Smoking Goat - Soho

7 Denmark Street, London, WC2H 8LZ

I could start any review of a restaurant in Central London talking about tourists. The throngs of visitors who line the streets of Zone 1, drawn like moths to the bright lights of every Aberdeen Angus Steakhouse.

I’m a bit bored of that now, so I won’t.

It leaves me scratching my beard as to how to start this review though. I don’t like diving straight into the food; instead, I prefer setting the scene or waffling on about something almost entirely unrelated.

So, here we go...

On the edge of the Kalahari desert in Namibia, a few miles west of the Botswana border, lies the one horse (donkey) town of Tsumkwe. Having driven for hours along Namibia’s famously straight roads, turning the wheel only to navigate a swamp, the idea of boiling pans of water over a fire and eating yet more pasta mixed with cured meats, had lost it’s charm.

Fortunately, within the barbed wire of the campsite - heavily fortified against any animal or gun-toting local that the Kalahari had to throw at us (and there were a few) - was a restaurant of sorts. A tall triangular building, built solely of thatch from floor to ceiling, housed a charcoal pit (that CANNOT be a good idea) and a kitchen that served up t-bone steaks from who-knows-what animal for about £5.

A meal of meat, these t-bones were the size of my head - and I have a very large head. Yes, they came with chips. Yes, they came with salad. But these sides were purely decorative; the focus of the meal being meat and meat alone.

Smoking Goat, on Denmark Street, is a homage to that Kalaharian barbecue. It’s not. I doubt the owners have been to Tsumkwe and they specifically say they’re offering up Thai inspired cuisine.

Anyway, waffle - tick. Segue - tick. And the job is almost done.

One thing Smoking Goat and the Tsumkwe T-Bone Emporium have in common is polite, happy, pleasant staff. The guys in Tsumkwe were probably just happy to see customers (we were the only ones dining). The guys at Smoking Goat are clearly just nice people, and they get plenty of customers if the tales of queues on the door are to be believed.

The other thing they have in common is a very limited menu. Smoking Goat has an A5 menu in font size 38 and a chalkboard that adds a couple more options: mainly giant dishes to share with 5 people.

We took the two mains: duck legs and lamb ribs. The starter of fish sauce wings was a nice intro, but after two bites the salty salty salty fish sauce was sapping every dribble of moisture from my mouth. In other words, it was too salty.

The duck and lamb were far better. Sticky delicious meat that you could pick clean from the various bones and shovel down with a spoon of sticky rice and the spicy greens (the name of which escapes me completely).

It’s one of those meals that leaves you feeling satisfied. Nothing novel going on here. Nothing spellbinding. Nothing cutting-edge. No reduction of salmon’s foot, with a garnish of blended Yorkie bar, and a poached egg on top. Just solid meat - solid in the football pundit’s use of the word (it means good, strong, and reliable) - and a full belly to rub afterwards.

Again, it’s a bit like that meal in Tsumkwe. My introductory waffle, totally and utterly justified.

Like meat? Check out Le Relais de Venise L’Entrecôte.

The Flying Pig - East Dulwich

58-60 East Dulwich Road, London, SE22 9AX

Except for the odd excursion to Streatham or Croydon, I don't have call to explore further south than Clapham. I'm sure I'm missing out on a lot - the Sunday lunch at The Earl Ferrers in St. Reatham is testament to that - but then London is a big place and you can't do everything.

Being invited to sample drinks and dinner at a pub in East Dulwich was a good opportunity to see what the South had to offer. Head down, hands in coat, and marching through the drizzle from the bright lights of Peckham Rye High Street to the seemingly sleepier East Dulwich, I didn't see much in the way of competition for The Flying Pig. A good place to pitch then, as long as the locals bite.

The bar at The 'Pig can't be faulted, at least not by someone with my limited knowledge of beer. This is a self-proclaimed craft beer bar and boasts an extensive range, hugging the tabs, scrawled on the chalk board, and illuminating the fridge. All the colours of the beer rainbow - dark, pale, and everything in between. With so much choice I, of course, went for two of my favourites, rather than risk the embarrassment of ordering something different. Classically English. A pint of Dead Pony Club (3.8%) followed by Gentleman's Wit (4.3%).

The food here is the choice of the trendy. Pulled pork, ribs, and burger. I'm not sick of this holy trinity, not yet anyway, but when it's paraded from pillar to post you yearn for something a bit different. Although I did criticise certain aspects of their food, places like Smokehouse in Islington thrive on innovation, drawing crowds from further than their own doorstep with inventive recipes. With the range of beers on offer at The Flying Pig, I'm sure the punters will more than trickle in, but if the food doesn't get a tad more inventive I don't see people making a special trip.

*Disclaimer: I was invited for an evening at The Flying Pig by www.appearherepr.com - drinks and food were covered, which was very nice of them.

Red Dog Saloon - Hoxton Square, London

37 Hoxton Square, London, N1 6NN

London is a home-from-home for any rib chewing, pulled pork eating, spicy bean munching American. This unhealthily-delicious cuisine is now offered by pubs, street vendors a-plenty, and even the high street sandwich chains. The full 'US of A' experience, complete with buffalo skull, Budweiser, and bourbon, can be found at one of the four Bodean's venues - one of which is a mere fifteen minutes walk from home, luckily for me. Of course, with rising popularity comes a host of competitors keen to jump on the wagon train. Enter Red Dog Saloon.

Not being a fan of a monopoly - even one as delicious as Bodean's - I'm always willing to sample the wares of a newcomer...even if it does mean a tube trip to the opposite side of town. Red Dog Saloon can be found in Hoxton Square, a short throw from Shoreditch, which guarantees a crowd queuing at the door even on a Monday. We'd booked, so no waiting around for us. Until we ordered our food. Starters shouldn't be necessary when so much meat is on offer, but if the waiting time for your main course is creeping over thirty minutes the staff should warn you that an appetiser is a must. It did give us time to get mildly sozzled on a pitcher of 'Beverly Hills Iced Tea', which may have been the inspiration for the post-dinner tequila - something Red Dog has a nice long list of.

But when it comes to the crunch, be it Red Dog, Bodean's, or a.n.other BBQ house, ultimately no amount of decor, skulls, novel booze, or beer is going to make up for poor food. And unfortunately, the tasteless ribs even when smothered further in an equally tasteless sauce were a huge disappointment. BBQ is about punch of flavour. A faint-to-strong burn in the mouth of spice that has been stewing for hours (or days) combined with a sweet tang so common in all American food that you're willing to forgo pudding. There was nothing here, no spice, no sweet, just a sticky sauce that you were happy to wipe, rather than lick, from your fingers.

I'm sure somewhere in London there is an equal to Bodean's, but it's not to be found in Hoxton Square.