Richard Johnson

I once found myself sitting in the Rose & Crown Pub in "Britain" - well, the Walt Disney version of Britain. It felt reasonably authentic until I met the barman. He had been pixie-dusted by the Corporation, and told to use the international language of smile. That was the giveaway - it was 1987, and barmen didn't smile at anyone in 1987. Unless they happened to be in the ladies darts team.

Times have changed. Since the gastropub revolution, hostelries in Britain have started to become more welcoming and inclusive. But I didn't have high hopes for The Greyhound. It was in an area of south London known for its gun crime. So, while I was excited to see if The Greyhound aspired to anything more exciting than the gastropub fare of pan-fried chicken breast and seared tuna, I was actually more excited to arrive in one piece.

With its heavy oak floorboards, mismatched crockery and Norah Jones CD collection, The Greyhound did have that familiar gastropub feel. But the floor-to-ceiling windows and period skylight lent the place an airy elegance. And there were a few outside tables, too; perfect for languid summer afternoons. From the outset, it felt like £14 for a three-course lunch would represent value for money.

The two starters were both salads - and, as such, 'assembled' rather than 'cooked'. The goats cheese salad was made with soft goats curd, piled into pillowy mounds. The creaminess of the curd was cut with a fresh parsley oil, rocket, and red peppers that somehow managed to be sweet and savoury all at once. And it was served with croutons that had clearly been made in the kitchen - I can't believe how many chefs buy them in.

The Caesar salad was exactly the right mix of crisp and smooth. But no anchovies. Now, while almost everyone agrees that the original Caesar - created in the 1920s - contained no anchovies, I feel the salad is a little flat without them. They are the very essence of fish. They are like eating the sea. The Greyhound's Caesar was perfect comfort food. But a few anchovies would just have shaken things up a little.

And that's what I was hoping for. After all, the chef Tom Martinovic spent six months with my Full on Food colleague - the world's most inventive chef - Heston Blumenthal. But food at The Greyhound isn't about foams and pipettes. It's about honest, up-front flavours. Like the two main courses of sea bream fillet with ratte potato and Aberdeen Angus rib-eye. They made virtue of their simplicity. I like simplicity in my food; I think it's the ultimate sophistication.

The sea bream, like the salads before, managed to surprise me. Skin, especially on a white-fleshed fish, can be the best part when cooked right. And Martinovic served his snap-crisp. I'm used to eating sea bream with citrus, ginger and chilli flavours, but this came with a savoy cabbage folded into cabbage puree made with cream and truffle oil. It was beyond comfort food - it was a shoulder to cry on.

I like my steak rare. My wife likes hers well-done. But I've convinced her she'll get the toughest bit of meat the chef has at the back of his fridge - anyone who orders steak well done at a good restaurant is deemed incapable of judging good beef. In the spirit of compromise, we settled on medium rare. I liked that the steak arrived separately from the fish. It hadn't been hanging around in the kitchen, and was cooked to perfection.

The three British cheeses came with muscat grapes which Martinovic had half-dried in a low oven. The heat sucked out all the acid, leaving them sweet but sharp - like the world's best chutneys. And the claggy topping on the apple crumble had been replaced with a light mix of caramelised walnuts and hazelnuts. It was served with a horseradish ice cream - and nothing says 'I want Michelin stars' like a horseradish ice cream. That's how much our pubs are changing. Walt Disney please take note.

136 Battersea High Street, London, SW11 3JR
Telephone: 0207 978 7021

Richard's bill for 2: £43.40

I would go again. Just to see if it fulfills its early promise.

Good for: A casual lunch with somebody you don't know terribly well. Not especially romantic - or good for anyone with children.

Service: A marginally better than average 6/10

Atmosphere: Welcoming, and well-lit. 6/10

Food: Imaginative takes on no-nonsense food. 6/10



		The Greyhound I once found myself sitting in the Rose & Crown Pub in "Britain" - well, the Walt Disney version of Britain. It felt reasonably authentic until I met the barman. He had been pixie-dusted by the Corporation, and told to use the international language of smile. That was the giveaway - it was 1987, and barmen didn't smile at anyone in 1987. Unless they happened to be in the ladies darts team. Times have changed. Since the gastropub revolution, hostelries in Britain have started to become more welcoming and inclusive. But I didn't have high hopes for The Greyhound. It was in an area of south London known for its gun crime. So, while I was excited to see if The Greyhound aspired to anything more exciting than the gastropub fare of pan-fried chicken breast and seared tuna, I was actually more excited to arrive in one piece. With its heavy oak floorboards, mismatched crockery and Norah Jones CD collection, The Greyhound did have that familiar gastropub feel. But the floor-to-ceiling windows and period skylight lent the place an airy elegance. And there were a few outside tables, too; perfect for languid summer afternoons. From the outset, it felt like £14 for a three-course lunch would represent value for money. The two starters were both salads - and, as such, 'assembled' rather than 'cooked'. The goats cheese salad was made with soft goats curd, piled into pillowy mounds. The creaminess of the curd was cut with a fresh parsley oil, rocket, and red peppers that somehow managed to be sweet and savoury all at once. And it was served with croutons that had clearly been made in the kitchen - I can't believe how many chefs buy them in. The Caesar salad was exactly the right mix of crisp and smooth. But no anchovies. Now, while almost everyone agrees that the original Caesar - created in the 1920s - contained no anchovies, I feel the salad is a little flat without them. They are the very essence of fish. They are like eating the sea. The Greyhound's Caesar was perfect comfort food. But a few anchovies would just have shaken things up a little. And that's what I was hoping for. After all, the chef Tom Martinovic spent six months with my Full on Food colleague - the world's most inventive chef - Heston Blumenthal. But food at The Greyhound isn't about foams and pipettes. It's about honest, up-front flavours. Like the two main courses of sea bream fillet with ratte potato and Aberdeen Angus rib-eye. They made virtue of their simplicity. I like simplicity in my food; I think it's the ultimate sophistication. The sea bream, like the salads before, managed to surprise me. Skin, especially on a white-fleshed fish, can be the best part when cooked right. And Martinovic served his snap-crisp. I'm used to eating sea bream with citrus, ginger and chilli flavours, but this came with a savoy cabbage folded into cabbage puree made with cream and truffle oil. It was beyond comfort food - it was a shoulder to cry on. I like my steak rare. My wife likes hers well-done. But I've convinced her she'll get the toughest bit of meat the chef has at the back of his fridge - anyone who orders steak well done at a good restaurant is deemed incapable of judging good beef. In the spirit of compromise, we settled on medium rare. I liked that the steak arrived separately from the fish. It hadn't been hanging around in the kitchen, and was cooked to perfection. The three British cheeses came with muscat grapes which Martinovic had half-dried in a low oven. The heat sucked out all the acid, leaving them sweet but sharp - like the world's best chutneys. And the claggy topping on the apple crumble had been replaced with a light mix of caramelised walnuts and hazelnuts. It was served with a horseradish ice cream - and nothing says 'I want Michelin stars' like a horseradish ice cream. That's how much our pubs are changing. Walt Disney please take note. 136 Battersea High Street, London, SW11 3JR Telephone: 0207 978 7021 Richard's bill for 2: £43.40 I would go again. Just to see if it fulfills its early promise. Good for: A casual lunch with somebody you don't know terribly well. Not especially romantic - or good for anyone with children. Service: A marginally better than average 6/10 Atmosphere: Welcoming, and well-lit. 6/10 Food: Imaginative takes on no-nonsense food. 6/10

		© Richard Johnson 2000 - 2009