NOPI: Bloody good brunch

21 Warwick Street, W1B 5NE

tel: +44 (0)20 7494 9584

One of my favorite things to do on a Sunday morning is wander lazily into the kitchen, still in my pajamas, make a cup of Earl Grey tea, flop on the couch and flip through Yotam Ottolenghi's newest cookbook Plenty. With it's soft white cover and silky pages filled with gorgeous photos, it's one of the favorite books on my shelves. I like to call it my kitchen porn.

Even though, I've been an avid reader of Ottolenghi's weekly column in the Guardian, and have tried lots of his recipes, I've never actually eaten at one of his restaurants. That changed on Easter Sunday, when I made my first visit to his newest digs: NOPI. It stands for North of Piccadilly and is located on an obscure side street in Soho beside the posh Sanctum Hotel where the cheapest room will set you back £230 a night. Similarly, NOPI ain't cheap. I booked a table for brunch after many bloggers, including one of my faves - LondonEater commented on the hefty price tag of lunch and dinner. 

Just like Plenty, NOPI is quite beautiful. The white and gold interior was quite Miami Vice-ish. I didn't get a picture, but the mirrored maze in the toilets downstairs is something to behold. Be sure you take a trip to the loo. I vote it the most beautiful toilet in London. But much more importantly, the food is beautiful too. I decided on the chorizo, chickpea stew with a fried egg (£8.50). I admit, my first impression was disappointment. I forked through four small pieces of chorizo and felt a bit ripped off. But tucking in, I was wrong. The flavors were enormous and in the end, the portion was perfect. The sourdough toast it laid on was crispy on the surface and soft in the middle. The chickpeas were cooked in a gorgeous herby tomato sauce. The chorizo, divinely spicy and rich.

I thought my dish was the winner, but as it turned out, my husband's was. The young, bubbly waitress proudly put down a dish of shakshuka (£8.50) in front of him. On the menu, it's described as a "North African dish of braised eggs with pepper and tomato" and I recognised it from Plenty. The flavors were instantly foreign and evocative of our honeymoon where we could see Morocco from our balcony from the southernmost tip of Spain. Hints of cumin, onions, thyme and saffron mixed with creamy poached eggs tickled the palate. 

We started with strong Americano coffees but finished with Bloody Marys. These were one of the highlights of the entire brunch. They were a cut above any other breakfast vodka I've had - ever. I became obsessed and tried to sweet-talk one of the waiters into giving me the recipe. He shook his head, wagged his finger and said, "no chance." I jotted down some giddy notes on the ingredients I could spot: basil, fresh tomatoes, cucumber, lemon, celery and lots of vodka. I got home and tweeted @ottolenghi, begging him for the recipe. No luck; no response. I suppose I can't blame him. When you've got something great, keep the mystique going and the punters coming.

Vegan Routes: Bus fare

32 Brewer Street, Soho

tel: +44 (0)7529 542 077

I have walked past the Vegan Routes bus in Soho quite a few times, but never bothered to stop. Why not? Well - one - I like meat A LOT. I come from Canadian cattle country and grew up with the motto: "the bloodier, the better." Also, just the very word "vegan" often makes me cringe. I think of the militant non-meat, non-dairy eaters I went to university with and remember only their self-superiority and bad breath. But, on a recent Sunday, whilst popping in and out of Soho jewelers, on the hunt for wedding bands with my fiance, I needed some cheering up. Not only were all the rings we liked five times over our budget, but I was feeling like a dirty criminal. Something in my bag was setting off every security alarm in the area. Every time I walked in a store: BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. Security guards rushed over, pinned me against the wall (no, not really) and pulled me aside to look through my bag. Once, fine. Twice, annoying. Three times, I started to getting nasty because of the bloody embarrassment of it all. So as my bloke and I shuffled through Soho, feeling slightly ostracized, we came upon the double-decker vegan bus. "Yes," he said. "This will be fun." Reluctantly, I followed, climbing the teetering stairs of the retired Routemaster.

Now, there is something about eating your lunch in a bus that does immediately cheer one up. This is of course because it feels a tad ridiculous. And while, I expected it to be full of nasty, loud tourists, it most definitely wasn't. "This is my favourite restaurant in all of the world," declared a pint-sized lad with a posh accent. "Daddy, I love you for bringing me here." Meanwhile, the menu was filled with fairly tasty looking mains. My bloke chose the special of the day: an African curry with vegetables cooked in coconut milk and served over organic quinoa (£6).

It was delicious and full of creamy coconut flavour. It was much tastier than my organic Shepherd's pie with puy lentils, carrots, onion, sundried tomatoes and mashed potatoes (£5.5o) which was pretty bland - and missing beef. So we ended up trading plates, because my bloke is nice and wanted my mood to improve. What did cheer me up was a cup of creamy hot chocolate made from oat milk, cocoa powder and cinnamon. Oat milk - who knew? Our lunch bill came to just under 20 quid, which he thought was a tad expensive for what we got. I thought it was rather a steal considering I would have ordered a mood-boosting bottle of wine if we had gone somewhere else (they don't serve booze on the vegan bus). All in all, it was a surprisingly satisfying meal. Be forewarned: they only take cash and the nearest cashpoint is down a tunnel, through a dragon's den and over a spiked wall. So bring your pounds and turn your frown upside down.

Parliamentary Waffle House: Vote with your throat

65-67 Broadwick Street, W1F 9QY

No telephone number.

Well, rather strangely I'm writing about a restaurant that will be closed in less than 48 hours. As of Friday at 0800 in the morning, it's curtains for the Parliamentary Waffle House. But that's the way it was always meant to be. Good friends Sam Bompas and Harry Parr (Bompas & Parr)  are the brains behind the operation. They're no strangers to quirky food and drink experiences. Earlier this year, they created a giant cocktail, filling a room in a posh house with over a tonne of cognac. Punters could hop aboard a giant orange raft and float across the lake of booze. This latest idea came from the desire to see "people vote with their throats." The Parliamentary Waffle House has been open for the past month and offers a choice of three waffles: Lib Dem, Conservative and Labour. They don't tell you what the toppings are on each - but I'll be a spoiler seeing as it's closing down soon. You'll get a big scoop of bananas if you go for Lib Dem, blueberries if you go for Conservative and raspberries if you choose Labour. They're £3.50 each and come topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

"We wanted a place where people could come and eat, drink and talk politics, " Sam told me. Guests to the waffle house are given a paper hat to wear while they're eating. When they're done, they throw their hat into the bin of their political party's choice. It can be seen from the street window, so passers-by can see how the official waffle poll is going.

On my visit, Lib Dems were topping the "Rubbish Swing-o-Metre". As for election night itself, the boys are throwing a big bash until 0800 the following morning. For £20, you can score yourself a ticket for a waffle and a glass of Prescott Punch and watch the results live on a big screen TV with other political junkies. There will even be politician pinatas to have a swing at. The idea is a bit bananas, but great fun and worth grabbing a ticket if you still can.

Polpo: Don't mention the T-word

41 Beak Street, W1F 9SB

tel: (0)20 7734 4479

"Are you Robyn?" asks the charming co-owner Russell Norman as I step through the door. Now, let's be honest: I don't usually get such a personal greeting when I enter a restaurant. But the thing is, I've finally got my ass into gear and joined the crazy world of Twitter. So @londonfoodie (moi) started following @polposoho (Russell). I tweeted that I was looking forward to finally having lunch there. And to my surprise, he replied: "please do say hello when you come in." Well golly gosh, I felt a little bit special. And indeed, Russell sat me in a primo spoto - by the window - where I had the pleasure of checking out a workman's crotch for most of the lunch-hour. Allo.

But enough about crotches and more about cicheti - which is the Venetian codeword for tapas. "These are like tapas?" my lady-friend and I asked our uber-cool waiter Robin.  "Shhhhhh," he hissed at us. "Don't say the T-word here," he said looking around with mock-alarm. "We call them sharing plates." And so there within lies ye ol' country rivalry. Spain does tapas, Italy does cicheti. Fairly unconcerned about this, the lady-friend and I went on to order the following: one potato & parmesan crocchetta (£1.40) and one salt cod on grilled polenta (£2.10) as mini-starters. Robin recommended that we order two other non-t-word tapas each. So we opted for Robin's suggestion of piadina caprese (4.80) which is a salty potato pizza (top photo) with mozzarella, tomatoes and rocket. We also went for the rabbit, sage & apricot terrina (£6.10) which was rich and succulent; the pork belly, radicchio and hazelnuts (£5.70); and the frito misto (£6.60) - which really deserves a picture: 

Finally, we threw in a side of spinach with chilli and garlic (£3.80). Robin was mega-enthusiastic about wine, and offered to choose a bottle for us. We agreed, and I secretly prayed it wouldn't cost more than £30. As it turned out, it was a delicious bottle of Custoza (white), which he described as a mash-up of grapes and told us was his favourite. It was £24, which made Robin my new hero. Once he cleared our not-tapas plates, he came back with pudding menus. As with the wine, he didn't mince his words: "Get the flourless orange & almond cake with mascarpone (£4.40). It's the best." My dining companion eloquently said: "bring it" while I had already seen my weakness walk by with another waitress. Ice cream - aka honey & walnut semifreddo - in a cone (£3.80).

The thing is, I should have listened to Robin,  'cause the orange & almond cake was actually the winner. Not being a very good loser, I felt I needed to order one more treat. And so came two glasses of L'Ambrosie desert wine. Holy sheep-dip, they were amazing. Not syrupy sweet, but fresh and fruity and a little too drinkable. But alas, we decided to quit while we were ahead and settled the bill (£98.66). We left feeling a wee bit tipsy, a very bit happy and ever-so-slightly enamored with Robin...ahem....

The great thing about Polpo is that we missed so many fabulous-sounding non-tapas tapas, which gives us an excuse to go back for more. On the next trip, I've already decided (because Robin let me take a menu home to drool over) on: broad bean, ricotta & mint bruschetta; grilled sliced flank steak with white truffle cream (oh yes!) and the cuttlefish in its ink. Polpo, I'll be seeing you soon.