Sanctuary from The Mad World
Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what's for lunch. - Orson Welles

First appears in the Jakarta Globe.  I must warn you that the JG version is very different from the one below.  I’m sure it’s the norm but I’m not sure if I should be happy.
But, I’m grateful.  It’s a mile stone for me as someone is actually willing to pay for my blabs.

I’m not sure where I heard first about this place but I remember seeing bone marrow and parsley salad all over the internet:  from Chubby Hubby to Anthony Bourdain to the BBC.  I love marrow and was sufficiently intrigued to make one to tide me over until I visited the place.

Apparently, the occasion happened sooner than later.  When we decided to visit London, this was first on my reservation list.

On the designated day, we took the subway following the precise and helpful direction stated on the restaurant’s website.  It is located in a rather deserted, industrial part of town although, walking from the tube station to the restaurant, we passed by a few pubs full of people having after-work drinks.

In the asymmetric foyer, I felt like I entered the front office of a warehouse:  the white-washed brick walls were unadorned, the floor was naked and so were the tables.  At a glance to the menu on the blackboard, the food at the bar was similar to the one in the restaurant but the atmosphere was a lot more relaxed.  We climbed a short flight of stairs to reach the dining room.  It was equally plain save for the more formal table cloth and setting and the bustling kitchen.

We were seated in a table for two which, I must say, felt rather cramped but still comfortable.  The service was friendly and knowledgeable without being intimidating.  I felt conspicuous with my big DSLR but I wanted to record my visit to this world renowened restaurant so I waved the maître d’ and asked if I could take pictures of the food.  He gave me the permission so long as I did not take picture of the room.

We love offal and other unusual cuts and, therefore, had a hard time deciding the main course.  Tripe, liver, trotters were beckoning us to take them all.  The menu, which changes daily according to supply, contains fish as well but we were not going to waste our stomach space.  I did a disservice to my husband by mixing up chitterlings, which are intestines, with cracklings which is just pork with crispy skin.  He was besides himself with grief when he found out.

After giving our orders, I scanned the room.  I was happy to see that the guests range from two teenagers on a date behaving all smoochy and kissy and to groups of food tourists to locals on accounts.

The appetizers arrived and we were blown away by the mussels and cabbage:  sweet, finely shredded, and crisp cabbage was strewn in juicy mussels steamed in wine, butter, and parsley.  The delicate broth was slightly different from the usual moules marinières:  there was an unidentified clean, almost sweetish flavour which I later found out to be celery.  It was such an interesting take on a common dish and it was, for us, the highlight of the night.

The bone marrow was as rich, decadent, and a tad oily as I expected it to be.  Unfortunately, I had made this dish at home, following the recipe faithfully, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.  Lesson to self:  do not make restaurant dish at home prior to visiting.

The good waiter piled up the mains on our table shortly after.  My husband selected braised trotter with onion sauce and dates with sides of welsh rarebit (toast with cheese)  and I opted for calf’s liver and chicory with sprouts’ top.  Despite the missed opportunity, my husband raved about his pink but done and tender trotter which married very well with the sweet dates.  I loved my calf liver in jus and roasted, soft chicory:  I thought the clean, astringent chicory successfully tamed the rich, melting liver.  Needless to say, the pairing was very unusual.  But beware, the portion is huge even for a liver lover like me.  Sprout tops, as I found out from waiter, were the tender leaves of brussel sprouts steamed in butter in the manner and taste of kale.  It provided good balance of bitterness and fibre to the whole meal. 

The wines offered were all French.  We had wine by the glass (the normal serving in the UK is slightly more than in Switzerland, about 150-170 ml so a glass is plenty) which were subtle, juicy, and smooth companions to the dishes.

We closed the night with espresso as we were stuffed up to our ears.  Bone marrow and parsley appetizer are quite heavy if you plan to taste more goodies.  A side dish to share is more than plenty to supplement the generously-sized main courses.  

I salute Fergus Henderson for single-handedly making offal chic again.  In recent years, I was annoyed by people who eschew these cuts for various excuses.  It’s time that people understand meat are not manufactured according to a few specifications and packaged within neat plastic and styrofoam vessels straight from an assembly line.  Meat comes from a whole animal with eyes, brains, livers, kidneys, and tails and it’s time we take our nourishment’s from these sources as well as part of ethical eating.

But above all, having experienced the actual dining in St. John, I come to understand why he is worshiped by other chefs all over the world.  I appreciate his ingenuity in cooking, his faith in good food, and his understanding of the seasonal ingredients.  His dishes brings back the excitement I haven’t felt in a long time over dining out. 

St. JOHN Bar & Restaurant Smithfield
26 St John Street
London
EC1M 4AY
Reservations:  +4420 7251 0848

Others in the London series:

Wright Brothers Oyster & Porter House, London
My Verdict on Wagamama, London
Arancina
Fishworks
Royal China