SEVEN DIALS (visited)
11 Langley St. London WC2H 9JG - 0207 856 2154
SPITALFIELDS (also found at)
157 Commercial St. London E1 6BJ - 0207 247 7392

I was pretty sure that the Hawksmoor's continuing glistening reports were not going to stop here especially after I spotted the signage over the newer outpost in Covent Garden "beef and liberty." Sure enough a great meal beckoned from a little beyond the wall hanging. The teal leather and bare brick combo set a familiar tone for another mega meat devouring joint of polished but relaxed. Although trying a bit too earnestly with the latter with a playlist that would have been more suited to entertain a hoard tourists on their way to Abbey Road and the staffs casual Fridays dress code, but that is all by the by when food is served up like this:
The Beautiful Beef
We skipped the starters to make room for our 1.2 kilogram of on the bone prime rib plus a trio of sides. As you may guess photos taken in a room illuminated sparingly by bronzed 40's spotlights by my dated little Canon digital are never going to display the deliciousness to its full and worthy capacity, so please excuse my overzealous descriptions. The presence of greenery on a plate at a steak joint comes with little intention of providing nutrition but serves as another vehicle of piling on the flavour of all that is tasty but bad for you. In this instance the creamed spinach and crunchy gloriously over buttered "Bobby beans" did just that. Carbwise it was only ever going to be chips, and from a choice of triple cooked and beef dripping we went with the latter. Thick cut and golden, and each one like the crunchiest Sunday roast potato, the kind that would have each family member clawing for. When picking condiments I thought it wise to carry on slinking down the same slippery molten fat ridden slope we had begun on and chose the Stilton Hollandaise.
Stilton Hollandaise: everything you would expect it to be.
The rich pungent creaminess was an unnecessary accompaniment to the meat but served as an indulgent dunking sauce for the chips. Despite everything being delightful on their own, the root purpose of being here was to suffice my carnivorous desire to which I woke up with last Sunday. Thankfully the foot long cut that was presented to us succeeded in hitting that craving, it was a thing of beauty cut up in a dozen charred rose inch thick slices. The exterior was blackened to almost form a smoky crunch, but the coveted pink was retained and steeped in its own juiciness. Each piece was sublime.


The house red had been glugged continuously throughout and berry echoes still lingered. But to seal the deal after such savouriness we were set on something sweeter. I had eyed up a sorry looking desert on the way in, lazy crumpled up pastry topped with something brown and something white. Unknowingly it appeared at our table next to an impeccable elongated triangle of sour cherry cheesecake. This was good as far as berry cheesecakes go, smooth cream, pleasing pangs of fruit, substantial yet crumbly base.
Peanut Butter Shortbread with Caramel Ice Cream
Sour Cherry Cheesecake
As for mine, it brought me no closer to the promise of a desert made up in one of my favourite food stuffs being better or levelling with eating it straight out of the tub, cartoon bear to honey pot style. The pastry was characteristically like a digestive biscuit but softer and with a slight nuttiness. The brown that oozed out of furrowed sides was caramel and creamy white was apparently salted caramel ice cream. Apologies for the flat response, even though both deserts were nice and our plates left spotless, my sadness comes from the fact that they could only be described as “nice,” whilst the sweet course has so much potential to be more passion provoking. In spite of this I am a total Hawksmoor aficionado and you will see me coming back for more of their savoury expertise, but next time opting for starters and ditching deserts.

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