The Times Magazine 61natter with Tom, who lives out west and so
doesn’t think of this neck of the woods as the
lunchtime shlep from hell that I do.
To begin with, Sam’s has got more river
than the RC, which is not to knock the grand
old place, with her gorgeous lawn and garden
and trees and flowers and magical outdoor
tables. But from your table at Sam’s, you can
actually see the river, the wide grey-green
water itself, running softly, as in, “Sweet
Thames, run softly till I end my song/ Sweet
Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud nor
long” (to quote both Spenser and Eliot), which
you can’t at the other place, which I’m not
knocking. And it is very life-affirming and
wondrous to see.
It’s a lovely big, open, modern space here,
part of the Riverside Studios set-up, and Sam
himself, whom I don’t know personally but
remembered as soon as I saw him from his
old place, Sam’s Brasserie in Chiswick, years
ago, was sitting there at the front desk when
I came through. Tom was in the corner table,
one martini down, or up, depending on your
point of view, and I nestled in and just goggled
at that river view.
And also at Hammersmith Bridge, which
is all you can do with it – look at it – now
that they have decided it doesn’t work as a
bridge any more. Indeed, with no other way
to cross the Thames for miles in any direction,
this bank of the river is now basically the
end of the world. The “Here be dragons” spot.
Sure, Barnes is probably still over there, across
the water, but I can’t imagine anyone goes
there any more. Which is a shame, because
I used to like Riva, the old Tuscan restaurant
there. Give Andrea and the team my best if
you live over that way. I’ll be along when they
dig the tunnel.
For the meantime, though, I’m good
here, with the light and air and Crittall
windows and marble-topped tables, extensive
cocktail list and boutique wine selection.
With a bottle of gavi di gavi on the table,
Tom (who knows the place well) ordered
the parmesan churros, which were long, hot
and crunchy-squishy in the best tradition of
your 2am sugar-rush chocolate version at
the feria, or frankly the middle part of any
Spanish outdoor booze-up, except slathered
with grated parmesan and coming at you like
fresh, hot, pencil-length Wotsits. But better,
obviously. Actually, that’s not true. Nothing
is better than a Wotsit. I’m going to go and
buy a pack now.
Mmmmm. Yum. God, Wotsits are good.
So light, so fluffy, so cheesy. I’d forgotten
how good they are. Except, sniff, sniff, I’d also
forgotten that curious whiff of bumhole they
have. I think that’s enough Wotsits now. So.
Where were we?
Oh yes, glass of gavi – couple of cubes
of ice in there because it feels like summer
holidays – parmesan churros (£5) and then
three fingers of fat toast slathered with aninch-thick layer of Devon crab (£12) on
a white plate with a quarter of lime, and
then a big scallop shell of scallop ceviche in
pomegranate and chilli that was bright and
lively but probably somewhat off-message
in terms of seafoody nibbles to go with the
gavi, doing for itself the job of providing
sweetness and acidity that the wine had
come to the party for.
So, swiftly, a good stack of boiled crevettes
(£12.50), cool and plump and firm, with a
yallop of house mayonnaise and quarters
of lemon, to put the wine back to work, and
razor clams, pungent and squeaky with wild
garlic, chervil root, lemon and chives (£10.50),
with sticky chunks of sourdough and Keen’s
butter (£3.50).
Then a big chunk of hake in chorizo sauce
(£27) – I love a big white fish, ever so pleased
with itself, brutally assailed with spicy pork
flavours – and a chicken schnitzel (£22.50)
buried in rocket and parmesan, and a lovely
side order salad of cucumber, fennel and
mustard (£5) that was not at all shy about the
mustard and really poked you in the eye and
told you to wake up. And also, I see from my
bill, some broccoli (£5.50). Who ordered the
broccoli? I never order broccoli. Broccoli is
an abomination invented for children to eat
because it looks a bit like trees. I’m not saying
we didn’t order it – I’m just saying it must
have been Tom.
And it was definitely he who ordered
the salted caramel and apple crumble martinis
(£11.50 each) instead of pudding, because
you might as well be hung for a sheep as
a lamb. That definitely wasn’t me. I mean,
who, after a wonderfully light spring afternoon
lunch of fresh fish and perky young Italian
white wine, wants a strong, creamy martini
with a caramel rim on the glass and a
flamed marshmallow on a cocktail stick
bobbing on the top with their strong, hot
espresso at the end? Not me, pal. No sirree.
Definitely not.
And then it was out onto the towpath,
to goggle at the water and sky some more,
with a view to walking home along the river,
but coming, almost immediately, to one of
those riverfront “Boat Race” pubs, where
people were sitting outside in the sunshine
with pints, looking forward to the evening,
so we stopped for just one – a restorative
pint of Guinness – at the only spare table
and then it was straight home.
Honest. nSam’s Riverside
1 Crisp Walk, London
W6 (020 8237 1020;
samsriverside.co.uk)
Cooking 7
Space 8
View 9
Score 8
Price As you can
see below, not
exactly cheap-cheap,
but considerably
cheaper than the
River Cafe, which
I’m not knocking...