Why do men have nipples? And why are there no gastropubs in the West End? In these cases, the laws of supply and demand do not seem to be working. You'd think that theatreland would benefit more than most areas from cheap, quick but decent food in its still numerous but increasingly desperate-looking pubs, but there's nothing. Until now.
Tom and Ed Martin, owners of the estimable Gun at Crossharbour and other inns, took over the charmingly ramshackle Angel and Crown on St Martin's Lane before Christmas. It is an admirable flowering of individualism in a part of town increasingly dominated by chains, where the genuinely historic and quirky Gaby's Deli remains under threat.
First impressions were good. The layout recalls the French House, only with more space. Downstairs it's all dark walls and taxidermy, speciality beers and post-ironic bar snacks: roast bone marrow, pickled eggs. It's cosy, and will be cosier still once the spanking newness has been scuffed off.
Upstairs in the dining room there's a lovely view down St Martin's Lane, and an overlong menu apparently trying to outdo Fergus Henderson's St John (which started above the French House), in sheer hearty carnivorousness.
But, oh dear, this place has none of St John's subtlety or inventiveness. The duck livers in my starter were soft and sanguinary but served on a wodge of sappingly bland white toast. Mackerel pâté tasted supermarket-y. A decent slice of black pudding came with an egg that had been coddled solid, and imperceptible tarragon. A terribly oversalted pig's head terrine was a foretaste of what was to come.
Steak and kidney pudding had a buttery suet casing, the meat cooked soft and the accompany vegetables nicely crisp, but all I could taste inside was intense beef gravy. Sole came nicely cooked but drowned in butter. Braised rabbit was well done, surprisingly moist and pepped up by grain mustard, faggots, peas and bacon.
Pheasant and partridge pie looked like something out of the Beano, frilled and golden brown in its own dish, with a marrowbone poking out of the centre. Nice consistencies, again, but the gravy could have been masking lamb or beef.
Puddings aren't as funny as they think they are: the Angel Delight butterscotch crème brûlée was bog-standard, evoking nothing of that sickly-sweet taste of childhood. Service was smiley but feckless, and our second bottle of Domaine de Prieuré (£30.50) was freezing cold. If you eat à la carte it's neither cheap nor quick. I really wanted to like this place more. Perhaps I will if it stops trying so hard.
Angel and Crown
58 St Martin’s Lane, WC2
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