St. John Bread & Wine - London, UK

There is an old-school vibe at St. John, and it saturates the senses. It’s hardly the surround-sound of stuffy old men, it’s more like self-assurance, an expression of confidence and class that only comes with experience and time. 

Their menu is the kind of old-school that doesn’t age, a collection of classics with creativity that appeal to all ages. 

The Duck Liver and Foie Gras Toast is a buttery spread of fat and bile that glides a glassy surface across the crags of crusty brown toast. The foie is bright-eyed and fresh, but the bread suggests an ancientness to the recipe, a loaf that has been shaped by the hands of generations of bakers, baked a million times. 

I’ve been warned that British cuisine is meat-heavy, but they don’t neglect their vegetables here. The White Cabbage, Brown Shrimp and Cervil is a crisp salad of garden-fresh sort-of slaw that flies on the wings of an herby cervil. The tiny brown shrimp add an overarching sea-sweet succulence that permeates every crevice of the cabbage.

Fennel and Berkswell carry the vegetables well, an earthy shroud of fennel tastes like a Monet meadow, unveiling a milky, firm curds-n-wheyish cheese beneath. It’s like digging for gold and finding it in a golden-brown cheese-crust.

The smaller mussels of the Mussels, Cider and Dill are pockets of flavor-burst ocean and brine. Every bite is slightly, beautifully brackish and releases a deluge of cider-laced juice. The remaining broth makes short work of a basket of standout sourdough.

A green salad provides a bitter canopy to coax the tender notes from thin slices of Beef Heart in balsamic. The vinegar uplifts a heavy heart, giving it an exalted place among the best bobby beans I’ve ever had. Pickled walnuts lurk in waiting, concealed beneath the tender leaves. The texture is almost fleshy, but the finish is sweeter as the dry nuttiness is lost in the moist pickle. They almost take on the texture of chestnuts this way, and I no longer want walnuts any other way. 

The Deviled Lamb Kidneys are indescribable. The signature game of lamb is not lost, but the commonly rubbery texture is transformed. The sauce is heavy and dark with an uplift of salivating spice from the flash and bang of chili pepper. The saturating sauce seeps into the toast for the most delectable bits of soggy bread.

The transition to dessert is less abrupt in a more-salty-than-sweet Treacle Tart. This after-dinner delight is hardly a British novelty, but for me it is a new and instant love. This sticky, toffee-textured slice of salted honey has layers of flavors, a depth and dynamic that gives each bite a different angle.

The Madeleines follow as the conclusive end to an experience even Bourdain couldn’t forget. They take at least 15 minutes to make, and they disappear within seconds, as if they had never existed at all. These floaty shells dissolve faster than a wanting tongue can perceive, in a flurry of butter, sugar, and air.

Whoever said that the food in London is lacking...is an idiot. St. John is living proof that British food can be most brilliant, and I am so enamored I fear the remainder of my trip will only be disappointment. My head full of wanderlust wants to experience something new, but St. John has won my heart with the old, and all I can think of is how to get back there again.