Kimia dates - best dates in the world

here are dates, nice dates and then there are great dates. At the lower side of the spectrum are those dry, unexciting dates from your local grocer or supermarket. Then there are dates with someone cute, kind and funny, who makes your heart skip a beat. And then there are Kimia dates: fragrant like wine, lusciously sweet, soft like set honey. As a lot of great food (and good people), they hail from a country from the US Axis of Evil, Iran. And truely so, Iranian gastronomy does sound like something favoured by very wicked folks: rose petal tea, chicken stewed in pomegranate molasses, saffron rice and black caviar. Yes, and Kimia dates for the dessert.

Saffron rice.. wthout saffron

ave you ever been frustrated with saffron like I am? The pesky bugger may give that sought-after flavour to your Persian rice, yet it is so finicky in handling. It is never really enough to offer an ample, full-bodied flavour, it needs to be pre-chopped and pre-soaked before you even dare to use it, then the flavour so easily escapes when cooking, and to boot it does not even colour the rice uniformly, leaving it instead tantalisingly spotted here and there. 

Luckily, by pure chance, I have discovered a mighty alternative to it, giving everything we have been begging saffron to deliver for so long, as of yet to no avail. Ta-dam, here enters the perfect couple: dry dill and turmeric powder. By some strange twist of fate, when paired together, they produce the flavour identical to saffron, at a fraction of the cost and effort, The colour too, albeit lacking saffron's reddish notes, with the addition of dill's dark green acquires a depth, elegantly finishing off with the golden brown of the tahdeg (caramelised crust). 

I also truncate the elaborate Persian procedure in favour of the more  straightforward, yet nonetheless effective Asian steaming method. Few more tricks that make this saffronless saffron rice a hit with my discerning guests.

• Add butter generously. I use about 70 g for 11 handfuls of dry rice. Butter is good for you: French people eat a lot of it and don't get fat. Junk food, snacking and eating on the run  - that's what makes you fat, not butter.
  
• Add a dash of sea salt. Without salt, your rice will come out bland and boring. I use fish sauce because it gives an additional level of depth to the flavour, thanks to the naturally occurring MSG, which is not bad for you.
  
• When the rice has been brought to a boil, stir it up to make sure that the dill is evenly spread. Very important: do that while the water has not yet been completely absorbed into the rice. Thus you will ensure that the rice does not turn into a solid slab, allowing for passages for the steam to travel through it, which is how the whole shebang actually gets cooked.
  
  
• Once ready, fluff up the rice. At the bottom, you will find a deliciously caramelised crust, tahdeg. Serve it separately, it tastes like savoury cake. Don't drag our feet though: it's only good while it's warm. To make your rice fit for a celebration table, the Nowruz only being a couple of months away, mix in some finely sliced dried apricots or sultanas as well as pistachio or almond flakes.

How to improve hommous

 am not that dedicated to make hommous from scratch. However, the supermarket variety is just too dull and basic, the price of becoming Britain's favourite cupboard commodity.

A few add-ons I came up with never fail to land me adoration from my lunch/dinner guests. I am going to share my little secrets with you today. This is what I add to hummus to give it the extra zing-boom-bang:

• 1 tbsp of za'atar (Levantine thyme)
  
• a dash of Persian lime powder (failing that, lime juice)
• a glug of extra vrigin olive oil
• a sprinkle of garlic powder
• a wee tad of fish sauce for the naturally occurring MSG.

The quantities indicated are not precise because you need to arrage everything to your own heart's content. Good luck!

Turkish manti soup recipe

Of course, it is mantı, not manti, the vowel harmony! I am always inspired by Turkish cuisine, it is such a potentially wondrous fare that somehow all too oft ends up very über-meh in most Turkish restaurants, even those catering the local clientèle in Turkey. I suspect that real Turkish food must be made by Turkish mama's loving hands for her family.

In the absence of such in my social circles, I have no choice but to be a Turkish mama to myself. So I venture northwards, to Finsbury, where round-the-clock Turkish grocers beacon with mouth-watering displays of ripe fruit and fragrant bread and then rows upon rows of roast pepper paste jars, bags of crackly bulgur, packs of salted olives and huge trays of syrupy sweets. Slurp.

A pack of thumbnail-sized ravioli, mantı, costs 1.39 quid. It's enough for three pots of delightfully tangy and zesty soup. I also insist that you invest in a jar of proper Turkish acı biber salçası, spicy pepper paste. Don't let the word spicy confuse you, this is nothing like Thai or Jamaican spiciness, more like Basque piment d'Espellete.

So here's for the recipe:

Slowly roast some crushed garlic in olive oil. Fold in a full spoon of tomato passata and a full spoon of acı biber salçası and fry a couple of minutes more. Add some dry mint and sea salt. Add a litre or so cold water and bring to a gentle boil. Add mantı and a tin of boiled chick peas. Remove from the fire after 5 min and serve with lemon juice and chopped coriander.

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Feteer meshaltet egyptian puff pastry

Beirut Express: great dinner for under 10 quid in London

remember what a major letdown was Time Out's Cheap Eats in London guidebook: a random list of fast food grease joints and places that cost 15-20 pounds a pop. Since then I discovered that London is, indeed, chock-a-block with places where you can eat very well under a tenner and they crop up in most unexpected places.

Take Beirut Express: it looks like your common-and-garden urban caff, if decorated in a distinct Levantine style of 80s marble and nickel surfaces. The only giveaway that you can also feed your face here, are two giant kebab "elephant legs" slowly swivelling in the corner. Luckily, I know that they have way better stuff up their sleeve. Check their menu and you will see the classic Middle Eastern lineup of starters, grilled meats and sweets.

Last time I went there with a Japanese girl friend who does not eat much anyway, it took us close to three hours to finish the gigantic platters of starters (meze) and mixed grilled meats (meshawi). This time around there were three of us to feed on those and that filled us up for the rest of the day.

As it goes with Levantine food, the variety is limited and repeated time after time again, but everything you get is utterly fresh and cooked to perfection.

Make sure to try their jellab drink - rose-flavoured date juice, intensely fragrant and sweet.

Pro's: Superlative Lebanese grub. Friendly service. Big portions. Affordable.
Con's: Tables next to the entrance are a tad drafty.
In a nutshell: Levantine cuisine at its usual best.

Beirut Express 112-114 Edgware Road London W2 2 DZ


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Hochar Pére et Fils, Lebanese wine

he Lebanese stand out among their neighbours like a sore thumb. Or rather like a rich dowager's manicured and bejewelled thumb. When the ancient Hebrews were still camelbacking the arid expanses of the biblical desert, the Phoenicians from whom the modern Lebanese directly descend were already conducting a busy trade as far afield as Britain and India.

Four thousand years ago they were already good peddling wine to the less mobile Mediterraneans. You can fathom the reasons of such wide-reaching popularity, if you taste any wine from the Hochar vineyards in Lebanon's Bekaa valley. Rich, lush, delicately balanced and decidedly French in style they are nothing that you would expect from such a war-torn land. During the civil war, the Hochars would keep on picking grapes and making wine in the midst of Israeli shelling and bombardments. Phoenicians have outlived pharaonic Egyptians, Alexander the Great, Romans, Byzantines, Arab conquests, Mongols, Turks, and the French. Centuries from now, they will also most likely be the first to start interstellar wine trade.

view restaurant latakia syria review

Like I promised, to balance out my review of the worst restaurant in Syria, I'm sharing with you the news of the best one.

- Drive down the Corniche, take only right turns for next 10-15 kilometres, you will see it!

The instructions from our landlord, from whom we are renting a "chalet" on Latakia's lovely garbage-and-rubble coast, are approximate at best. Following their spirit, we do find the place he mentioned, in about 5 minutes from the Corniche, Latakia's main promenade overlooking the industrial terrain of Syria's largest port.

Turns out "The View" consists of four restaurants: Italian, Mexican, Syrian and seafood. We put off pasta and nachos until we hit Naples and Cancun, and as kebab and hommous-weary as we are, we make a beeline straight to the seafood "The View - Sultan".

The large hall reminded me of the interior of the better Soviet restaurants from the 70s. Syria and the USSRwere great friends for many decades, united mostly by their hate of Israel and the USA.

Abu Zaad@Edgware Road, London

bona fide member of the US Department of State's Axis of Evil, Syria is an ancient country in the Fertile Crescent that boasts a fine indigenous cuisine. It is also home to world's oldest continuously inhabited city, Damascus, as well as, perhaps, most hospitable and genuinely friendly people you will meet in this part of the Universe.

From my observations, Syrian restaurants offer only a fraction of the variety of Syrian home-made dishes but I yet have to happen upon any poorly cooked one. We (my friends Kirill and Sasha as well as yours truly) wondered into Abu Zaad on Edgware Road, near Marble Arch because it looked good. It is neither deliberately exotic, like typical tourist traps where food is bland and forgettable, nor is it homely and grotty like many an ethnic eatery, where food may be good but you keep asking yourself if the kitchen is as grimy as the dining area. It is also not like one of those trendy place where they use an "ethnic theme" as an excuse to overcharge you in a bid to redeem the interior designer's outrageous fee.

Abu Zaad looks recognisably Arab yet definitely 21st century. It is full of "right (i.e., Arab-looking) people", which also tipped the balance in its favour as we were peeping in from the cold outside. Our haunch was right.

We picked the Holy Trinity of Levantine starters - tabouleh (تبولة), moutabal (متبل) and hommous (حمّص) - for our platter (£6). Moutabal is known as baba ganoush outside Syria. In Syria, however, ordering baba ganoush will land you an aubergine and green pepper salad sprinkled with coriander and lemon juice.

Kibbeh (كبة) is a quintessential Levantine snack - a deep-fried bulgur croquette stuffed with minced beef, pine nuts, mashed onions and herbs. I can't help but wince when I hear "deep-fried" but these did not have a wee dram o' fat between the four of them. The menu specifies that their kibbeh (£3.75) is shamieh, that is, Damascene. Authenticity closely guarded.

Mixed grill (مشاوي مشكلة) is always a good way to try a bit of major mains (£9.50). Lamb and chicken cubes marinated in olive oil and lemon juice came with a skewer of spicy kabab halabi (kebab Aleppo style), all juicy, smokey and flavourful. The grilled tomato was cooked to perfection: with taut charred skin and melting inside.


By the time we finished the mains we were stuffed to the rafters but we could not resist the temptation to sample Syrian desserts.

Halawet Al-Jeben (حلاوة الجبن) on the left is a specialty of Hama, Syria. It is prepared from semolina, Ackawi cheese, sugar syrup and orange blossom water, there are two versions: stuffed with qashta - a kind of Middle Eastern mascarpone, and plain without qashta.

Umm Ali (ام علي) on the right is a trademark Egptian dessert made from filo pastry, milk, sugar and raisins. Umm Ali was the wife of a ruler from the Ayyubid dynasty. Her rival Shagaret El Dorr was his second wife. When he died, Shagaret El Dorr arranged for Umm Ali to be murdered by her servants, and to celebrate, she distributed bread with milk and honey.

The coffee was superb, strong and aromatic even though I could only take a sip - caffeine after 3PM gives me insomnia until the next morning. I hope next time I will be able to gather enough a crowd to order a whole lamb for 160 quid, for the Lawrence of Arabia kind of experience.

Pro's: Authentic Syrian food at very reasonable prices. Friendly service. Great desserts.
Con's: A bit crowded - but then again, it's a sign of popularity.
In a nutshell: Highly recommended.

Abu Zaad
128 Edgware Road, London, W2 2DZ
Tube: Marble Arch

Kufteh: spicy Iranian meatballs recipe (کوفته )

oftas are a common dish throughout the Middle East and South Asia. The Arabic word for this dish is kafta' but I prefer to use the Persian kufteh (کوفته ), because I buy spices for mine in an Iranian shop. It is their flavour that makes all the difference in this balls of mince, rice and onions.

The recipe is simple, although, like in many Iranian dishes, time-consuming. To mae it worth my while, I cook a huge Creuset pot at a time and freeze leftovers to have for lunch when I start missing the taste.

1. Cook three cups of rice in two cups of water. The proportions may vary depending on the type of rice you use and also on the humidity/altitude of your place of domicile. The rule of thumb is that rice needs to come out on the dry side, so use about 2/3 of the amount of water that you would normally use.
2. While the rice is cooling down, peel and finely chop 6 large onions.
3. Mix 500 g (just over a pound) Tartare beef mince with the onions and rice. Add 2 beaten eggs, salt and spices. The choice of spices is really up to you: zaatar goes very well with this recipe
4. 
   

Gol gavzaban: borage flowers tea (گل گاوزبان)

Now this is a nicely odd tea: gentle blue and tasting like cucumbers. Gol gavzaban or borage is mostly used as a savoury herb in the South of France. Iranians, an ancient and sophisticated nation that they are, pick just the flowers and make tea out of them. They claim it has health benefits but I think they drink mostly because it is so bizarre and when you have a few millennia of tea-drinking behind you, you need something like this to get past your excitement threshold and get the kick.

Ganache - the Lebanese house of fear and cakes

was eyeing this cafe for a long time as it lies on my Asian groceries route on Brewer Street in Soho. The tantalising display of honey-drenched Middle Eastern sweets and the promise of a cup of Lebanese coffee - what else a caffeine-addicted sweet-tooth like me needs? Finally I have found a good company to go, my Italian friend Monica. This fine lady is running a language training company in London and, a highly sophisticated Italian urbanite that she is, is probably the best company for coffee and cake sampling.

There are two tables outside on the sidewalk but we went inside to escape the noise of the passing cars that would have completely drowned the conversation. The curly and burly Lebanese proprietor's thin veneer of friendliness barely seemed to contain a deep annoyance with life. Unfortunately for us, we did inadvertently burst that veneer by asking the Arab names for the sweets that we ordered. Three times. Finally,with exasperated sighs, he caved in and, very reluctantly, barked out quick explanations.

As it was late in the afternoon we had to go for some decaf , no time for proper coffee this time. The cold Turkish pomegranate tea turned out to be a rather ghastly canned instant variety with loads of sugar at the bottom of the glass. My African Temptation tea appeared rooibos with masala-esque spices, Durban-inspired, if I had to put my finger on it. Fir that price, I'd expect a more imaginative concoction than a mere teabag in hot water but never mind that!

The rich, sweet cakes were, as it goes, made of filo dough filled with various crushed nuts and soaked in generous quanitities of honey or, perhaps, treacle, we did not dare to ask. Handsome chunks, each enough for two, really, they definitely did not deserve to be served on stirofoam trays. I hate physical violence so I decided to go local and swallow my objections.

Truth be told, Middle Eastern sweets do not seem to be the main business for Ganache. I should have guessed it by the name (ganache is a French chocolate bonbon filling), these people appear to make more money from luxury chocolate sales.

After a long pleasant chat we headed out. As we were leaving, the curly ogre was busy angrily telling off a delivery boy who happened to deliver some boxes inside the shop instead of leaving them on the sidewalk. As we walked away, the sound of his voice faded into the street hubbub. Hopefully, I won't have to hear it again.

Pro's: Handy location. Nice sweets.
Con's: Scary service. Rather pricey. Stirofoam trays in lieu of crockery.
In a nutshell: The pro's don't outweigh the con's.

Anatolian bulgur pilaff with vegetables (sebzeli bulgur pilavı)

never grow tired of Turkish food. I love the sheer variety of a cuisine that has incorporated so many ancient culinary traditions and given them a new lease of life in a very creative way.

Bulgur, cereal of cracked and parboiled wheat, is very popular in Asia Minor and the Fertile Crescent. In Syria they make scrumptious kibbeh out of it but in Turkey's Anatolia it is the base for pilaff . It is a very filling yet healthy dish, suitabel for vegetarians.

Here is the recipe:

1. Lightly fry pine nuts, almond and pistachio flakes in clear butter. Scoop them out once golden yellow.
2. In the same butter fry dry bulgur, constantly stirring, until it starts giving out a pleasant nutty flavour.
3. Pour twice as much water as there is bulgur in the pot and put on smallest fire to steam.
   
4. Meamwhile, peel and cut julienne one big carrot. Fry it in a small amount of clear butter until just slightly crunchy.
5. De-stone and roughly chop two handfuls of dates.
6. Once the bulgur is ready (apprx. 25-30 min) - it needs to stay slightly chewy, not too fluffy - add the carrots, dates and nuts, mix well, allow to stay in the covered pot.
7. Finely chop and generous bunch of fresh coriander leaves and mix with the pilaff.
8. Serve hot with a dollop of Turkish natural yoghurt on top of each serving.
   

Zaatar: Arab spice mix (زعت)

Za'atar (زعت) is the trademark Arab spice from the Middle East, unknown in North Africa. It is a mix of dried and powdered thyme, oregano, marjoram with toasted sesame seeds and salt. It is said to have been around since the times of Ancient Egypt, although to prove it with more certainty will take more evidence.

Like curry powder in India, each housewife has her own special recipe of za'atar. In Palestine, za'atar is a part of the national identity lore. That is why the 1977 Israeli legislation that declared za'atar herbs a protected species is used to harass Palestinians by banning them from gathering wild thyme or za'atar in the West Bank, and confiscating it at IDF checkpoints.

Iraqi Grill House@ Edgware Road, London

e were enjoying a leisurely walk along the Regent's Canal from Little Venice walking towards the Camden Lock Market when a torrential rain caught us right by Edgware Road. Unprepared for such a treacherous turn of the weather, we got soaking wet and as it was closing on lunch time we took it as a sign and went on to look for a nice bite in a warm place on Edgware Road, the heart of London's Arab community.

Worldwide media spin machine these days is trying to portray Arabs as archenemies of everything that the West holds dear, but we need to be reminded that it was down to the Arabs that much of the knowledge and culture of the Ancient world was preserved for us. Take Iraq. It is nowadays synonymous with war, suffering and destruction brought to this country by oil-hungry Uncle Sam and its faithful minion Great Britain. This painful image overshadows the fact that Iraq is also the cradle of world’s oldest urban civilization. And as is always the case with ancient nations, Iraq has a fantastic cuisine.

Iraqi Grill on Edgware Road is its very worthy ambassador. We realized that the very moment we stepped out of the pouring rain into its warm-coloured interior filled with mouth-watering smells. It is next to a miracle that any Iraqis would serve food to anyone speaking English after what America and Britain did to their country but we were welcomed warmly and treated nicely throughout our extended lunch.

Although the canopy proudly bears www.khankabab.com, Khan Kabab, in fact, is the name of a fast food outlet that used to occupy the same premises. Strangely enough, Iraqi Grill House have also inherited Khan Kabab's menu covers. I figure it must have been a cost-cutting measure.

We ordered mixed grill and mixed starters to try a bit of every specialty. The starters came on a large platter and consisted of:

• three definitely hand-made dolmas, succulent and gently flavoured;
  
• three lightest ever falafels I've ever had - without any perceptible trace of grease;
• Arab fried potatoes, herby and spicy - this is how I imagined Spanish patatas bravas would be like, not the deep-fried autrocity with chilli sauce that you get;
• the ubiquitous hommous;
  
• moutabal - grilled aubergine and tahini dip.

The mixed grill came in the shape of chicken barbeque, grilled lamb shashlik and kebab - lamb mince with spices - one skewer each. All meat was excellently done - lightly charred on the outside, juicy inside. To accompany this carnal excellence were pickles and chopped sweet onions sprinkled with sumak.

Mamouniyeh: syrian breakfast porridge (مامونية)

t is amazing how many ways there are to start a day. And of course I'm talking food, not sex or meditation. I am forever indebted to the French: coffee and croissant provide both kick and indulgence. Once in a blue moon I allow myself a guilty pleasure of full English. Quite often I get a craving for natto, misoshiru or or ochazuke. When I have enough time, I fix myself a heart-warming congee with mushrooms and seaweed. When I get in the rut with muesli and yoghurt, it is time to try something new. After all breakfast means "breaking the fast", returning from slumberful abstinence to the world of palate pleasures.

This time I was inspired by a blog about Syrian food. Mamouniyeh or mamounia (مامونية) is a breakfast cereal common in Aleppo in the North of the country. It is very easy to cook.

1. Melt a knob of butter in a pan, scoop out the froth. This is how you get ghee that this recipe calls for but may be hard to come by in our area.
2. Gently roast 2 tbsp pine nuts until golden brown. Scoop them out and put on a plate.
3. In the same butter fry half a cup of coarse semolina on small fire for about 3-5 minutes.
4. Add four cups of water and 4-6 tbsp sugar. Let boil until thickens constantly stirring.
5. Serve with the roasted pine nuts, grilled Halloumi cheese and, if so wish, a sprinkle of cinnamon.

Grape leaves for stuffing and wrapping

rapping is a great way of cooking. Russians use cabbage leaves, Thais - pandan leaves, the Chinese - lotus leaves, the Japanese - bamboo leaves, Indians - banana leaves, Mexicans - corn husks. In Laos and Vietnam they stuff food into pieces of bamboo trunk. The whole shebang is about letting the wrapping flavour permeate the rest of the ingredients.

In the Near East, a vaguely defined area spanning from Greece and Romania to Armenia and Syria, grapes leaves (a.k.a. vine leaves) enjoy a wide coinage. Their flavour is not that strong but the pleasantly sourish kick they bring to food is well worth the trouble of wrapping. My parents are lucky to use fresh ones from their garden but I have to buy them jarred. Most of the preserved varieties I see in Europe are imported from Turkey. I buy mine in an Iranian-run shop at Brixton Market. The first dish I cooked in London using grape leaves was charcoal grilled sardines.

Persian delight: rose petal tea (چای گلبرگ رز)

here are very few people who don't enjoy the scent of dry rose petal potpourri, even if secretly. Iranians, a nation so old that they used to go to war with Ancient Greece, make a gently scented tea out of it. It is no wonder, as they are also credited with giving the world the garden rose as we know it.

I discovered rose petal tea (چای گلبرگ رز) in my neighbourhood Persian shop. I love to drop by there and get light-headed from the overpowering aromas of spices. On that day I was cycling by, when I saw shelves with marked down products standing outside. The Dutch in me couldn't resist that.

When I was a kid, we had rose petal jam from Moldavia. That is why when I saw a bag with "rose petal tea" written on it, the idea of roses as food didn't strike me as outlandish.

Websites selling alternative medicines claim that rose petal tea cures about anything from sweaty feet to adult attention deficiency syndrome. I don't know if it is true or not, I simply enjoy its soothing effect and how well it goes with Middle Eastern sweets.

Topkapi: kapi - perhaps, top - definitely not

rdering sets can be a hit-or-miss experience. If you luck out, you get to taste the chef's fortes. If you get the short end of the stick, you end up with generic gunk churned out to stuff undiscerning tourists' faces.

I could not figure out what kind of deal I landed with my full set (£23.50) at Topkapi, a Turkish restaurant on High Street Marylebone. It seemed to be the chef's finest because my party, who all ordered à la carte, were working on something similar. On the other hand, I just couldn't work up any excitement over what I had on my plate.

First I had a selection of mezze. Cold: an aubergine salad, chopped pickles, tzatziki, hommous, a cod roe salad and a bean salad. Hot starters (temperature hot, not spicy hot) cam on one plate: half a sausage, a filo pastry, a few shavings of shawarma, a deep-fried calamari ring and a kibbeh. On top of that, Olga kindly gave me a piece of her baked portobello mushroom. A generous but uninspiring collection of little dishes I now had before me. None was downright thumbs-down but they all lacked that delightful fresh herbiness I expect from good Turkish cuisine. All in all, the yoohoo factor of Soviet canned tuna.

My main course was mixed grill. When I was ordering it, the fantabulous Pasha mix in Amsterdam's fine Babylon Alaturka still stood fresh in my mind. Alas, this too didn't live up to expectations. Same shawarma shavings from my starter featured prominently. A strange chunk of unidentifiable meat (I just hope I was not initiated into dog-eating that night!) was chewy and nearly tasteless. It reminded me of overdone ostrich but I dared not to ask. Then there was a small piece of chicken breast, so pink from sauce on the outside that I first took it for salmon. The first bite of the single lamb chop exploded with so much fat that I thought it was a pork chop. "Oh no, it can't be, this is a Turkish place!" The sides consisted of rather lame and greasy fried rice, the classic tomato-cucumber-lettuce mix and a scoop of finely sliced pickled red cabbage (ahem!). To give credit where it is due, the volume was enough to feed a good tired soldier and pieces of grilled bellpepper were scrumptious.

We shared a bottle of red Beaujolais Villages. I was the youngest at the table so I did not protest - the Asian in me is alive and kicking. The vin de merde turned out as horrible as usual, another proof that the Dukes of Burgundy had a very good reason to ban it from their dominions to preserve the reputation of Burgundian wines.

As it always goes, I was still half way with my main when everyone else was already toothpicking. I took my dessert (two pieces of mass-produced baklava from your Turkish corner shop) in a doggie bag. An evening of tea-drinking and conversation at Natasha and Pete's place that ensued redeemed somewhat the shabby meal (£130 for 5).

Pro's: Friendly service. Open fireplace.
Con's: Gives Turkish cuisine a bad name.
In a nutshell: Grade C version of Ottomanic gastronomy.

Topkapi Restaurant, 25 Marylebone High Street London W1U 4PH