let alone when it’s masquerading as dim sum – like a butch northern (or, I suppose, southern) brickie slipping into a chemise. Still, everything else here was ace. That glorious noodle salad had punchy hits of chilli, good-quality shredded chicken, al dente noodles and a scattering of crushed peanuts for texture and salt. Crispy chicken wings were great too, as were chicken ‘buns’, even if I’d have preferred a steamed bun to the grilled, flat ones served here. I didn’t love the room, though. It’s as high as it’s wide and not helped by stark, sterile lighting. At least cheery staff improved the vibe. And they were well-drilled enough to suggest they’ll be adept at catering for the quick lunches and pre-party pit stops for which this place seems set up.

This new spot off Oxford Street (sibling to Yoobi in Soho) specialises in temaki: little cones of nori filled with rice and fish. I like to think of them as how the Japanese might reinvent the burrito, a carb coma swapped for a light snooze. Temaki-only joints have been trending in the States for a little while but, apart from Yoobi and a couple of street food vendors, they’re fairly elusive in the UK. Like most things here, they were enjoyable. Sure, they fell apart a bit, but Yoobi clearly knows where to get decent fish: the salmon and unagi (eel) in two of the temaki were of good quality, as were the fat, fresh slices of salmon tataki and tuna sashimi. My only gripes? An errant bit of unadvertised avocado in one of the temaki, and nobody explaining how or where to order (head straight to the till, fyi). I get the impression this almost minimalist space of few tables and plenty of room for queues is aimed at the takeaway crowd. It’s certainly calmer than the slightly frantic Lexington Street original – and all the better for it.

This poky new Islington spot – part of a small chain of pan-Asian restaurants – takes its name from a traditional Indonesian folk story about a little girl and a giant. The version I know (girl gets eaten, giant gets dead) is a few shades darker than the cheery tale scribed on a chalkboard here. Foodwise, there was no scrimping on flavour but many items lacked finesse, nuances often lost in a barrage of sweetness. The meat on the barbecue ribs was nice and tender but dominated by a sugary sauce. A duck and watermelon salad was similarly overwhelmed by too much hoisin. Szechuan beef and a rendang curry were slightly more sophisticated, but by this point my palate was a bit bamboozled. The room was busy on a Friday lunchtime, though, with many diners clearly swayed by decent prices and the charmingly ramshackle interior. They ate happily too, which makes me think Tootoomoo will do well. But my advice? Ease off on the sugar – after all, it’s the ‘in’ thing these days. Well, that and going to hell in handcart.

I once dated a girl who lived near Koyama. Her dad drove a Volvo, spoke softly and wore pyjamas. I reckon he’d like this place. Why? It plays safe – in this case, a rather comforting virtue. All of the food we tried was resolutely enjoyable. Sushi was good quality, the tempura was light in texture and the teriyaki salmon sweet and with a good bit of gingery heat. But is it likely to draw the hordes from beyond Finchley? I doubt it. But then, I don’t think this place has designs on being anything other than a reliable neighbourhood restaurant. Its sweet, knowledgeable staff will definitely help with that. So, sure, Koyama is hardly likely to set the culinary world alight, but I’d be quite happy to have it at the end of my road. And pyjamas do keep the heating bills down.

Please note, Dip & Flip Brixton has now closed. Time Out Food editors, August 2019. They must get through a fair few metres of kitchen roll at this new Brixton branch of the French dip specialists Dip & Flip. There’s a roll on each table, and I tore off at least five sheets wiping gravy from my face and fingers. My date used even more, having managed to somehow get gravy on her forehead. You see, gravy’s a big thing here. It’s central to a French dip (a roll filled with roast meat dipped in gravy) but also comes as an accompaniment for nearly everything else on the menu. So they’d get it right, right? Not quite. I like mine with big salty depth where you can taste the bones but this was, well, meek. Still, it’s redundant alongside the burgers anyway – they’re much better left to their own devices. My charred-but-still-pink patty was loaded with flavour and got a big thumbs up for going heavy on the seasoning. And the dips? A curate’s egg. The sweet and tender slow-cooked lamb in mine was glorious but the soon-soggy bread roll pretty much gave up on playing the host. I ate it pining for the burger I’d just shared, resenting my date for finishing it off. We won’t stay in touch.

I haven’t seen somewhere look this much like an untouched ’80s wine bar since, well, the ’80s. And while I’m as partial to a trip down memory lane as the next man, the dining room at Hatchetts, a Mayfair restaurant and bar, just looks a bit shabby and dated. But what do I know? Maybe this is the start of a glorious post-Brexit return to the kind of venues we had before mass immigration took hold. Let’s hope not. Thankfully the food is less stuck in the past. My buttery, beautifully al dente celeriac risotto was a doozy, helped in no small part by excellent earthy depth from four plump snails and a drizzle of their braising jus. Lightly pickled red mullet – sharpness balanced brilliantly by punchy salt cod foam – was almost as good, as was a rich but nicely balanced dish of partridge with rainbow chard, bacon and a plum sauce. The only slight dud? My main of chicken-glazed cod, which was wonderfully cooked but then let down by aggressive seasoning. Service was excellent, and tactile to the point of flirty, which is fine by me. Unlike the £2 per person cover charge, which is of course an absolute piss-take.