not smitten with Bread Street Kitchen

After an evening that involved several glasses of wine and too many chunks of cheese shared between two friends, I was finally persuaded to start this blog. The deal was simple: that I must (no excuses) review the next restaurant I visit and just press ‘publish’. 

Said meal happened to be at Gordon Ramsay’s new all-day dining concept, Bread Street Kitchen. However, after dinner, I thought very seriously about breaking my own promise. I had such high hopes that my first post would be a positive one. Otherwise I’d just become known as this fussy, stuck-up cynic who always has something bad to say about absolutely everything, wouldn’t I? 

A week later, I came across a review of Bread Street Kitchen by Tracey MacLeod for The Independent – both a shock and a surprise – and felt an irresistible urge to write this post after all. I honestly don’t want to slag off Tracey MacLeod (a respectable food critic) or Gordon Ramsay (sorry, that’s a lie – I do)... but seriously, what was he thinking - £5 million (apparently, that’s how much was spent on this restaurant) - and what was she thinking: “nearly everything we ate was good”! 

I suddenly realised that this is what blogs are for: venting your frustration about how bad your last meal was (and of course, singing praises for the dishes that leave you smiling for the rest of the night, and sometimes, throughout the next day – trust me it’s happened), even if no one else agrees. 

One New Change in St Paul’s, already home to Jamie Oliver and Adam Perry Lang’s steak joint, Barbecoa, seems to be a breeding ground for oversized restaurants. It is of no surprise then that its newest resident, Bread Street Kitchen, sits no less than 250 people at a time. The décor was, I soon discovered, probably its most praiseworthy feature. Black and white chequered floors gave the gigantic space a nice brasserie touch and although it was far too brightly lit, the use of old angle-poise lamps, clamped onto the brass rails behind our seats, was clever. 

The website boasted that the ‘wine balcony’, a feature that stretched the entire wall above the open kitchen, held more than 2000 bottles. It certainly was a feature, a feature that could have been seriously awesome, but was instead ruined by hideous green neon lights. And funnily enough, not one of the 2000 bottles was what we had ordered. It was almost half way through our first course when our waiter casually informed us that they didn’t have any of that particular wine left and would we mind choosing another. We ended up with a carafe of a New World Pinot Noir which we didn’t feel enthusiastic enough to finish or remember the name of. 

First thing that struck me was the menu. Divided into five sections, the ‘Raw Bar’, ‘Salads’ and ‘Sides’ were pretty self-explanatory, but ‘Hot Kitchen’ and ‘Wood Stone’ were such a bizarre choice of words to sum up the remaining two. I still can’t get my head around the idea behind the concept, because I can’t figure out what distinguished the dishes that came under those ‘clever’ titles. 


The best dish we had was, without a doubt, the crispy pig’s head croquettes: soft, salty and rich on the inside; crispy on the outside. Though far from mind-blowing and much less ‘porky’ than I had hoped, they were really rather decent. On the other hand, the accompanying green chilli mayonnaise which I got so excited about, didn’t show the teensiest sign of heat. If I were to be picky about it, (which in this restaurant is ill-advised because you’ll not only wind up hungry but also infuriated that you’ve wasted precious time and money), I’d point out that the texture, though smooth, was far too dense. Close your eyes and it’s no different to Hellmann’s, straight out from the fridge. 

It all went downhill from there. The inattentive service: staff that didn’t seem to know or even look the slightest bit interested in the food they were serving didn’t help, but it’s forgivable. I didn’t expect perfection seeing as it was barely the end of the first week since the opening, but I’ve probably had better service at a Little Chef on the A1. 


The octopus carpaccio, dressed with capers, olives and saffron vinaigrette was drenched in so much saffron and capers that the sea-fresh smell of the octopus, the richness of the black olives and the sharpness of the vinegar were nowhere to be found. The braised pork collar with mustard glaze that followed was also far too salty. We were unable to finish it, even with large mouthfuls of mashed potato accompanying each bite. We faced quite the opposite dilemma when it came to the crab tagliolini with spring onions, chilli and parsley, which was so bland that it became almost tiring to eat. With each mouthful, my brain was working hard, trying to think about the flavours I should have tasted on my tongue, it felt like homework. 

At this point, instinct kicked in and we fought our hardest for survival. Using our forks, we shredded the pork thoroughly into tiny strings, then mixed them into the pasta. The idea was to simultaneously inject some flavour into the almost tasteless tagliolini dish while making the heart attack-inducing, over-seasoned pork more edible. Aside from outings at various Korean restaurants and (at the height of their popularity) Shabu-Shabu joints, I have never before prepared my own meal at a restaurant, and if I can help it, I hope never to do so again. 

With the man behind it being Ramsay, whose tarte tatin remains one of my top five in England, I was confident that when it came to dessert, a British classic like bread and butter pudding couldn’t fail. Like most women, I generally despise having to admit that I was wrong but there was no escape from this slimy, soggy pudding, which was far too milky, yet not quite sweet and unctuous enough. 

So what can I say... I am most disappointed that my first post wasn’t more cheerful. I can only hope it serves as a warning to those being slowly seduced by the pretty photographs of the restaurant on the website. The fact that it’s part of Gordon Ramsay Holdings means nothing. If anything, it’s a guarantee that it will be representative of the fact that the man himself, in his own words, “doesn’t give a flying  f***.” 


One New Change, 10 Bread Street, London, EC4M 9AB +44 (0)20 7592 1616