My mission this month: to compare and contrast two of Tom Aikens' establishments. One being the flagship Michelin-starred restaurant eponymously named after its creator, the other, its more modest and family-friendly sibling — still with his name writ large above the door and declaring itself to be Tom's Kitchen.
The former is a very serious affair, a sombre and chic interior with the tables far enough apart for the customer to know that very serious people come here to talk about very serious things. There is a prologue to the menu from Tom and he says: 'Food and eating is linked with passion, history, emotions, romance, and even death.' See? Serious stuff indeed. But here's the thing: I don't want Tom to tell me how serious he is about food; I want the food to tell me that.
Dad, my companion for this occasion, was most amused when a plate of canapés arrived at our table, and as I bit into what looked like one end of a piece of chorizo, out of the other plopped some red pepper mousse, most sneakily masquerading as a sausage. Our table was now stained by what appeared to be a big red clown's nose. And this in the church of serious eating.
My starter of scallops and summer greens was a perfect dish. I moaned with pleasure and didn't spill a drop. Pa chose the langoustine with braised pig's cheek and ginger sauce, and liked it, although we both agreed the poor wee fishy was battered beyond recognition, and drowned out by its big fried jacket. It looked like I did on my first day of school wearing a cloak I took six years to grow into.
Next came an amuse-bouche of rabbit and a green mousse, the principal ingredient of which I can't remember — but it was very foamy and Pa declared that if one didn't eat it, one could always take it home and shave with it. He's full of handy tips, my Dad. His main course of cod was good. But my turbot with sorrel and samphire and confit of chicken was so rich I couldn't finish it.
There then arrived the most extraordinary thing: a row of test tubes filled with pink, green, white and yellow creamy liquids, all stuck into a giant piece of cork and presented for our delectation as a sort of pre-pudding pudding. With it came the pudding menu and on its cover another declaration from Big T telling us how serious he is about puddings. Not that serious, I thought, judging by his test tubes. By the time it came to the eating of an actual pudding, I was full and unable to do his careful coconut concoctions justice, delicious though they were. Pa manfully grappled with his marinated melons and was even able to confront and consume several of the petit fours that came soon after.
I didn't need to eat at all for a couple of days after that, but by the time I arrived at Tom's Kitchen with The Boy on a bustling Tuesday lunchtime, my appetite was restored. Now if the first restaurant was the University of Food, this is surely the nursery, albeit a nursery flashing a bit of knicker. There are fish pies and burgers, but also fennel and foie gras. A kiddie can order macaroni cheese and a parent can have the same, but add truffle upon request. The room is big and bright, with a bustling open kitchen, while the vibe relaxed and welcoming.
My pea soup was perfect, the best I've ever tasted, and my fish pie was filled with big chunks of salmon and a handsome crust on top. The Boy's feta salad wasn't great, or even very pretty, but he positively sang the praises of the chicken that followed — although at 18 quid a pop, it could probably only be swallowed by customers who can afford to live in this bit of Chelsea.
Given the choice between the two places, I would definitely plump for Tom's Kitchen. The standard of food and service are above reproach in each, but the flagship restaurant waves its flag a little too forcefully for me. I felt a bit bullied by it, in so much as it is possible to be bullied by food. When I go to a restaurant, I don't want a lecture in my menu, and nor do I want a plethora of puddings if I only order one.
In contrast, I think Tom's Kitchen should be exported as an example of the best of British: it is simple and cheery fare yet it also pays homage to all the French, Italian and American flavours which have been absorbed into our national cuisine. Tom Aikens is a great chef and a brave restaurateur, and while I don't share all his tastes, I sure as eggs salute him.
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