Ferdie’s Food Lab – Supper Club

The Foodie Boys have tired of the restaurant scene of late.

“A table for two please.”

“Do you have a reservation?”


That sort of thing. Boring.

No! Calm down! Be still your beating dicks/fannys. That doesn’t mean our days of blogging about food are over!

No, we’re branching out down some exciting new avenues – or streets as we say in Britain.

We can often be found wandering down British streets to see if we can find something satisfying to fill our stomachs. Fortunately London is full of people hanging about down streets who are happy to oblige.

One such street was ‘Ethalburga Street’ in Battersea.

“Ethalburga street – Ethal Burger street. A burger made by a woman called Ethal. All women called Ethal are at least 80, would you eat a burger made by an 80 year old? I think it’s too risky to eat anything cooked by anyone over the age of 60.”

This was just a snippet of the conversation we had as we walked down Ethalburga street and towards the London Cooking Project which was hosting Ferdie’s Food Lab.

To sum up, we’d been invited to a supper club. The only supper club we’d ever been to before was in Battersea. Do supper clubs only exist in Battersea? We don’t know, but we were delighted to accept the kind offer of our host Simon.

Ferdie's Food Lab Menu

Menu (taken with an Android)

We’d been sent a list of wine pairings for each course before we attended, meaning we could raid the local Asda for Rollbacks. Our wine strategy consisted of one bubbles, one white and one red.

We were bemused to be asked to leave Asda for refusing to stop singing Take That’s ‘Shine’. It was only after we left that we realised that advertising campaign was for Morrisons. A full apology has been sent to Asda head office.

On arrival we met our fellow diners over a glass of prosecco, which was a nice bonus. ‘Met’ here = Tony asking all of them whether they had an iPhone 6 charger. With every person he asked, the haunting realisation dawned on him; we would have to use my Android phone camera to photograph the supper.


Lamb rib (not taken with an Android)

To begin Simon presented us with slow cooked lamb rib in a croquette style thing, dip and garlic Afghan bread – just like grandma used to make. If your grandma was Afghanistani, which fortunately neither of ours are/were (some of them are dead).

The cubes of meat were delightful, and would have probably gone down really well with the suggested wine pairing of Pinot Noir. However, we were busy getting as much prosecco as possible in our thirsty, horrible faces.


Purple salmon

After this out came the purple salmon, beetroot and horseradish parfait.

“This will go nicely with the prosecco,” Tony remarked.

“I’m not eating purple fish.” Toby responded.

Next, a green bomb appeared. We don’t entirely know what this was, but it was nice and the spicy cucumber salad that came with it was a healthy kick in the balls.



The highlight of the dinner was the veal. Which if we had a way with words we would describe here, but believe me, it was very nice.

The chocolate cherry dessert had somewhat fallen apart, and frankly the appearance may have put some people off, but they would have been wrong. It was great.


Cherry tart

Foodie Friendship Boys

Of course, a supper club is FAR from all about the food. It’s a social occasion. We were relieved to be placed near another food blogger. Ordinary people just don’t understand how important what we do is.

Flo, one half of Flo & Elle (we can’t comment on the mysterious absence of Elle) came to the rescue, when she offered to send us her photos of the night. This means, aside from the menu picture, we didn’t have to use Toby’s Android phone.

The conversation with Flo flowed, perhaps where she got her name. We discovered a lot about her, much of which we cannot publish here for fear of repercussions.

What we can publish here is our wine battle. How did our wine choices fare against hers? Bafflingly, she hadn’t gone to Asda.

Our Riesling (name of which we can’t remember) scored a rather respectable 3.6 out of five on Vivino. Poor Flo’s only got a 3.4.

“You can’t trust these shit apps,” she shrieked as she smashed the bottle against the table and lunged at Toby’s neck. Jerking backwards, Toby dodged out the way.

“It’s all kicking off!” we shouted at Simon.

“Erm, this is supper club, not fight club,” Simon roared as he took Tony out with a roundhouse kick.

We all took to our seats again, made our apologies and ate some nuts coated in chocolate and finished our last bottle of wine, which scored a pathetic 2.2.

Thanks to Simon who was a thoroughly welcoming host and chose some fantastic food and wine pairings.

Four boys out of five.



Reviews: Olive Tree – Bath

Did you know that we are not just the Foodie Boys, but we are also Foodie Boyfriends? As in, we have girlfriends – not that we are going out with each other. Nothing wrong with that or course, but unfortunately Tony feels uncomfortable when a man comes within two feet of him. As in, stands near him, not ejaculates. I think a stranger ejaculating within two feet of anyone would be somewhat disturbing.

We digress. With girlfriends (did we mention we have girlfriends?) come commitments (as in commitments arise, not ejaculating commitments – although that is sort of part of the package) including trips away for the weekend.

Tony does Bath

Ah, Bath! Who doesn’t love a bath? Well, me for one, I prefer a shower. I actually find the idea of baths quite horrid – sitting for an hour in hot water surrounded by your own muck. Vile.

The city itself is far from vile, it’s actually rather pleasant.

On Friday night we headed to the Olive Tree restaurant. I’d enjoyed some excellent banter with them on Twitter.com so was really looking forward to this.

Thinking that our online friendship might buy me favour when it came to the bill we ordered Chris Cleghorn’s signature menu with wine pairing.

Unfortunately I was mistaken and received the full priced bill. Even more unfortunate is that I can’t seek revenge by writing a scathing review because it was really bloody great. #BloggerFail.

The standout dishes were: the turbot with smoked eel and fried mushrooms; and the veal pictured below.


They also let us swap the dessert we were supposed to receive for one on the other menu. The muscovado mousse, milk chocolate sorbet and salted caramel.

“The mousse is lovely. The thing encasing it reminds me of an Aero.” I remarked.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” My GIRLFRIEND answered enthusiastically.

“I like Aeros,” I continued.

“Yes, I know you do.”

“I watched a thing about how they get the bubbles in them on TV recently.”

“Yes, I was sat next to you.”

“Were you? Are you sure?”

“Can we get the bill please?”

This was the veal dish This was the veal dish
Aero type chocolate dish Aero type chocolate dish

This meal really was excellent and the wine and service were great too.

Four and a half boys out of five.


Review: The Butler – Potts Point (Australia)







There just aren’t enough restaurants in London so we had to go to Sydney to review one.

With a hotel based in the glamorous, crack-ridden area of Kings Cross I consulted the Internet for some lunch.

Searching the ‘sydneyeats’ hashtag on Twitter ‘The Butler’ popped up, a French-Carribean place. Their bio revealed a Potts Point location very close to the hotel. My hotel actually claims to be in Potts Point, it’s not, but then heroin probably does cloud your judgement.

I found it, asked for a table for one and was seated in the pleasant outdoor patio area.

If I glanced to my left I could see the city skyline, but there was also a couple of gentlemen enjoying a jug of Pimms to the left, so I mainly looked forward and at my phone as not to cause any trouble.

I ordered a cocktail a ‘La Mule’ – vodka, lime, angostura bitters, fresh basil and ginger beer – and consulted the menu.

It’s supposedly a sharing menu, but there was only one of me, so I would have to share with myself. If sex by one-self is masturbation, perhaps eating a sharing menu to one-self is gasturbation ™FoodieBoys.

I was informed at least three of the things on the menu were big enough for a main
meal for one person. I opted for the veal, concerned it wouldn’t be enough I also ordered a side of the broccoli with red onion, bacon jam and almonds.

The good: The veal. Well cooked, and if someone had asked: “if you had to guess what country the flavours this meat is trying to represent, what would it be?” You may very well have answered “the Caribbean.”



The bad: The broccoli. Now, red onion and bacon jam is a good thing. Who doesn’t like red onion? Who doesn’t like bacon? That’s right, nobody. HOWEVER, that doesn’t mean that it automatically makes any dish interesting.

I expected a plate of tenderstem broccoli with a gentle brush of jam and sprinkling of almonds on top. I got a bowl, with a whole head of baked broccoli in that was smothered in the jam, so much so the bowl was swimming in jam residue, and some almonds on top.

I had a first bite and thought, “crikey, mate, that’s not nice.” Then I thought, no, what’s not to like, try again. I went again, “Fuck, no, no, I was definitely right the first time.”

The almonds were purely decorative, and the broccoli a waste of time, nothing could compete with the over powering flavour of the jam. It was an absolute bloody shocker.