El Nivel - Covent Garden

28 Maiden Lane, London, WC2E 7JS

A holiday is a perfect escape from the drudgery of working life. The wake-up, rush to squeeze into the stinking armpit that is the Northern Line, spend the day counting the seconds until your next coffee, kind of working life.

A day of travel, including a rush to squeeze into the stinking armpit that is an Easyjet flight, and you’re breathing the fresh air of the mountains, with skis strapped to your feet and a beer waiting at the bottom. Perfect.

The days of misery that preceded it - that tequila tasting evening; that 10-course meal at HKK with accompanying wines; that sort of thing - all forgotten in an instance. The only lingering memory, the faint taste of a trio of dark chocolate dumplings with yuzu and ginger infusion, and a glass of 2013 Moscato d'Asti, Vajra. Miserable memories, truly miserable.

A week later and you’re home. No more skis strapped to your feet, no more fresh mountain air, no more beer waiting at the bottom. A return to the wake-up, rush to squeeze into the stinking armpit that is the Northern Line, spend the day counting the seconds until your next coffee, kind of working life.

So to brighten the mood, it’s out for more tequila. That warming, happy liquid, crafted thousands of miles away from a plant that looks positively martian, grown in fields that look positively lunar. And where better for a glass than El Nivel, in Covent Garden.

El Nivel is owned and run by the folks wot own Ocho Tequila. A sparklingly light, fruity tequila that I could describe far better if I still have a glass in my hand, but some b*stard ran off with the only miniature I had. Either that, or I drank it and don’t remember - which is slightly worrying.

A two storey venue, El Nivel has a lively downstairs bar/restaurant and a far more sedate restaurant upstairs, perfect for a quiet meal and chat. The service was positive, friendly, considerate, with the barman offering to test cocktails out on us. Win, win, win, and win. Take note other places I have visited recently (but won’t name), this is how you earn your tips.

Now, if I was a good food blogger, I would have spent my time at El Nivel taking yard after yard of funky pictures at jaunty angles. I would then list the ingredients of every dish, following each description with one word...FANTASTIC...and probably six or seven exclamation marks.

I’m not though, I’m a lazy food blogger. So you’ll have to make do with some ropey pictures of a couple of dishes I took in the soft dim light of the restaurant, not a single one fit for Instagram and as far removed as possible from the picture I took of the trio of dark chocolate dumplings with yuzu and ginger infusion, and a glass of 2013 Moscato d'Asti, Vajra. 

47 likes and counting!!!!!! Read, weep.

I can’t remember the dishes that well either, but I do have some good excuses for that. One, I’d drunk quite a bit of tequila; two, I was with friends; three, one of them announced she was now engaged (or her boyfriend had smoked a cigar - I can’t remember how those two facts became so confused); four, I’m a lazy food blogger; five, and most importantly, it’s tapas.

Tapas doesn’t suit us English. It’s a cuisine suited to pushing, shoving, sharing, grappling,  and a strong set of elbows. I want to act like this, but my English sensibilities restrain me; leaving me sat with plate in hand, offering a dish to everyone that really I want to scoff on my own.

All of this politeness and plate passing creates confusion. Ultimately, you grab what you can (within the boundaries of reason) and don’t have time to take even a mental note of what you ate - so thank God for PDF menus.

The Tostadas de Atun ‘Luzia’ (the tuna) was possibly my favourite dish. Small cubes of cool tuna sat on a crispy tostada. A close second would be the chicken, goat’s cheese, and lime wrap thing. Served with a chocolate reduction, it was definitely a different dish, with a good dose of flavour. The same good be said for the guacamole. Not just a bowl of diced avocado, this had more fruit going on then you can shake a stick at, including some white squares of something that I still can’t name.

On the negatives, the pork cubes weren’t the greatest. Crisp on top, the fat underneath the thin layer was too much like jelly for my liking. The lamb cutlets disappeared without me noticing, which can’t be a good sign, as I did eat half of one. The pudding too: too thick and rich a chocolate moosse for a full glass, it would have really benefitted from being smaller and served with a nice fresh lump of ice-cream, or something similar to cut through that richness.

The meal ended with a glass of mezcal from QuiQuiRiQui (seriously, no spaces?) - a mezcal closer to the citrusy notes of tequila than most typically earthy mezcals tend to be, but no less delicious. 

Jesus, I clearly was listening during the tequila tasting a fortnight ago. Perhaps those miserable memories aren’t so miserable after all. Just another year of that rush to squeeze into the stinking armpit that is the Northern Line, spend the day counting the seconds until your next coffee, drinking tequila, and endless meals out, kind of working life, and I’ll be back on the slopes.

Sticks'N'Sushi - Covent Garden

11 Henrietta St, London, WC2E 8PY

For many, stress is an inescapable affliction. Regardless of circumstance - a good job, a decent wage, a clean bill of health - worry is ever present and manifests through things which really are of no consequence. Do these shoes match my shirt? Did I buy the right sofa? Why is that windowsill dirty? Is this milk fresh?

The horror. The horror.

These are the worries of a spoilt generation, of which I'm a poster child. Some stresses do seem legitimate though. Success and health are no guarantee of a stable relationship, for example. And then there's paying for a meal, of course, when you are 'oh so used' to getting them paid for you. What's that piece of paper? A bill?! Christ on a tricycle! Surely that's not for me?

But I soldier on. I'm a fighter. I don't let these things get me down. It's all a positive mental attitude. Sure, today I had to grit my teeth and pay my share. Tomorrow is another day though and there's always a free dinner waiting around the corner. Chin up, head high.

Sticks'N'Sushi helped. The professional staff and cool, calming interior did well to sooth this troubled soul (what a segue from ramble to review. Seamless). The waiters patiently waited, as their title suggests, while we poured through the two menus, ogling the pictures of sushi and meat sticks, before settling on a half-metre mixed sushi plate and accompanying skewers.

The plate was a sushi lovers dream. Fish, rice, and roe, organised in matching regiments with Japanese precision. Delicious. All of it. Well, perhaps not the sweet, sticky tofu parcel. It was like a rice pudding, wrapped in a thin soggy crust of batter. Not for me. The meat was far better. Tender beef falling off the skewer and making a mess of the chic black Scandinavian table. I blame the chef for the crumbs. The chicken, with charred, caramelised leeks, wasn't quite as good, but it's chicken - it can't play ball with beef.

For once, I was full. No room for a pudding, even though a tray of four tasters sat on our table, tantalisingly close to my spoon hand. Instead, a black coffee, sipped while the staff attempt to froth up a matcha tea for the second time. Professional and persistent. They managed it in the end - a ritual I've never seen before and I'm not sure if entirely worth the effort. Unlike visiting Sticks'N'Sushi, worth the effort completely, even if you have to open your own wallet and pay. Wow. Another seamless segue. I'm on fire.

Joe Allen - Covent Garden

13 Exeter Street, London, WC2E 7DT

No-one likes it when someone whines on Facebook about their life's woes. Yep, it's sad when a pet dies, people on trains are annoying, and why do you want him back if he slept with your sister? But increasingly people are using Facebook to whine about people who whine on Facebook. It's a vicious and hypocritical circle.

The same is true for burger reviews. No-one reviews burgers anymore, they just moan about those who do. There are a lot of burgers out there though, and when you've eaten two in a single day, there isn't a lot else you can write about. So, I'll continue and ignore the idiot who wrote: 

"What more can be said about burgers? I've just run out of words for them, and I think others have too."

What a tool.

With Shake Shack at it's heart, MEATmarket on it's edge, Five Guys a stones throw, and more than 28 Byrons within a five minute walk, Covent Garden could make a claim to be the burger centre of London. In my ignorance, I wouldn't have included Joe Allen in that list - until now. Not to be found on the menu, Joe Allen offers a burger that rivals all of the aforementioned. Cheese, bacon, a large slice of tomato, this is a handful of a burger that feels like an act of rebellion to eat when surrounded by crisp white tablecloths, waiters in suits, and glasses for wine - honestly, glasses for wine. I had to restrain myself from painting the tablecloth Variety 57 red with the ketchup and meat juice dribble on my hands.

Shake Shack

Shake Shack, 24 Market Building, Covent Garden Piazza, London WC2

"Alton Towers? It's rubbish. Next!"

- David Brent, The Office (Series 2, Episode 3)

"Shake Shack. From hereon in, it will be known as Shit Shack. Don't bother."

- A friend

Strong words indeed from a fellow dinner, but words that unfortunately should be heeded. I have to confess that I tried neither the shake nor the burger for which Shake Shack is famed. Perhaps then I should go back and start again? No. I don't think so. A queue of 45 minutes - which my own tardiness prevented me from standing in - is not something I could bear now knowing what awaits at the end; although it would suggest that Shake Shack can afford to swing two fingers in my direction. 'You just lost yourself a customer!' shouts Homer across the crowded bar.

Instead, I'll take the shrugged shoulders of the same friend with regards to the burger and another who said "s'alright" when I enquired about the shake. Not promising. As for my meal: a handful of fries that might constitute a crowd at Wigan Athletic FC, but a barren wilderness anywhere else, and a hotdog that was more bread than dog, with an unwelcome abundance of sharp pickle that tainted my next two pints. The lemonade was adequate.

I may have been slightly kinder to the food had the rest of the experience not been quite so awful - and I write that having been spared the lengthy queue! Covent Garden is never going to be the best dining experience on an August evening, but the service at Shake Shack seemed to work hard at making it worse still. I give them ten-out-of-ten for their piss poor attitude. Some staff stood around doing nothing, while others hunted the floor like jackals for anyone who'd dared to remain seated after finishing their food. Seriously?! I've paid to eat here and I'll sit for as long as it takes for me to chew down this swill. Given the hotdog is finger-sized I'll only be 18 seconds, so what's the rush?! 

The final biscuit was taken when I went to collect a napkin. A member of staff actually moved my hand from the dispenser so she could take one for herself. I was speechless, and that doesn't happen often.

Anyway, good luck to them. I'm sure the thronging tourist crowds will cover the (presumably) astronomic rent in Covent Garden, but my pennies will not be assisting with their overheads any time soon.