Hix at The Albemarle

Brown's is a venerable grande dame of the London hotel trade. It's the capital's oldest operating five-star hotel, opened in 1837, the year of Victoria’s ascension, by the enterprising James Brown, who was once Lord Byron's valet, and has been stuck for eons with slightly moth-eaten labels of ‘refinement’ and ‘gentility’, as if its natural clientele were maiden aunts and decrepit urban relics of the landed gentry. Rocco Forte took over in 2003 and the establishment was given a £18m spring-clean by his sister, Olga Polizzi. A hose-down of the Grill followed, with Mark Hix (Le Caprice, J Sheekey and The Ivy) drafted in as Director of Food, along with Marcus Verberne (whose CV mirrors Hix’s) as Executive Chef.

Stepping through the doors pitches you back to the days when hotel restaurants were places of alarm and intimidation: fusty catacombs with napery shrouds and harried waiters. The feeling wears off, though, when you see that it's very coolly designed: wood panelling, wood pillars, snow-white tablecloths, green chairs and vases of what look to be silk flowers but are strange, waxy tulips. Most arresting, however, is the clutch of artwork – an Emin neon here, a Rankin photograph there, a smattering of paintings by Fiona Rae, Peter Peri and Mat Collishaw. It’s worth going just to see the art.

The menu is made of aesthetically sterner stuff. One can play a game here, spotting the Director of Food’s signature dishes. Mixed beets with Ragstone goat’s cheese and wild herbs; that's terribly Hix, the West Country aficionado of rustic sourcing. So is the salt beef and bobby bean salad with Tewkesbury mustard dressing, the whole Cornish megrim sole and the Newlyn monkfish curry. For nostalgists, there are vestigial traces of the old Trust House Forte style in the fish & chips and the Lancashire hot-pot. The Game and Meat section offers no less than fourteen varieties of flesh, including venison, rabbit, partridge, grouse and woodpigeon: it's a restaurant that's almost belligerently hearty, and I found it irresistible.

My monkfish cheeks with caper mayonnaise were a revelation, four gorgeous brown lumps of battered monkfish, to be spritzed with lemon and eaten greedily. Who knew fish cheeks could be so substantial? The capers cut the mayo to perfection. Beside me, Gerald was relishing his Kentish purple sprouting broccoli with Oxford Blue; a lesson in how to serve a vegetable in an appetising and imaginative manner.

For the main course, I chose a wild fallow chop with braised red cabbage and prunes, because I'd never eaten fallow deer before. Expecting a single chop, I was amazed by the profusion of meat that appeared before me – three huge tranches of what resembled lamb steaks, roasted medium rare, the flesh rosy. Its taste was a puzzle, lying somewhere between the pungent, velvet intensity of venison and the fibrous smoulder of beef. Gerald’s pan haggerty with woodland mushrooms and scallions drew fresh raptures. He – a lifelong vegetarian no less - declared that he had never tasted vegetables so crunchy and punchy and delicately flavoured at the same time.

We both marvelled at the size of the helpings, and agreed we couldn't possible handle a pudding. Undying devotion to duty, coupled with sheer greed, however, led us eventually to share an apple and blackberry crumble with custard, which resembled a catering slab from Desserts-U-Like, but tasted absolutely heavenly, the crumble as fine as sand. The custard, with its tiny kiss of vanilla, came in a wooden jug – and when we'd emptied it, they brought another. It's that kind of place.

This was the tastiest, most enjoyable and by some way largest dinner I've eaten in months. HIX at The Albemarle may not win Michelin stars for Ferran Adria-style ambition, but its commitment to British food, lovingly cooked to bring out its finest qualities, makes it an instant favourite. I'll return as soon as possible.

Treats for troops

One of my best university friends is serving in Afghanistan for six months at the moment. He has been part of the Territorial Army for years and it has been a longheld ambition of his to engage in active service. I am so happy that he is pursuing his passion, but I do feel nervous about him being out there. 

One of the main shared interests is sugar - both of us have ridiculously sweet teeth! I decided that a crate of candy would therefore need to wing its way to his BFPO pronto:

I stuffed a shoe box full of M&S's finest confectionary up to the maximum weight limit (2kg) for armed forces delivery and trundled off to the post office to deliver my parcel.

He is back in March - I am sure whether this will keep him and his army pals going until then, so there may have to be another sucrose-saturated package in another month or two.

Mayr & More

Sometimes I wish I could swap myself. Take myself back to the shop and say, this model doesn't work properly: it won't stop telling dull anecdotes, can't do mental arithmetic and has historically had terrible taste in men. And, major fault, the model I had off the production line always seems a bit chubby for my frame.

Then I discovered Dr Franz Xaver Mayr - an Austrian nutritionist who lived to the age of 90 and believed the cure to nearly all human ills, both physical and mental, could be found in the intestines.

I went to a Mayr clinic on the Wörthersee, in Austria, where they clean out your guts in accordance with his regime. I lost half a stone in a week, and learnt to chew every mouthful until it was pap.

The Mayr regime is about two things - cleaning the system out and teaching the patient how to carry on into real life. Mayr's theory was that most people have years of semi-digested food sitting around in their gut. Just think of the fridge when you get back from holiday. All that rotting food creates a cycle of poor digestion, filling your body with toxins, which puff you up and slow down the digestion of the next intake of food. He also thought it contributed to women's infertility. So we started each day with a dose of Epsom salts - which taste so vile you know they are doing good.

Breakfast, however, was delicious: smoked trout fillets, gofio mash or sheep's yoghurt, with either a fresh spelt roll or three rice cakes. And all to be chewed; the digestive process starts in the mouth with the saliva - Mayr believed if you chew food to pap, it's easier to digest, makes your gut more efficient, and so you lose weight. It's not what you eat, rather how. It also takes ages to chew every mouthful 35 times (the optimum number). When you've spent 15 minutes masticating rice cakes, you're not only bored, you're full.

Then there was vegetable broth, and a little lie-down; the Mayr regime doesn't recommend strenuous exercise - there is a gym, overlooking the lake, with a coterie of machines; pool; and pedaloes to take out on the lake - but they don't mind if all you do is a little pilates. Too much exercise impedes the detoxification process - thank God.

The chef is superb - home-made soup for lunch, and, depending upon which diet the doctor deems most appropriate during the initial consultation, a choice of three main courses: stuffed aubergines, spinach risotto or buffalo mozzarella and tomato salad.

There were daily massages and daily detoxification treatments; dark "poisons" were extracted from my feet through an electrified foot bath; I was slipped into a toasted sandwich-maker and radiated with light; and hooked up to a drip and infused with natrium bicarbonate.

At the great weigh-in, one week later, I'd lost half a stone; I felt in control, and ready to go out and chew each mouthful 35 times.

The Original F.X. Mayr&more Healthcentre
Golfstraße 2
A-9082 Maria Wörth-Dellach
Kärnten, Austria

Tel: 0043 4273 2511-0
Fax: 0043 4273 2511-51

E-mail: single rooms from £90 a night, though less than a week's stay is not recommended: seven days (tailored treatments are extra) cost about £1,100.

in:spa

in:spa, Monasterio 16-23 August 2012

To put things in perspective, I’m not (I think) fat. But, apart from times when I’ve been ill (once in my late teens in Thailand), I’ve almost never been as thin as I’d like. So I can scarcely remember a time when I haven’t had what psycho-babblers call “ishoos” with food. I love it. I love cooking it and I love devouring it. But every mouthful comes freighted with notions of “good” or “bad”. Fruit, vegetables, pulses, complex carbs, protein – all good. Processed food, saturated fat, sugar – all bad, very bad.

The result is that I seem to have spent my entire adult life on a diet. I have endured Dukan, Atkins et al at home; I have been abroad and done deprivation in extremis at the Mayr, macrobiotics and colonics at SHA and dosha diagnosis at Ananda. I have learned, through exhaustive empirical research, that a couple of factors are pivotal to success: camaraderie and scenery. Dieting it on one’s own, at home, is a slog. What most of us need is company, encouragement, guidance, sunshine and the occasional shaking of the stick.

Armed with this knowledge, I signed up to spend a week on an in:spa detox. I’ve never managed to detox autonomously. It always seemed at odds with the day-to-day demands of, well, living, and to require the discipline of an Olympic athlete, which my errant willpower fails to yield. And yet the benefits seem to be universally acknowledged: glowing skin, sprightlier spirit and, of course, weight loss.

Kathryn Brierley, Director of the Healthy Holiday Company (and former high-flying city executive) explains that her objective in establishing in:spa was to devise the ultimate luxury fitness holiday. Whilst the juxtaposition of those three words -‘luxury’, ‘fitness’ and ‘holiday’- might sound somewhat oxymoronic, I can attest that the holistic approach to health - a magical amalgam of fabulous, wholesome food and a teeming timetable of activities in a stunning setting – resulted in as enjoyable and sumptuous a break as I have ever experienced.

No in:spa holiday is identical, but the essential formula is the same: a group of up to thirty guests, plus a cook, dietician, yoga teacher, masseuse and personal trainers, takes up temporary residency in one of a range of enchanting boutique properties in Spain, France or Morocco. I had booked myself onto an ‘intense’ week, the setting for which was a somnolent converted monastery in Southern Spain. I was trepidatious when, on day one I was presented with a formidable timetable. My schedule for the week seemed distressingly full – exercise, nutritional consultations, massages, exercise classes, even lectures. I was worried that I had bitten off more than I could chew.

In fact, as the week went on, I found that I couldn’t get enough. Never an early riser, I found myself up at dawn, while the air was still cool, in the converted stables doing hatha yoga, or running 5k, on days when I felt more energetic. I enjoyed doing masses of exercise: hikes, circuits and personal training sessions, especially the dance class with Malcolm (a world renowned dancer who has worked under the direction of Ben Elton). The twin highlights of the week for me, though, were my sessions with the outstanding masseur, Ethan and the fascinating personal nutritional consultation with Lorraine.

To complement this action-packed agenda, the daily menus were assiduously planned and executed by Sophie, the superb chef, in consultation with Lorraine.  Certain foods were firmly out: wheat, dairy, gluten tea, coffee, alcohol, salt, sugar and red meat. The compulsory removal of these things made it all – relatively – easy – it turns out that absence does make the heart forget, especially when there was such an abundance of yummy alternatives: outrageously fresh fruit, fish, nuts and vibrant vegetables. I learned from Lorraine that starving the body is not what losing weight or being well is all about. There were compulsory snacks at 11am and 4pm daily (“If you go too long without eating,” Lorraine told us, “your body thinks there’s a famine and starts hoarding fat”).

I came back detoxed, re-educated, de-stressed and re-energised - bright of eye, bushy of tail and a couple of pounds lighter, which admittedly isn’t a lot, but my week at in:spa had introduced me to the novel notion that I wouldn’t die if I gave up tea, coffee and alcohol, and to the key concept that diet must be combined with exercise.

Best of all, I came back with a clutch of new chums from my cohort (the staggering majority of which were repeat guests) – including a former ambassador and the CEO of a multinational company.

in:spa is a blast – whether you’re feeling tubby or tired, take your friends, have a ball and come back glowing, minus a few kilos.

Salon review: RUSH Kensington

Where: Rush London, 26 Kensington Church Street, W8 4EP Tel: 020 3468 1503

 

Treatment: Full head of highlights, Ladies Cut and Blow-dry.

 

Price: Wash, cut and blow dry from £49 and highlights from £77.

 

The experience: The last time I had my hair cut was more than a year ago. I've been too terrified to go back since. That fateful June afternoon a scissor happy hairdresser lopped off over six inches from my bountiful mane. It wasn’t quite what I was expecting. The less said about the ‘angular fringe’ the better.

 

So it was with some trepidation that I arrived at Rush on Kensington Church Street one  brisk, if not busy Tuesday afternoon for the salon, which is newly opened, and part of the burgeoning nationwide chain.

 

All the essentials are in place. Bright and airy – check. Trendy hairdressers with funky haircuts – check. Sparkly floor – check. You get the picture.

 

I'm shown to my chair and offered complimentary drinks from an extensive menu until my stylist arrives. In view of my previous experience I shun the wine on offer in favour of a sobering mineral water. I'm taking no chances.

 

My stylist today is John. In fact, he's a consultant, which in hairdressing – or at least in Rush terms – means he's pretty senior in the pecking order. He's young - well younger than me - but has a steely air of confidence about him that is reassuring. He's also attentive and seems genuinely to listen to what I want during our pre-cut consultation. 

 

Both John and my shampoo girl are Rush stalwarts; John has worked for the company for over eight years. It seems that part of the company's draw is the loyalty it inspires from its staff. Rush endeavours to keep its employees up to date with the latest styling developments and has recently triumphed at the British Hairdressing Awards. High praise indeed. But are John and the salon up to scratch? Well, there were no tears at bedtime this cut around.

 

After the highlights were expertly inserted, and a hair wash and delicious smelling conditioning treatment applied, John wielded the scissors with seasoned efficiency. John explained, as he packed my hair deftly into neat little foil packets, that a key differentiating feature of Rush is the absence of segregation between stylists and colourists - unusual, particularly in London salons. I rather liked the continuity of having one hairdresser seeing me through from start to finish - so often after having colour I find myself being shunted off to a new stylist, who often will not have seen my hair in its dry state, and will hence have little idea about how to style it most effectively. After a couple of hours sectioning my hair, I felt John was completely au fait with my locks, and would do a great job of the cut. Which he did. Even the blow-dry was a huge success. My pleas for a big voluminous 'do' usually fall on deaf ears as my wavy hair is straightened to within an inch of its life. But after just over an hour, my newly shorn mane was shiny, curled and, importantly, not ‘angular’ in any shape or form.

 

Everyone who knows me can rest easy. It's been a successful hairdressing experience. What's more, it’s all very good value, particularly when you take into account the 50% discount for first time bookings. Helpfully, the salon is open late (until 8pm on weekdays, and 9pm on Thursday).

Comptoir Libanais, Paddington

Comptoir Libanais is the Lebanese reply to fast food. Think less Middle-Eastern McDonalds;  more Canaanite-Carluccio’s fused with Levantine Leon into a  delicatessen-cum-café. The brainchild of Tony Kitous, of Pasha fame, Le Comptoir’s mission statement is to popularize Lebanese cuisine by making it both affordable and chic. The latest branch of the burgeoning chain has just opened in Paddington, offering sumptuous shawarma, zingy mezze bites, tagines, flatbreads, falafel, pastries and frozen yoghurt concoctions alongside a store selling goodies such as cookbooks, preserves, harissa and Moroccan handbags.  If the tantalising Middle Eastern cuisine alone wasn’t enough to lure you to W2 then the wonderfully kitsch decor, packaging and eye-popping murals by the talented Rana Salam should tip the balance.

In many ways, Comptoir Libanais is conventionally Levantine. A long glass counter displays the dishes of the day: dips, colourful salads, filled and deep-fried pastries, baklava, and flavoured breads. There are even Beirut-style confections such as croissants or lemon cheesecake, as befits the Paris of the East. No alcohol is sold; a selection of fresh juices, coffees and fat-free yoghurt smoothies take its place. A high counter runs between this display and the facing shelves which are stacked with carefully arranged harissa tins and hand-appliquéd baskets. At the same time, this is a far cry from the plentiful supply of prototypical Lebanese joints on the nearby Edgware Road. The difference is in the presentation, the neighbourhood, the clientele. In the boldness of its design, it is reminiscent of the Double Club, or Momo’s. Their target group is the design-savvy, the wealthy, quite possibly the health-conscious. It feels more Arabesque than Middle-Eastern; a painting of an (unveiled) woman with come-hither eyes is part of the shop’s branding.

Although Comptoir Libanais is the perfect takeaway, the canteen’s chic interior provides 30 covers, allowing you to snack at the counter’s high stools or to settle, as we did, into the intimate, den-like café area at the rear, with metal stools and huge pop art renderings of Arabic chewing gum wrappers and the like.

We started with a mixed mezze plate, which features several of the warm and cold dips and salads. Visually spectacular: glistening arils of pomegranate atop smoky babaganoush, chickpeas nestled in a whirl of houmous, and shards of preserved turnip, dyed with beetroot juice, gave the platter a hyperreal effect. The lemon juice and fresh parsley flavours imparted an unusual zinginess to the tabbouleh, and the falafel – too often the culprit in sub-standard Mediterranean food – had a fantastically well-packed crumbly core, with deliciously crispy, sesame-seeded crust. My favourite part of the plate was the pumpkin kibbeh, which looked like Scotch eggs but were filled with a layer of kibbled wheat and pumpkin, and an inner layer of ground walnut and pomegranate molasses, served with a romesco-style dip.

Next I tried the lamb tagine on a bed of organic couscous, whilst my friend enjoyed a Halloumi cheese salad and a falafel wrap. We thought the wrap would have benefitted from having an accompanying sauce, as it was somewhat dry by itself, but the cheese was excellent, as was my lamb. By this stage, a tenner a head down, we were so full that only the most mouthwatering of puddings could have tempted us to continue eating. The friendly staff, Penny and Mitchell, gave us a selection of delectable treats to try, including baklava, semolina cake and a divine chocolate brownie. Besides this, we drank our way through a sizeable portion of the fluids on offer; I had a fantastic date and sesame milkshake, and my friend declared his apple, mint and ginger juice a triumph.

The menu is so varied that it would take a number of visits to tire of the mezze dishes and the pastries, and that’s before starting on the rosewater and strawberry tart, or the coffee and cardamom macaroons. The next time you fancy some fabulous Lebanese food with panache, minus the price-tag, go to Comptoir Libanais.