Review at a glance: ★★★☆☆
That, seven years after his suicide, Anthony Bourdain remains a fluorescent presence in the food world tells of his enduring rogue's charm. By his own admission he wasn't much of a chef but after two failed mystery novels, he broke through in his mid-forties as a master chronicler of kitchens, people and places, a contradiction of puppyish enthusiasm and hangdog weariness. I imagine he sat at a keyboard the way drummers do at their kits; his sentences thrum with rock'n'roll rhythm. This week a new collection of his writing has been released, The Anthony Bourdain Reader, an album of greatest hits and lost wonderings. But his legacy is not just of scribblings but of introductions: he snuck us into the underworld of New York bistros, on to the lakes in Tanzania, under the canopy of cables that shade the streets in Ho Chi Minh.
At the last of these he met Nguyen Thi Thành, known as Cô (aunt) Thành, famous locally for her food stall where workers would queue during their lunch breaks. Bourdain nicknamed her “the Lunch Lady” and the attention secured her success until her death in May this year — and a fan in American restaurateur Brian Woo. He travelled to meet her, then stayed for three years to study alongside her, before opening a Hong Kong restaurant named in her honour and preserving her recipes. Now it is here, in Covent Garden, in what used to be Frenchie.
Though it looks similar to before — same floor, same exposed brickwork — where Frenchie was elegant in a buttoned-collar, neat-and-tidy sort of way, now it is laid-back and at ease. Bright red and blue plastic stools help, so too hand-painted street signs advertising Vietnamese businesses, and glass cabinets full with 7 Up and Saigon beer. There is none of the moped chaos of Ho Chi Minh, but it feels more like a café than a restaurant. Still, whoever thought mirrored tables were a good idea needs their head checked: we spent lunch avoiding our warped reflections. Ever fumbled your phone open on selfie mode and been nauseated to discover a third chin? A tablecloth's never had me wondering about getting a neck lift.
Visiting perhaps too soon, the full menu was not in action: no bánh mì yet, though they are promised. Luckily there was plenty else. Flavours are true to Vietnam's milder taste; it is not the part of Southeast Asia with screaming heat exploding every dish. Freshness and herby aromatics matter more. And so came goi cuon (summer rolls) bulging with shrimp and rice and salad leaves, jostling against their cocooning rice paper wrapper; restorative, pure-tasting things, with a creamy peanut hoisin sauce somehow sweet and spicy and salty at once.
Bò lá lot more obviously wowed: pink and fleshy grilled beef had been rolled and wrapped in a shawl of betel leaf, served under a debris of peanuts and spring onion. It was a welcome funk of pepper and herbs and the medicinal kind of mint, bettered only when dipped in a powerfully savoury nuoc cham sauce. These and a beer could fill a blissful 20 minutes.
Someone in the kitchen should let go, drop the subtlety, uncuff the restraints
Various bún — noodle broths — for the moment make up the larger plates. The most famous of these is bún bò hue, but owing to a pesky pineapple allergy we had to avoid it. Instead we had bún moc (pork and mushroom) and bún Thai (seafood, pork and beef). Both felt timid, underpowered, low on personality; where were the great big thwacks of aromatics, the vivid lime leaf and lemongrass? Herbs seemed lost. Someone in the kitchen should let go, drop the subtlety, uncuff the restraints.
Saving graces arrived with an excellent tiramisu and chè bà mau, the slightly loony pudding soup of crushed ice, coconut sauce and pandan jelly. In the best way possible, it tasted like the milk left at the end of a bowl of Crunchy Nut. After, hot Vietnamese coffee with the sweet tang of condensed milk was as potent as engine oil.
We finished the wine — good aligoté, with only a tiny mark-up (hard in Covent Garden) — and left a little perplexed. Moments of brilliance had been hampered by moments of boredom. But it was very early days; I sense it will tighten up very soon. No one gets everything perfect from the off. Just look at Bourdain.
16 Henrietta Street. WC2E 8QH. Meal for two about £100; world.cothanhrestaurant.com
