Smiths of Smithfield

Smiths can be intimidating with its bouncer, heavy doors and rows of men in suits lining the long wooden tables. The ground floor bar is also rather dimly lit and I had a couple of near misses before finding my friend M who was nursing a glass of house red (a Sangiovese) and her blackberry. The long metal bar was in keeping with the exposed bricks and pipework of the place and the Chilean Cabernot Sauvignon felt suitably macho, although after the couple of G&Ts earlier it was a little cloying. It’s a noisy room, rather echoey, the music (dance) matched the buzz. Lifts, stairs and a cloakroom/bookings/info window in the corner with the different floors labelled, much like a department store. Autumn has properly set in and the draft from the door (despite its weight, slow to close) and the practical rather than comfortable benches didn’t lend well to lingering.

We decided to eat on floor 2 – the Dining Room. Brief stop at the loo on the way up where I was disconcerted by the broken light in the cubicle, and by the toilet attendant manning one of the hand dryers. Staff in toilets make me uneasy – I can wash my hands perfectly well by myself, and I don’t tend to take my purse in with me. So it’s awkward smile and thanks but no thanks if I’m not stealing the lollies (hmm, there’s something wrong about sweets in loos). There was no problem getting a table for two: at 7.30pm the room was still fairly empty and we were seated by the window looking out over the roof of Smithfield market. As the evening drew on the room filled up – the high ceilings and centre well didn’t help the acoustics, although it’s not meant to be a place for an intimate meal.

Bread was rosemary focaccia with a crusting of salt and a traditional granary which we dunked in oil and vinegar and wolfed down. It would have been nice to have the option of butter but no hard feelings, I think my arteries took quite enough clogging. As the cab sav had been a bit heavy we went for the house red which started off going down well but ran out of steam before pudding. More likely it was us that were flagging, the portions were quite substantial. The menu was easily decipherable, split into larder, starters, soups, mains, grills and puddings, all grouped at the same price. I went for the fois gras and duck liver from the larder while M had squid with chilli jam. A creamy brick with two generous pieces of toast and a large blob of onion marmalade, it was quite a plateful and very tasty. The crunchy toast acted as a foil for the pate which melted like butter in the mouth. The squid was similarly plentiful and according to M very nice indeed.

Between courses we caught up on the gossip: new jobs, why on earth school friends hadn’t moved back to London after university and the problem with Luxemburg (everyone lives in France or Germany so the country empties after 5.30pm). Births, deaths and marriages – well, one out of three – and what to do when a living room’s effectively out of bounds. Deduct money from the rent? Our main courses arrived quickly, 9oz steak with chips and 5 spice duck (M going for an Asian theme). The steak was great, cooked exactly as requested (medium rare). Being a fusspot I left some bits that were overly fatty but I appreciate what they add to the flavour. Chips were so-so, not crispy enough and needed dunking in the wholegrain mustard mayo. I ended up leaving about half of them although M picked at them until they came and cleared the plates. I am somewhat culpable in preferring skinny fries to chunkier chips, but lack of crisp is NOT a Good Thing.

Some excitement when someone who might have been John Torode whizzed past with a wave; I only caught the back of a leather jacket and some wavy black hair as he headed from the kitchen and down the stairs. I decided I had enough room for pudding for the blackberry and ginger nut cheesecake, but its texture was rather too similar to the parfait and it lacked the necessary bite to cut through. Once again an enormous portion that I couldn’t finish – almost unheard of! I may have been better off with the chocolate and mascarpone torte with poached plum that initially tempted me. M’s apple tart thing got the thumbs up. We weren’t hurried along and chatted some more over the remnants of the wine but had run out of enthusiasm sometime before so got the bill. At around £70 including tip, this was pretty much on the money. Note to people insecure in heels: do not grip the wooden banister on the way down the stairs to support yourself, you run the risk of whacking your fingers against the sharp edge of the metal struts. Or maybe that’s just me. Twice.