Robert Hardman -
FOR a place teeming with diplomats, roy- alty and hacks, Kensington High Street is not overburdened with good eating places. It is just like any other high street — the usual branches of the usual chains between the usual shops. No wonder residents of Kensington Palace are occasionally to be found in McDonald's.
However, a newcomer is challenging the chain hegemony. Number One Kensington High Street used to be a bank until it became a pretty average Tex-Mex, catering to the Royal Albert Hall crowd and visitors to those famous royal gates across the road. It is now a stylish addition to that rapidly expanding genre: the modern British restaurant with a rising star. The rising star in question is Allegra McEvedy, who has just produced the mandatory book and is preparing for the mandatory television series.
Until this year, the 29-year-old was run- ning the Good Cook in Notting Hill, a café- style joint in the Tabernacle community cen- tre which won glowing reviews for imagina- tive food and cheap prices. The Tabernacle soon became as popular with the local trustafarians as with the local rastafarians. I recall a noisy evening sandwiched between a table of investment bankers and a table of unwaged Old Etonians `in film' while a meeting of heavily sunglassed Black Power activists rumbled on in the room upstairs.
Now, the Good Cook has moved to larg- er, smarter premises. The unremarkable street entrance gives few hints of the cav- ernous space within. A large bar area backs on to a huge, wood-panelled dining-room with elaborate stone carvings above the doorways. The initial impression is of being in a converted church.
The sense of space was enhanced by the fact that there was a great deal of it. Bar one couple, we were the only people in the place. Some restaurateurs claim that it is unfair to review a restaurant on a Sunday night, on the basis that the place is not at its best (a com- plaint which raises the counter-question: if you're not so good on a Sunday night, then why not cut the prices?). This, in fact, was a Saturday night. But on this particular evening no restaurant anywhere in the coun- try was likely to be at its best. It was the night of England's Euro 2000 clash with Germany. There was no question of missing the game. Four of us had sat through that tortu- ous 90 minutes in increasing disbelief as the impossible came true. By the 80th minute, my friend Topaz had been reduced to hiding behind a wall and reading junk mail out of the bin — anything to take her mind off the agony of waiting for the final whistle. When it came, we sat gasping for air for 15 minutes as we watched the winning goal replayed umpteen times. And then it was time for a celebratory dinner. Pubs were overflowing, the streets were full of chanting youths, but the Good Cook was an oasis of calm.
It turned out that, in the absence of any customers, half the kitchen staff, including Miss McEvedy, had already gone. `I'm off, too,' said the girl on the desk, grabbing her bag. This would, indeed, be a test of the restaurant's consistency.
The skeleton staff left behind could not have been more attentive, which is hardly surprising given that we were soon the only punters. While we mulled over the menu, an excellent plate of warm pastry sticks was put before us with bowls of sour cream and salsa. Topaz, still trembling, calmed her nerves with the red onion tart with olives and goat's cheese which she found 'fine' in the middle but dry and dull around the edges. Chris, a former Far Eastern correspondent, opted for the Burmese salad — a spicy prawn mélange which he admitted was quite spicy enough, even for a tongue hardened by years of high- octane oriental dinners.
Octavius was impressed by the amount of meat on the 'sticky ribs', less so by the accompanying beetroot remoulade. I had a decent-sized stuffed quail which was fleshy enough but rather too livery on the inside.
Miss McEvedy, according to her promot- ers, likes to deconstruct a classic dish and add a 'twist'. In the case of my 'bass in the bag with french beans and thyme' it was a sizeable lemon twist lurking in the bottom of the paper wrapping which I mistook for an exotic vegetable. The bass was meaty and fresher than I expected for this time of night. Although it was late, there was a grat- ifyingly long gap between courses. Some- one, somewhere was slaving away properly. Topaz enjoyed her spinach and chickpea pilau with a hefty nan, but Octavius was somewhat baffled by his lamb kebab which came with an extensive range of accompa- niments, including a small bowl of egg yolk. `It's good lamb, but I think someone's wor- ried about what should go with it, so they've put everything with it,' he said, pick- ing his way through a jungle of broad beans, rice, pickle and much else.
Chris brought more of his oriental exper- tise to bear on the seared tuna with bok choy and wasabi, which he found woefully overdone. 'If I see seared, I think of raw slivers gently brushing a flame, not grilled to the core,' he declared. The football fan in the rest of us came out, I'm afraid, and we told him not to be such a ponce although he had a valid point.
The only general disappointment was pud- ding. The apple tart had clearly been holi- daying in the fridge, as had an unprepossess- ing trio of cheese offcuts. On a night like this, I was in forgiving mood. I had been to the new Good Cook on two previous occasions and had liked what I found, although I have heard reports of teething troubles on the ser- vice front, particularly for large groups. But the Good Cook deserves its name, and it deserves to succeed in a location which should be grateful to have it. This summer's Prom-goers will find few better alternatives within a five-minute walk of the Albert Hall. They might even find the odd royal in there too.
The Good Cook, 1 Kensington High Street, London W8; tel: 020 7795 6533. Monday to Saturday: noon to midnight. Sunday: brunch 11.30-3.30. Dinner for two, includ- ing wine, £75.
Robert Hardman is a columnist and correspondent for the Daily Telegraph.
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