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Alexandra's Hot-Rocks
I TRY for variety in these pages. From a gastronomic point of view, this is a flawed aim, but it is not an entirely worthless one. Nevertheless, there are drawbacks, one of which being that I often end up eating din- ner in pretty rum places.
Some time ago I foolishly tried a joint, Charbar, where you were supposed to be enthusiastic about paying to cook your own dinner. True, you were given a granite slab to cook it off, but as far as I'm concerned it's the thin end of the wedge. They'll be asking you to do your own washing-up next. Anyway, be grateful I spared you that one.
But there are signs that the DIY restau- rant is here to stay. I was apprised of Alexandra's Hot Rocks some weeks ago, but the name, along with what it implied, made me less than eager to pay a visit. But 1 just so happened to be near-by one evening as it approached dinner-time. So why not?
And aren't I just glad I went? For as well as the 'unique speciality' of 'The Hot- Rock', Alexandra offers us what she promises is an 'interesting selection of Authentic German Food'. Now, fashions in food come, and they go. One minute it's Tapas, the next it's Cal-Ital, Pacific rim or Sino-Lancastrian, whatever, but of one thing you can be sure: it's never German. German cooking eludes every trend, and Heidi, from Books for Cooks, and I have more than once lamented the lack of any- thing resembling a good German restau- rant in London. (Actually, there was one in Harcourt Street, I seem to remember, some years ago, but it didn't last long.) So I was hopeful. And what I hoped for was smoked and velvety pink pig's trotter, Eisbein, with sauerkraut and mashed pota- toes, a long-soused Sauerbraten or Rind- fleisch mit Nudeln. A stint at an altsprach- liches Gymnasium in Hanover, followed by some mild nannying in Essen in my youth, gave me a taste for those heavy, sauce- swamped dishes.
Alexandra's Hot Rocks certainly has an echt Deutsch look about it. The anaglypta walls, shiny dark wood, brown and beige drapings and glass-bowled lights exude the comforts of the parlour, that well-ordered, comfortable Bilrgerlichkeit. Not very Soho Square, to be sure. The much-hyped hot rock is a laverstone slab on which you cook, at the table, a half-pound lump of pork, beef, chicken or fish. So, if all you want is a
plain cooked steak or piece of tuna, then I suppose you've come to the right place.
Starters, or Vorspeisen, are where we enter the realms of German cooking. That is, if your idea of German cooking is Gebackener Camembert mit Preissel- beeren, Toast und Butter. But baked camembert with cranberries is, I'm afraid, just the sort of thing Germans like eating. I don't, so ordered instead the Deutsche Kartoffelsuppe mit Speck und Marjoram. The last time I had anything like it, it was a thick potato purée of a soup in which had been long-immersed a large and flavour- some ham bone. Here it came in a thin bouillon with potatoes in little cubes and bacon in small strips swimming about in it, 'Traditional was so heavy,' drawled Bodo, our Helmut Bergerish waiter, 'This is new- style, light.' Well, he's right, and the soup was good, but it's still not what I call a Kartoffelsuppe.
But next I had the 'councillor's pot' which put everything right. A shiny red enamel saucepan comes to the table. In it, at the bottom, are potatoes sauted and stewed until golden and caramelly, then pale strips of pork, bacon, carrots, cauliflower and scrambled eggs all bound in a glossy brown gravy. This is the sort of food you're told puts hairs on your chest. It would be worth it.
Apfelstrudel, not shop-bought light, but delightfully, stomach-poundingly dense, is a must for pudding. Otherwise there's a con- coction of chocolate and vanilla ice-creams, chocolate sauce and advokaat which should really have come in a tall glass rather than on a plate, but it is still the sort of thing the Germans eat non-stop. After the Ameri- cans I'd have thought they hold the world record for ice-cream consumption. And generally they smoke while they eat it, too.
This is not the German restaurant we've been waiting for, I'd agree. The menu could be a little less naff and the atmo- sphere a little more gemiitlich, but I warmed to it all the same. Dinner for two, with a bottle of welcomingly astringent Deinhard Riesling came to just over £60. Alexandra's Hot-Rocks, 11 Soho Square WI; tel 071 494 0362 In my last review I inadvertently swapped the two parts of the name of the restaurant which is really called The Beetle & Wedge.
Nigella Lawson
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