Quality Chop House
Quality Chop House, Farringdon, London
When your sister asks you in March if you’d like to have a ‘Sibling Sunday’ in May you’re not always cognisant of what your plans will be the night (or in this case nightmare) before.
‘Of course! I’d love to’, I responded with the enthusiasm of someone blissfully ignorant of the amount of alcohol he would have consumed about 6 hours earlier.
‘How does Quality Chop House sound?’ she asked. ‘Stunning!’, I said, with the vigour of a man who had no idea that the thought of a 2kg sharing entrecote steak would later force a trip to the ladies room.
I won’t go into too much detail on what happened the night before, as I’m saving it for my (as of yet not written) NYT best selling memoir. What I will say is that my review of Quality Chop House today may be a little…well… swayed.
In fear of letting my adoring followers (Mum) down, I am committing to reviewing this establishment even in these less than ideal circumstances. Please bear with me and forgive some of the frankly bizarre decisions that were made on this fateful, balmy Sunday in May. Let’s discuss.
The vibe.
After downing a Starbucks venti extra ice peach green tea lemonade and impulsively spending a fortune on linen shorts in COS, my sister and I ventured into Farringdon for lunch.
Farringdon is an odd one. I still don’t really know to this to day what Farringdon is? I know it has a bustling market and that god awful club Piano Works but what else is in Farringdon? Answers on a postcard please.
Our answer was Quality Chop House, a beautifully renovated 19th century former working man’s ‘eating house’, now revamped into a modern British dining room. Our initial reaction was that this particular establishment - with it’s wax dripping candles and church pew seats - may work slightly better in winter. With the glimmering lanterns reflecting off the black and white Victorian tiles, you are instantly transported back to a London where your boots would crunch across freshly laid snow as you walk arm in arm through a misty cobbled backstreet.
There’s one glaring problem with that. We’re not in a Dickensian winter fantasy. It’s 2021, 22 degrees, in Farringdon, and I think I just threw up a bit of last night’s pina colada in my mouth.
Regardless, I didn’t find the Sweeney Todd inspired interior hugely inviting, if anything the aforementioned church pew booths felt slightly cramped and made the whole experience a little cold. But that could just be my hangover talking.
The food.
This is where I really fucked it.
Quality Chop House offers a much hyped daily changing, seasonally focused menu of the finest cuts of meat and fish in London. Fantastic, yes? But honestly at that particular moment in time couldn’t think of anything worse in the world. All I wanted was a bite, a BITE, of slightly buttered toast, and a back rub, let alone a fillet steak and some offal croquettes.
So what did we do when faced with an awe inspiring array of top quality meat and fish, the breadth of which would be worthy of a restaurant on Noahs Ark? We unwittingly order a meal where 95% of the items were A) liquid, B) creamy, and C) RICH. No seriously, we were a blender and some avocado short of a 9 month old’s Friday night dinner.
In my 2 months of reviewing restaurants this was quite possibly the most peculiar choice of order to date. Filled with panic and regret, but fully committed to our liquified lunch, we kicked off with smoked cods roe topped with confit egg and black pepper. This was followed by a classic, yet unfathomably and almost shockingly smooth, chicken liver parfait, served with Sauternes jelly and brioche. Jokes aside, for the right clientele both would have been stunning but my god, chuck in a tiramisu and a fondue and we could’ve been having dinner at Fawlty Towers. We had to order extra sourdough (which was thankfully very sturdy and delicious) just to soak it all up. And that was just the starters!
For main we both chose the Brixham turbot with a (yep, you guessed it) creamy bone sauce, Sea beet and tropea onions. If you know me, opting for a white fish main is REALLY not my vibe, which indicates to you how close I was to a cocktail-induced break down. The fish was exquisitely cooked, and the now famous multi layered confit potatoes - which haven’t been taken off the menu since QCH’s inception in 2013 - were as delicious as everyone had told me. Although, when creating the menu I can’t imagine the chef thought that one of his guests would be washing all this down with a non-alcoholic strawberry lemonade...
Side note, the only exception to the puréed rule were a pair of truly outstanding mangalitza pork croquettes. Crunchy, meaty, delectable, unctuous goodness. I was very close to asking if we could swap the complementary fudge (I mean COME ON) for more croquettes, but instead was left to stare at my final buttery nemesis as the last glimmer of light drained from my eyes. Thankfully, my sister swiftly wrapped them up and popped them in her bag, whilst telling me that I looked like I was about to have a panic attack.
The verdict.
I feel slightly guilty that my visit to Quality Chop House was tainted by the frankly wicked state that I was in. Nevertheless, I’ve visited many a restaurant alongside a self-inflicted quarter pounder headache and have still been mightily impressed. In short, my sister and I concluded that QCH is a little like Brat, but not as good.
With that being said, I visited a restaurant called Quality Chop House and didn’t eat a single chop so who am I to talk.
Was the food stunning 3.5/5 – Creme de la Ben
The vibe 2.5/5 – Oliver Twist ‘all we ever get is gruEL!’ vibes
Scream factor 4/5– Later on in the day the complimentary fudge melted in my sister’s bag in a sad little creamy little puddle.
Pricey – Quite
Would you recommend to someone you just met at a party – God knows, I don’t even know where I am?
My nemesis x