Zoe’s Ghana Kitchen - The King & Co, Clapham

100 Clapham Park Road, London, SW4 7BZ

“The only bad review you gave was to a slice of pizza you found under the couch.”

- The Simpsons, AABF21

I sometimes worry that one day I’ll run out of things to write about. Then I come to my senses and realise it’s unlikely for a loudmouth like me, who can’t resist telling everyone everything.

I mean, I once wrote about a 99p Pret coffee and today was tempted to review a bag of Wotsits. Does that sound like the behaviour of someone running out of things to say?

Given the dull subject matter, possibly is the answer -  but I’ll take it as a sign that my brain will always find something to spew out on a page. If it doesn’t, I’ll just follow the popular blogger trait of describing my dinner with ‘AMAZING!!!!!’ inserted as every sixth word.

On this lazy bank holiday that consisted of nothing more than working and staring out of the window like a bored cat (AMAZING!!!), I resolved to leave the flat at least once.

Dashing out of the door late and stepping over the mounds of rubbish that litter the streets of South London, I noticed an empty bottle of Glenfiddich 12 year old rolling about on the floor - a clearer sign as any that this area is on the up.

That’s a lie - the bottle was actually there today, but it’s as neat a segue as I can think of after a glass of that same whisky and I’ll be damned if I’m letting the truth stand in the way of a half-good half-baked story.

Another sign that a place is on the up is the number of decent eateries within a couple of tube stops (segue or what?! Boom!). The King & Co in Clapham has added itself to that list with previously excellent pop-up kitchens from Donostia Social Club and BahBah Persian Kitchen. Where DO they get these names?

Now it’s time for Zoe’s Ghana Kitchen to impress the locals of South West London - or a local and his mate who lives over East somewhere. There we sat, at the back of the pub, ciders in hand, eating our dinner over candlelight. A picturesque scene, if it weren’t for us two in it.

Zoe’s Ghana Kitchen is a proper sharing experience. Small plates cover the table and you’re forever leaning across each other’s laps, dipping your elbow into some sort of red goo. All very continental. Adam’s a vegetarian though, so I had little chance to share, instead stocking up on two meat dishes and splitting a rice.

Peanut butter stew with mutton. You’re not going to find that in many places, granted; but you should. A bowl of deep earthy flavours, the mutton fell apart into tiny strands, so small you could probably hide them in a vegetarians jollof rice and get away with it (joke!). The heat here is a builder - not the tongue flashing tang of a fresh chili, but the complex spice of an assortment of powders, cooked and left to stew - AMAZING!!!. Bring me two bowls of this and I’m done.

I wasn’t done though as the mutton was joined by a friendly pig, whose belly had been slow-roasted until it too fell into thin delicate strands. The sauce looked hot. That fiery red colour of intense spice covered in a layer of oil that burns instead of lubricates. It wasn’t though. There was heat here, yet it was another builder. Drink a pint of this and you’ll struggle; eat a single dish and even I (yes Jacki, even I) had barely broken a sweat.

I could have eaten more and more, and more, and more. For once, I was actually paying for this meal, so woah woah woah! - rein it in!

All the same the meal had to end with a pudding: banoffee pie covered in chin chin. What in God’s name that is, I don’t know. Some sort of crumbled biscuit, that they dusted across the top of my creamy, bananery, toffee goodness. I’m not sure it added much, but then I wolfed the whole thing down so fast I would never have noticed. Delicious the pudding was and not one to be eaten slowly - as if a pudding ever is.

Zoe’s Ghana Kitchen is here for a little while longer before she opens up a place in Brixton. Go here, go there, it doesn’t matter, just go - it’s AMAZING!!! And I do genuinely mean that.

The Manor - Clapham

148 Clapham Manor Street, London, SW4 6BX

Now, I have to be very careful with this one. Firstly, my girlfriend brought me here for my birthday. Secondly, they gave us a free glass of something fizzy.

Well, freebies have never swayed me before - if they did, this blog would have joined the 'fantastic!!!!' crowd a long time ago - but my girlfriend's choice can't be criticised. Not if I want to keep both my relationship and my large nose intact.

So......what do I write?

The Manor is a restaurant in South London's Clapham area. It serves hot food and a range of alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. It has tables. It has chairs. It has lighting that's a little too dim for my ageing eyes.

Ah damn. That's definitely a criticism. But honestly, it'll be the only one!

The Manor specialises in the sort of food that you might describe as gourmet hipster. It's not burgers and double-milk-glazed free range chicken, but it is that fennel-seed-this and whipped-fish-eyes-that type of menu, where every dish is one you won't have eaten before. Guaranteed.

To list the food is pointless - I can't remember it all. To show you a photo is equally pointless - it was too dark and it was my birthday, so I wasn't working. Not that I often am, some might argue.

Let's just say the food is fun. Interesting ingredients in interesting combinations, served on a range of interesting ceramics (God, I am officially old). Plates are around £7-8 and you're going to need at least four or five each to fill a hole. It's best to share too, otherwise one of you will have to eat a plate of BBQ'd kale, while staring longingly at your dining partner's dish.

Vegetables are a key feature at The Manor; in fact, you could say there's a definite oversupply. I'm not complaining too much - I'm on a sort of half-arsed health drive - it's just that, on occasions, the meat advertised on the menu was lost in a sea of green shoots and leaves.

The meat that was on show shone, mind you. Tender octopus, bright pink pigeon, soft melt-in-the-mouth beef. And, as much as it pains me to say it, sometimes an over-supply of meat is unnecessary. Better to get your calories from carbs and vegetables, every doctor will tell you.

The same quack will probably say that a small pudding is a good thing too. Well, The Manor don't do small puddings; instead, I had a half-plate of crumble, steaming with ice. Does ice steam? Maybe. Whatever, it was an impressive delivery and there's some photos on Facebook of me looking like a happy fool shortly before tucking in.

I say shortly before, as after all that visual drama, I expected something a lot tastier. This was really just a pile of sweet crumble. I'm not averse to that, but it just slightly boring for a restaurant that offers up such adventurous dishes as BBQ crispy chicken skins & kimchi (I've bothered to read the menu now).

So there we have it, a review which promised no criticism and probably ended up delivering three. That's pretty good and The Manor shouldn't be judged on these alone. Perhaps a little less drink and a little more focus would have led to a stellar review - but it was my birthday!

If I were to be asked for a recommendation in South London, The Manor would certainly be towards the top of that list - and you can't say fairer than that!

p.s. A massive thanks to my girlfriend for such a brilliant choice of birthday meal - and for scoring us some free drinks :-)

The Rookery - Clapham

69 Clapham Common South Side, London, SW4 9DA

A desirable place to live, Clapham. Eateries, drinkeries, greeneries, and a chicken shop with a TV crew. Here exists every crawl you could image: club, food, pub. The latter, all tweeting their wares to the tech literate and highly social residents of this South London village. And why not? That's how we found The Rookery after all.

A tiny fronted venue overlooking the Common, The Rookery is a pub when empty and a restaurant when full. The taps flow with Meantime and a dusty cocktail list sits on a shelf. Squinting at the menu through the dim candlelight - this really is the trend - only one word was clear: pie. Rich, sticky venison underneath an egg glazed crust. Moreish and hugely filling, it would have benefited from a few vegetables. Shallots, carrots, celery, perhaps some mushrooms, something to absorb that intense flavour and provide a change to the endless forkfuls of meat.

While pie is the food of the trencherman, nothing comes closer to that overused term 'comfort food' than bread and butter pudding. Usually something to shy away from in restaurants - chefs usually fail to mimic the delicious inconsistencies of home cooking - this version, with a layer of chocolate and banana, had that farmhouse kitchen greatness to it. Thick, stodgy, sweet, burnt, and soggy, all rolled in to one dish - probably a welcome sight after a march around the common, and definitely requiring another one after to burn through those calories. If only it hadn't been raining.

Gastro - Clapham, London

67 Venn St, London, SW4 0BD

Like the Haussmannisation of Paris, the introduction of flagstones in a town centre is the authority's attempt to subdue the riotous elements of society through the manipulation of physical geography. You will never see a riot where flagstones exist. And how could you? The calming influence of light-toned stone, surrounded by an array of agreeable coffee shops, florists, and bars where the beer is measured in metric, would have even James Dean picking up other people's litter, enunciating, and doffing his cap to passing ladies. If only certain North African governments had run out a lorry-load of Cotswold's finest, rather than a water-cannon, then their situation may have ended very differently indeed.

Venn Street in Clapham is one such flagstone-strewn street impervious to social unrest. Sitting outside in the afternoon sun, underneath the olive trees infront of Gastro, you could imagine yourself in Paris, Lyon, Bordeaux or any other utopian gallic city. Gastro itself only adds to this image. Waiters with thick French accents, paint flaking off the walls, toilets next to the kitchen, and the smell of burning cheese.

The food here was excellent, the service slow. A sharing platter to start with foie gras, king prawns, smoked salmon, mackerel, and salad, albeit with the minimal provision of bread. Perfectly cooked steak (medium-rare) followed with sweet brown chips and the classic one-leaf-drenched-in-dressing salad. The pudding was disappointing - tarte tatin overflowing with apples to the point of distress - but this was countered by very un-French choice of beers on offer (Camden Pale Ale (4.0%)).

I'll be back I'm sure, although I might pick another off-peak time rather than run the risk of eating three courses interspersed with hour long waits.

Bodean's - Clapham, London

After three failed attempts to get in to Bodean's in Soho, showing up mid-afternoon to their Clapham branch on a Saturday during the Six Nations gave us a direct pass to a table for two. Granted, the rugby was showing here, but who in their right mind was going to be distracted from their plate in this place?

A £15 match day special featured a foot of ribs, the tenderest chicken wings, fries, coleslaw, and a beer. A plate of extreme-value-deliciousness unsurpassed by anything I've eaten in the past 6-months - and I'll include Christmas dinner in that.

Throw in the fact that everything fits neatly on a single oval plate - not a metal bucket of chips in sight - and they provide as much kitchen towel as you can eat, and this is heaven.

I may be a late comer to this place, but I can see a bright future of BBQ sauce encrusted fingernails to come.