Right Said Frederick's

RIGHT SAID Frederick's, more or less appropriate at this suprisingly extensive eponymous - dash anonymous - eatery, family run, but furtively tucked, just off Camden Passage, in edgy Islington.

After slipping sips of various cooled fortifieds, my hungry companions and I searched for satiation amongst the brick-floored, boudoir-linen roof festooned conservatory, overlooking a lush Angelic patch bearing the legend, 'Please Keep Off The Grass'.

Homely asparagus velouté with an ever so slightly Edwina poached egg (overdone) jousted current release, mouth-watering Cloudy Bay S.B. drawn from a list confident in its breadth and despite stating the contrary, also in its mark-up.

Packed with passionfruit cordial, with a tangible minerality of damp slate tiles on the nose, this had an elongated finish that was palatably powerful but not pungent and soft in its final moments. I still prefer the Chardonnay, however. [PREVIOUS POST]

My companions fished for the smoked mackeral paté. Its plump, cossetting buttermilk-yellow fat edging dissolved graciously in the mouth, mopped with slices of sourdough en-route to becoming ciabatta.

Medium rare beef steak a tad prone to rigamortis couched against decorative broccoli trees and velvet mash. Incisive cutlery scalpel-slashed through sinew like incisors, however.

My companions waded through a rather unimaginative sticky pangea of goats cheese/beetroot and walnut salad, whilst a gent adjacent pondered his way journey across what looked like a "snotted fishcake" (click picture to enlarge).

A trilogy of weakly-flavoured coconut, chocolate and vanilla iced scoops followed, led over the finishing line by fresh mint tea poured from a "breakdancing teapot" (the rotating lid had a particularly nice action). Thankfully this was served in moderately sized cups rather than bath sized recepticles, albeit upon "nippled" porcelainware.

The other epicurious tir a larced their spoons towards fruit salad (sigh, show me the skill in berry collage!) This included luminous raspberries that perfectly echoed the chorizo omelette montage of the £art (see right).

The loos were discreet, almost clubby, more deco liner heads than Narf Landon lavs.

Overall, a welcoming, but outdated fusion with rather lovely staff, but some decorative clashes. These were mainly down to the intense, intrusive canvases of Peter Kalkhof, unecessary embellishments considering the impact of the high, bright interior.

Like Right Said Fred 'postulated', "I'm Too Sexy" (released incidentally by 'Gut Reaction'). Whilst sex sells, I feel there is sometimes a tendency to place vanity over sanity in decor, which can distract from the food. Indeed, this may be the case at Frederick's. The menu, which is locked in the late '80s requires urgent modernisation if it is to attract outside of lovers of brilliant bread and those on business lunches. Flamboyance on the plate, not on the walls.

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Pictured, 'BUFFET', shouts on a restaurant specialising in Chinese, Thai 'and others' off Old Kent Road. I swear certain people can sniff an 'all you can eat' from miles around. Locando Loci.

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On Sunday, I spent more time (but not much money) at Canh Buomh, the splendid Vietnamese off Lee High Road. Here is a photo of unnervingly delicate eel segments.