Such A Dish #6: The Barbary
The danger with tapas is espacio
Originally, I was going to continue the New York reviews but America can wait. It’s not always about America, America. The reason for the change is that it was Shavuot this week, a Jewish/Samaritan festival, also known as the Feast of Weeks, which felt appropriate, and my friend Cai booked for us to eat at The Barbary, a North African/Middle Eastern joint, which draws influence from Israeli cuisine. Barbs, as it shall be written henceforth, sits in Neal’s Yard in Covent Garden, next to a wonderful New York wine bar import, Compagnie des Vins Surnaturels. Or CVS for short.
I’d actually been to Barbs before with Mike (who I dined with in #3) but the menu seems to have evolved since then so I was treated to some new dishes. It’s set up as all bar seats upstairs in a horseshoe shape and diners watch the chefs prepare the food. Its set-up reminds me of a high-stakes Casino Royale-style poker table or the Virgin Atlantic bar in First Class. It’s very intimate. I’m 6’4” and so typically have issues being compact and found sitting there quite challenging, especially with people next to me. Really, what I’m saying, is that Barbs is heightist. When they design seating in a restaurant, don’t they choose abnormally tall people to test out the legroom? It made Ryanair regular look like the Villa Cupola in Rome. And you could hear every syllable of every word from neighbouring diners from the closeness of bodies. This is less optimal for the people beside Cai and I as it was Rated R at best. I couldn’t move my legs and I was essentially Siamese twins with the lovely man beside me who I now know in extraordinary detail. And to top this whole thing off, halfway through the meal I drenched myself in sparkling water when I knocked a glass over because the bar area is quite, um, cosy. If the seating area was more spacious I would have been able to jump with Spiderman-esque reflexes but no, alas, I would have needed arthroscopy.
Right. Last vent. Proximity to ovens. Not a fan favourite. We were less than a metre from the grill. There were flames in front of me through a glass screen that achieved very little, other than making it very obvious that we were going to sweat the whole way through the meal. And that’s before the spice journey we were heading into.
So, in summary: Claustrophobia in a sauna with legs restrained. Not my kink.
The experience
Thankfully, the food was insanely good. I think I’d go back there every week. I’d just have to shave 9 inches off my knees. One brilliant thing about the experience is that it really transports you to the Middle East - save for the Liverpudlian waitress, Charlotte (who was lovely). The smell, the cultural authenticity of the menu, the presentation of the food and the fact that they’re happy to put fire in front of your face without apology really brought Tel Aviv to Covent Garden. On top of that, there’s really little natural light. We were Ortolans around that bar. It’s quite similar to Balthazar and Brasserie Zédel in that they try to replicate the French experience once you’re inside. Pizza Express doesn’t feel like you’re in Puglia. Maybe Woking.
I’ve sort of removed the rating from the posts and baked it in, but I do have to say that the waitress banter was on point. From the get-go, with Cai’s dutiful support, Charlotte found her way to keep me on my toes and make me order outside of my comfort zone. They’re there to guide you on the food journey and even in the wine order, whilst I tried a few, I ended up choosing her recommendation which, for once, didn’t taste like beurre blanc. And, to be honest, I didn’t quite imagine a Liverpudlian taking me on a tour of the Middle East. I’m not sure Trailfinders would have much success with that campaign.
Baking and Grinding
There was a moment when I was eating the starters where I had a Rowan Atkinson in Rat Race level of awe and amazement towards the flavours. “Do you taste this food?”, I exclaimed. “Yes, I’m eating it”, I received back. You’re welcome. The menu is divided into sections: Baking and Grinding (apt for the crowd), A-La-Esh (which means on the grill/fire), split into Land, Sea, and Earth, then Heaven (dessert, not the London nightclub).
We really indexed on the bread and dips experience. It was full on carbicide, no Rupologies. There’s a choice between what looks like naan bread and a Jerusalem bagel. They had sold out of bagels. In the Middle East? Hardly likely. Anyway, we went for the naan-derstudy, which was lightly salted and seasoned with oil. Did you know there’s more calories in two tablespoons of olive oil than a McDonald’s Cheeseburger? Anyway, nobody was thinking about calories. And then the dips. We had: Ikra, Muhammara, Za’aluk, and Chickpea Masabacha (beats me). I’d like to meet the person who goes in and knows all of them; that’s someone I want to dine with. The mixture of flavours was extraordinary. Truly. It was another one of those “I’ll never be able to make this at home, damn you Yotam Ottelenghi for including pomegranate molasses in your recipe” moments. There were two highlights: the Ikra, which is essentially taramasalata and Muhammara, which is “a spicy dip made of walnuts, red bell peppers, pomegranate molasses, and breadcrumbs” that we dipped into throughout the meal. I would like a vat of it please, Barbs. I’m genuinely blown away. And probably one Muhammara away from IBS.
A-La-Esh
After we devoured the Baking and Grinding course, we ordered Miso and Tahini Tenderstem broccoli, Cauliflower Jaffa Style, Chicken Shawarma and Black Salmon Dukkah.
I’ll dig in a little on each but really, whatever I say, just go eat it yourself.
The miso broccoli thing was nice but it was similar to the act who came third in the 2013 Britain’s Got Talent: forgettable. I think I remember the sauce being flavourful and the broccoli head having that lovely semi-burnt crisp to it. But, for a restaurant priding itself on the Middle East flavours, I was confused by the use of miso. Maybe it’s trendy.
The cauliflower, on the other hand, the slightly less glamorous Brassicaceae brother, was insanely tasty. Miznon, another Israeli-style restaurant, makes a signature cauliflower dish which is worth the hype and my Mother does a wickedly good baked turmeric cauliflower side. But this cauliflower - moist, spicy, drenched in tahini - was amazing. I’m almost considering vegetarianism. Almost.
The salmon didn’t need to be ordered. I mean it was flaky, had some spices scattered around and the grilling gave it an edge but the salmon flavour was the dominant one in each bite rendering the rest a bit futile. The chicken however. The chicken. The chicken! The chicken was a joke. I’d like to organise a 1:1 with the chef to understand how they cooked and smoked the skin. The skin was crispy, juicy, spicy, smoky, a little bitter, and clearly had been marinading since the birth of Christ. It was topped with some picked red onion which was a surprise and wholly unnecessary, but we forgive because it was nearly as good as the chicken at Chez L’Ami Louis, coming up in future weeks.
Heaven
I wanted the chicken to be the last taste in our mouths, so we skipped dessert. And then an idea came: let’s just get more naan and dip it in the chicken sauce for dessert. So we did that. They should add it to the menu, now that’s Heaven.
The Barbary is in Neal’s Yard, Covent Garden. Dinner for two, with a carafe of wine, and all of the above was £132.
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