It’s official. London is truly, madly, deeply in love with Russell Norman. The coolest self-confessed ‘uncool’ man behind some of the most successful restaurants the capital has seen in the past three years: Polpo (which, by the way, still conjures up a two-hour long wait at 6pm on a weekday), Polpetto, Spuntino and da Polpo. So it was of no surprise then, that when he announced he would be opening up a ‘kind of Jewish deli with cocktails’ in a prime Covent Garden spot (right next to Opera Tavern, as it turns out), tongues immediately started wagging, stomachs started rumbling and the twitterati started tweeting excitedly in speculation of just how good Mishkin’s would be. And more importantly, how, oh just hoooww are we going to get in?
The good news is that Mishkin’s takes reservations. Well, at least for now. “Do you remember when Polpo was taking reservations?” I’ve been asking everyone I’ve met for the past three weeks. “Well, yeah, I went when they were still doing that.” I told them proudly like I’d won the Nobel Prize or something. But more to the point, I was terrified that Mishkin’s will eventually wind up down the same no reservations route. So I did what I knew best – I got organised. On the very Friday that Mishkin’s officially opened, I telephoned at noon to make a reservation for Sunday.
It was exactly like I’d expected. By the time we arrived at 7.30pm the cocktails were flowing, the bar was brimming and the restaurant itself was, all but two tiny tables, full. I got a sneaky glimpse of the A4 sheet on the understated reservation stand, which from where I was standing, also looked like it was exhausted of white space.
The decor was in Norman’s true signature style: cool Lower East Side New York meets edgy East London. Bare brick walls, black and white chequered floors (one more of these in a restaurant and my eyes are going to go funny). Long, slender neon lights emitting dingy yellow glows ran vertically down the walls, interrupted in parts by stripped wooden pillars painted a ‘deli’ mint green. However, it was the details that impressed. It wasn’t just the cheap café-style furniture (think bright banquette seating and MDF tables with white formaldehyde tops), it was also the metal serviette dispensers, the red and yellow squeezy bottles, the tiny school canteen-style salt and pepper shakers that weren’t designed to moderately season, and the cans of soft drinks that lined the shelves... the amount of attention to detail was astonishing. Not only has Norman made ‘cheap’ incredibly cool, but he’s also timed it just right.
Now don’t hate me, but aside from the cozy interior and this unique magical atmosphere which Norman has pioneered and ingeniously sprinkled all over his London ‘joints’, I was a little disappointed. Mostly, with the food. A few months ago I tried my very first Matzo ball soup and fell in love with it. Perhaps Mishkin’s was unlucky in that my first and only taste of this classic Jewish dish was an experience that came pretty close to perfection - it was at Daniel Boulud’s DBGB in New York - but the truth is that it didn’t even come close to satisfying my craving. Although the Matzo ball itself wasn’t a bad attempt: soft, crumbly and light; the chicken broth was under-seasoned and lacked a kick that could have been achieved with just a pinch of cracked black pepper. Having said that, it was one of the better dishes of the night.
The rest wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t great either. The much anticipated meatloaf (I’d seen a cheekily enticing image of this a week earlier on Twitter) was tasty. It was peppery, meaty, and the egg inside, which oozed out perfectly sticky yellow lava as soon as I punctured it with my fork, was undeniably, simply genius. Sadly the texture wasn’t as soft or as juicy (lack of fat, I assume) as I remembered a good meatloaf to be. The cod cheek popcorn, a dish that should have been right up my street: easy, fun and moreish, also failed to excite. The batter was sort of crunchy and the fish was soft, but it was hideously under-seasoned. The best bit was the tiny slivers of green chilly that lit up my tongue for a split second. The latkes and smoked eel was, simply put, just a little odd. The latkes was too dry and I couldn’t really tell that the eel had been smoked, but that didn’t offend me as much as the combination of apple sauce and soured cream. I wasn’t entirely sure if the sweet apple sauce and the soured cream, which when combined resulted in this unpleasant congealed milk texture and an off yoghurt taste, was an authentic Jewish feature, but I was positive that I didn’t enjoy it.
The whitefish and spinach knish was not entirely unpleasant, but it very much resembled and tasted like a fishcake that had been beaten up by a gang of angry (and probably hungry) youths. The peppered oxtail cholent, which I got really excited about, turned out to be a soggy bowl of unseasoned mush. The only dry bits on the plate was sadly, the oxtail itself.
But then, just as I was about to give up hope on Mishkin’s, a miracle occurred. It came in the form of a modest warm choc chip cookie with chocolate ice cream, effortlessly served on what looked like a side plate that’s been hanging around in the back of your grandmother's cupboard for a century. I’m concerned that if I try to describe it, one could mistake this for a sophisticated dessert that tried too hard, and it may ruin it completely. So I’m going to settle for a simple “it was sooooo delicious” instead.
As we sat and ate, tables were constantly being turned around, right up to the minute we were leaving. It was incredible to observe and to witness the start of success for this little 3-day old Jewish diner. I can’t deny it, the man’s a genius. Even with that very average bordering on below average food it’s serving, there’s no doubt that Mishkin’s will be packed, night after night, and week after week. In fact, I probably won’t be able to get a table there again for a while, and I’ll be sorely disappointed. Because being there makes me feel cool and the lighting makes me pretty. And as long as a restaurant is capable of doing that, it should always be given another chance.
25 Catherine Street, London WC2B 5JS +44 (0)20 7240 2078
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