Herman Ze German, London
I first came across Herman’s after stumbling ravenous and a little worse for wear out of central London rave hub Heaven. The bright orange kitschiness of the place drew me in. “Various parboiled German sausages! This is going to be rank,” I thought. Turned out I was wrong. If you can get past the insistence on having “Ze” plastered before everything in sight (“Ze sink”, for example), Herman’s makes for ideal post-club fodder. The menu is a simple combination of German staples. You have a choice of schnitzel, sausages (Chilli Beef, Bock Wurst, Brat Wurst and Curry Wurst), either served in a bun or with chips and salad. It doesn’t sound like much, but in the right state (ie leathered) it really comes into its own. Now grown to three sites across the capital, with a surprisingly well-stocked merch section, it could be primed for chain expansion. To use its own linguistic quirk, this should be called ze spot.
19 Villiers Street, WC2; hermanzegerman.com
LB
My food vice… Prego especial no bolo do caco
“Prego” means a lot of things in Portuguese – “After you!” or “You’re welcome!” – but is also Portugal’s name for its signature steak sandwich. A Prego Especial No Bolo Do Caco is a Prego turned up to 11, Madeiran style. It starts with a Prego: thinly sliced beef in rich juices, and gets Especial when loaded with ham, cheese, a fried egg, fat tasty tomatoes and lettuce. The clincher, which brings together all these standard ingredients into a sandwich the earl himself would die for, is the Bolo De Caco – Madeira’s take on garlic bread – an irresistibly doughy almost-flatbread made with sweet potato and wheat flour, cooked on a stone slab and smothered in garlic butter. Around this time of year, temperatures in Madeira are in the mid-20s, and as the British chill sets in, I long to be sitting in the lunchtime sun at Funchal’s Barreirinha Bar Cage, on its terrace above the Atlantic, with sea salt in my hair and warm, garlicky grease running down my chin.
JA
Boak & Bailey on booze: Dark matter
It’s astonishing how many people still believe that dark beers are by definition strong. Before brewers were obliged to declare the alcohol content, people relied on the evidence of their senses: dark beers such as stout seemed “heavier” and so people assumed they were also boozier. But these days, despite its dense, creamy body, draught Guinness, at 4.1% ABV, is no stronger than a bitter such as Fuller’s London Pride and much weaker than, say, Stella Artois. If you like the comforting flavours of dark beer but want to go even lower, then you need a pint of mild. Quite a few breweries make it but because the style has long been unfashionable, usually brand it as “dark ale”. If your local doesn’t serve draught mild (it’s rarer outside the north and Midlands), our tip is Ilkley Black (3.7%).
