Mooli's: Soho, London

I have made my thoughts on the burrito clear. Bah, humbug. I have, despondently, hung up my sombrero. But the time has come to cast my greedy eye over the latest London street food craze - the "mooli" of Mooli's.

A mooli was a giant Japanese radish. Now, on the streets of Soho at least, it is an Indian roti wrap housing a range of meats or vegetables with Indian spices, salad and chutneys. Mooli's sells 6 different types of moolis (the wrap type, not the radish type) - chicken, asparagus, paneer, beef, pork and now goat. I slowly but surely got myself on the case.

I was the first in the door one mid week lunchtime (lunch before 12pm, anyone?), and was greeted by the genuine happy and helpful friendliness for which Mooli's is already developing quite the reputation. The man, who I later found out to be Sam, guided me through a few moments of scatty indecision (beef or pork, beef or pork?) by suggesting I kick off my Mooli experience with the beef variety. Done.

While the beef mooli is normally £3.95, I upsized to the mooli madness meal (my term, in case of doubt) for £5 - mooli, lassi and a bag of roasted poppadoms with a tub of spicy tomato sauce.

The roti is doughey and warm, while the Keralan beef is braised with a subtle hit of southern Indian (Malabar) spices and coconut, and topped with green salad and a cucumber raita (seasoned yoghurt sauce). The beef is lovely - tasty and tender. Although the spices are demure and some might prefer them spiced up somewhat, they add a definite flavour. The meat is, however, a tad scanty and I almost had to go back for a second.

The Goan pork mooli is, apparently, a spicier option and I certainly enjoyed my beef mooli enough to be looking forward to a return visit to try this one out.

The roasted poppadoms were fine - neither here nor there for me - but the lassi was excellent - big on mango fruitiness, tangy, thick and creamy, just as a lassi should be.

I returned again this week to take away a goat mooli, which I ate sitting in the Springtime sunshine at Soho Square, dodging randomly falling bird poo and stray drug addicts in the process. The goat mooli was much bigger and meatier than its little beef brother. At £5, it costs a bit more, but dealt a swift knock out blow to any hunger pangs.

Big chunks of tender goat meat (again, braised over several hours) were at times overflowing among the mix of roast vegetables and tasty spices. There may have been one too many chunks of potato and bits of chopped red onion, but all in all the goat mooli is a fine addition to your eating-on-the-hoof options in Soho. It's a full Indian meal, cooked nicely, wrapped up in a warm roti blanket. I like it.

The Mooli's fit out is bright and basic - it's more a fast food joint than anything else, but food is made fresh and, it seems, with pride. If it comes down to a burrito or a mooli, make mine a mooli. Over and out.

Mooli's, 50 Frith Street, Soho, London, W1D 4

Young Cheng: He's the man - China Town, Soho, London

It was the suggestion of 3 types of roast meat, a dish which was not on the menu, that first drew us hungrily to Young Cheng for Sunday lunch last weekend.

Sidled up next to the Mayflower on Shaftesbury Avenue, somehow Young Cheng had been completely off our radar. However, one glimpse in the window revealed a tiny but bustling hive of lively China Town action.

Young Cheng is packed with feasting and chattering Chinese people in every nook and cranny, tucking into bowls of noodle soups, roasted meats on rice and what seems like every possible Chinese "one dish meal" imaginable. It's no frills, super cheap, and I love it.

On both occasions I have dined there, we've found ourselves tucked into a tiny cranny downstairs. Not for claustrophobics (and quite amusing if you're dining with 4 burly blokes), but for the rest of us, this only seems to add to the atmosphere.

For Sunday lunch, I found myself crashing TPG's blokes' day. Over some manly banter about 1 armed push ups, we started with an absolutely delicious bowl of bone soup - swimming with hunks of meat off the bone, onions, carrot, potatoes and a moreish broth - and is always the free starter at lunch time. Nice work.

We followed up with the main draw card - 3 styles of roast meat on rice. Our plate of rice came loaded up with lashings of juicy roast duck, slices of roast pork and big rectangular chunks of crispy, fatty pork belly. With this we shared a plate of Chinese broccoli with garlic sauce, and endless Chinese tea. Now, this is what Sunday feasting is all about.

Tasty and satisfying, our bill came to less than £7 each.

TPG and I backed up lunch with a lazy Sunday night dinner last night (a week after our first visit). We had a hankering for noodle soup and Young Cheng seemed to be calling us.

I had been leering at the prawn dumpling soup of an old man sitting near the front door, and it did not disappoint - a plentiful and heart warming bowl of generous prawn dumplings, thin noodles and spring onions nestled in lovely clear broth. Exactly what the doctor ordered - for just over £5.

TPG had spied a laksa nearby (there are a handful of Malaysia options) and ordered it with pork (which is not on the menu but they happily offered to do it for him anyway). It was slightly too far on the oily side, but still completely delicious and mighty in size - for £6.

We could hardly eat it all, and our entire bill, with Chinese tea, came to £13. Service is fast, but helpful and on both occasions we've managed to enlist the service of a super smiley waitress - although their are some clearly more brusque options working the floor.

There are a couple of other branches of Young Cheng in China Town, some offering the dreaded buffet - I cannot vouch for them, and the Shaftesbury branch seems to be a cut above, so don't be confused.

For a cheap and cheerful taste of China, in the midst of the sometimes disappointing warren that is China Town, I heartily recommend Young Cheng - my new big man of China Town.

Young Cheng, 76 Shaftesbury Avenue, Soho, W1D 6ND
 

St John, Smithfield - Pigfest 2010: London

If it's part of the animal, it won't feel out of place on the menu at St John.

St John is known as a London institution for true Brit "nose to tail" eating. For those, like me, who like to get their snouts in the trough, it represents simple, trimmed down principles in both style and substance.

Set in a former smokehouse near the Smithfield meat market, St John is not typical among its Michelin Star star contemporaries. In plain, white walled, basic surrounds, the intrepid diner is drawn to focus on quality samples of weird and wonderful meat cuts and combinations - like pheasant and trotter pie, or snail, sausage and chickpea. The philosophy seems to be that if you're going to kill the beast, it's only fair to make thorough use of it. St John is not for everyone, but proprietor Fergus Henderson was heralded as revolutionary for bringing the St John concept to life in its early days (at least) after opening in 1994, despite having no formal training as a chef (he trained as an architect).

I've been to St John several times, both to the dining room and to scoff the gorgeous, freshly baked madeleines over a cuppa downstairs at the bar (a soothing way to break up the bus trip home from East London).

The food is anything between well executed to absolutely delicious (and this from a girl who would rather eat her own toenails than offal). Service is, unfortunately, all too consistently frosty.

So it was with this history in mind that I eagerly attended the Ladies' Pigfest 2010 with 15 other fine femme foodies and bloggers last week. Our object: To eat pig. Lots of pig.

We had pre-ordered the whole roast suckling pig (requiring large group bookings) with sides of boiled potatoes and greens. Our selected starters were St John's signature roasted bone marrow with flat leaf parsley and spring onion salad, and whole crab with mayonnaise. Desserts were to be the British-to-the-bootstraps Eccles cakes with Lancashire cheese and Spotted Dick with custard. Righty ho old, chum - so how'd it go?

Weee-eeelll. Despite pre-ordering everything well in advance, we waited for 50 minutes for our entrees to arrive. Woman cannot live on bread alone. So by this time, the red wine teeth stains were already starting to take a serious grip. However, the dishes - once they arrived - were excellent.

The crab contained a plentiful bounty of sweet, decadent meat. It was the winning entree, hands down.

With greasy hands, we also partook in squatty pillars of bone, containing blobs of juicy marrow to be glooped carefully onto 1/2 a bit of toast (there not being enough to go around the table). More toast was eventually forthcoming on request, although it was strange to have to ask - surely one might bank on at least 1 piece each? Noted. However, the combination of gelatinous marrow with crispy salad and crunchy toast was as good as ever (I've indulged in them before). Anthony Bourdain rates it as his ultimate last supper. I'd probably rather a good steak to see me out, but you get my drift.

Then, we each licked our lips as we waited for the main event. Bring on the piggy. Alas, we waited long enough for my haircut to go out of fashion before our pig was brought forth, in all its shiny, glistening glory. In all the anticipation, there was a relieved flurry to take photos (a full roasted pig is quite an impressive sight), but as I remained a-guzzling and a-chatting in my seat, I was not aware that our waiter had apparently been quite rude about said flurry. I can forgive delays in a busy kitchen to some extent, but bad attitude (either way) between waiter and diner is not on.

Anyhoo, the pig was utterly delicious. Vegetarians, please look away now. In primordial style, Petunia was swiftly decapitated and its head was passed around on a plate for cheeks, ears, snout etc to be devoured. This was no ladies' cupcake tea. The meat was tender, succulent, flavoursome - and there was lashings of it. (In fact, there have been comments that this might have been quite an old piglet given its size - the piglet should have been fed on its mother's milk until it is slaughtered between the age of 2-6 weeks - although I think British piglets are bigger than Spanish ones.) Suffice to say, this pig did not die in vain - it was thoroughly devoured and admirably drooled over. I also loved the greens and ladled several helpings onto my plate.

Unfortunately, due to the constant waiting game, several of my fellow divas had to dash for last trains (it was almost 11pm) so could not stick around for dessert. So I have not had the heart to tell them about the crispy, currant filled Eccles cakes, combined beautifully with a huge slab of mild Lancashire cheese. Nor about the glorious, huge Spotted Dick puds swimming in gorgeous warm custard. I had 1 serve of each (and sneaked a second slab of the Spotted Dick). Then, I hopped into my beloved madeleines. Separate stomach and all that...

The largely French wine list always provides, and it certainly did again at Pigfest 2010. Great food, wine, and fabulous company made for a wonderful evening. However, the slow and unnecessarily crusty service - and not for the first time - left a bad taste for many of my fellow guests.

There was no explanation offered at the time for our wait, despite that everything was ordered in advance. However, the manager has since contacted some of my accomplices to offer an apology, an explanation, and a very kind invitation to make amends over a drink and some desserts. Well handled.

Thanks to the lovely Meemalee (Mimi) for organising - you can see her own version of events here.

St John might have the food down pat, but it really needs to lift in respect of its service. Other than that, it's offally good. (Sorry.)

26 St John Street, Smithfield, EC1M 4AY