“Hispi cabbage is always disappointing, old boy…”
Larman’s not one to mince his words, particularly when it comes to restaurant menus. Of all my dining companions, he’s very clear when wants something – or doesn’t. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be a problem, but when it comes to sharing menus, there has to be a degree of consent. Or, in my case, relenting. So, on our latest outing, I was already resigned to not trying the hispi cabbage, then.
We were in Claro, the new London outpost of the Tel Aviv stalwart making waves from Chef Patron Ran Shmueli. Its location in prime real estate on Waterloo Place gives a misleading sense of grandeur; it must have been a bank, but its new aesthetic – statement light fittings, exposed joists, chessboard flagstone floor – gives it a very relaxed setting for dining.
Billed as farm-to-table fare with a Mediterranean flair, there’s little direction on the list-like menu, save that it suggests there are small, medium and larger plates, indicated by price. Our waiter proposes two from each tier, including a recommendation of the hispi cabbage, which Larman dismisses. We select light ceviche starters, prawns and pasta in the middle, followed by steak.
At the last moment, I throw in the hispi cabbage. I happen to like it, and a small part was convinced I could convert the naysayer next to me, in spite of the eye-rolling as we gave back the menus.
While all this was going on, a board of frena bread arrives, in a manner that American restaurants put down a plate automatically. It’s a nice touch; a ballooned flatbread drizzled with oil and herbs, with accompanying labneh, harissa, olives, and a tomato and pepper matbucha. We dive in. It’s a tearing, dipping sort of thing, accompanied by accomplished cocktails of a basil-pungent gin Basilica and a hibiscus tequila ‘tea’, and it’s a great way to open the batting.
You’d think we’d made a mistake ordering two cured fish to start, but these were very different, largely on account of what they came with, rather than traditionally being served native, as it were. The Yellowtail sashimi had freekeh and pomegranate tabbouleh, tomato salsa and a pistachio yogurt; when combined, they made for far more than a mouthful of citrusy raw fish. Similarly, the tuna tartare, served on a yellow gazpacho sauce with green tomatoes proved utterly compelling, and the confidence of the sommelier for the accompanying Riesling suggested we’d made the right choice.
There’s nothing like being in the hands of a sommelier that can anticipate your whims. As the middle course arrived, instead of the pinot noir we anticipated, he suggests, “I’ve had a better idea…do you know Antica vermouth?” As we tucked into grilled red prawns with chimichurri, and lamb cappelletti, he returns with two glasses, on ice, and it proves exceptional, its sweetness complementing the lamb a treat.
This, clearly, is Claro, ingenuity in spades. It has a magnetic quality, a vibrant, buzzing atmosphere that draws you in for more. Staff skipping between tables, keeping the service on point, a group of young women on the long bar, a pair of businessmen on the adjacent table; two immaculately dressed older couples opposite. It felt at once convivial, sophisticated, grown-up, an ideal setting to enjoy a few turns from the kitchen.
The steak appeared, and we sat up. Served on a griddle, sliced and presented back in the bone, all I can say is that I couldn’t get a word in for all the praise coming from my neighbour, “Oh, look, there’s even a special salt…” See that, reader? He was even complimenting the condiments.
And what of that villainous hispi? Like its preceding dishes, with Claro surprises come in spades. This is not a charred endive so often offered. Richly roasted in butter, it’s stuffed with za’atar bulgur, drizzled with date honey and accompanied by pickled cabbage, making this far more than a token side show. Suffice to say Larman was convinced, he was spooning it onto his plate and, at one point, gave me a glance as if to say ‘What?’.
If we thought we were done, the dessert menu slid across the table before us. And as we considered curiosities such as parsnip, and figs and olive oil, our beaming waiter insisted we try the pre-dessert of tomato sorbet and goat’s cheese. ‘Surprise’ was now becoming a byword for this experience, such that nothing would surprise us anymore. But, reader, if you haven’t tried tomato sorbet, let alone doused in cracked black pepper, accompanied with the sourness of goat’s cheese, it’s the ultimate palate cleanser. Perhaps it, too, accentuated the flavours of the desserts to come.
While I was cooing over Milk Chocolate and Barley Ice Cream, with a gooey, crunchy malted biscuit reminiscent of childhood, I heard an “Ooh…”. Larman had just tried the Beetroot and Strawberries. “The waiter was right,” he said, gesturing at it with his spoon, “have it all together.” I did. Beetroot sorbet, strawberries, cream, meringue. My eyes widened. Larman looked at me as if to say, “See?” Eton Mess might never be the same again.
Beetroot and strawberries, tomato sorbet, ceviche with yogurt…and who knew that a simple hispi cabbage might create a Damascene conversion. Perhaps the biggest surprise was in what we didn’t have, eschewing the now ubiquitous espresso martini.
“After a meal like that?” Larman proffered, “Not required, old boy.”
Claro London, 12 Waterloo Pl, London SW1Y 4AU. For more information, and for bookings, please visit www.claro-london.com.
