Prince Gastronome. On our way back from Dover, the three of us stopped by the Battle of Britain Memorial. Dave stressed the importance of this location beyond its obvious commemorative significance. The expansion of landscaped green extends right to the white cliffs. You could walk for miles if you wished, all the way back to Dover Castle. The gate is neither locked nor guarded and despite being past 6:00, it still welcomed all comers. The first things that caught our attention were the replica Hawker Hurricane and the Supermarine Spitfire. Passing by the monument wall, we glanced briefly over the 3000+ names of pilots that flew during that period over 70 years ago. The other point of interest at the monument was the large white brick propeller feature 60 meters across which can only truly be appreciated from the sky. Fitting. It was here, at the edges of the monument, overlooking the cliffs, where I wanted to just sit and admire a level of visual and aural stimulation slotted above all others requiring clothes (take the statement as metaphor and get your heads out of the gutter).
Alas, it was not meant to be. Night was close to falling and we were hungry. There was still a considerable drive ahead of us. My mother and I asked Dave to recommend a place to eat. The only requirements were that Dave had to accept that we were paying, and it had to be a place he enjoyed. The final condition was that it had to be to be a cuisine we hadn't yet had. With Chinese, Indian, Lebanese, and English already taken, it was up to Dave to think up something new. That took all about ten seconds, though it was another hour before we found it.
In a region of London known awesomely as Hammersmith, Dave brought us to a well known but modest local restaurant, Mahdi. It was Persian, and I know some people will accuse me be being insensitive or arrogant by claiming its resemblance to the Lebanese food enjoyed on our first day at Nana's, but let's cut through the ethnic pride; it's pretty damn close. Having stuck my neck out with that comment, let me wind it back it by saying the restaurant in almost every other regard stood out as completely unique.
Firstly, I didn't think this was a restaurant when we walked in. With the flood of cheering, clapping and carousing, I feared we just crashed the dinner of an extended Iranian family that mistakenly left their doors open. There was nothing sedate about Mahdi. Everything from the placement of the tables to the menu was uncompromising. We had to wiggle our way to the table. I had to squeeze my way to the coffin-like bathroom. We had to shout over the revelry of the entire establishment. Few people spoke English, and I honestly think they only added the planetary lingua franca to the menu out of pressure and not preference.
Is any of what you're reading criticism of the Mahdi Restaurant? Not in the slightest; it's the more reason to love it. This is what I appreciated the most about England: the fact that you can enter a restaurant and get the impression you just stepped through a Seth Brundle Telepod to another country. With that, you must tolerate tacky plastic table covers, gaudy yellow wallpaper, and rather uncomfortable chairs.
Dave recommended the tea, something he didn't need to do. It arrived in an ornate tea kettle over a matching candle heater. I had never seen a restaurant do that before (though I would see it one more time during the trip).
On impulse, I ordered naan bread and hummus. You just do that if you go into any restaurant themed between Greece and Bangladesh. For the first time, I encountered a distinct variation on naan. Mahdi's were thinner with a generous layer of sesame seeds, something I've already replicated at home. The hummus was perfect, and not served in a dinky little teacup, but spread over a saucer and topped with olives and saffron. I also ordered what I thought was a dip made from green onion, spinach, turnips and olives. As it turned out, it was just a plate of raw vegetables...my fault there, I guess.
As for the mains, Dave and I ordered the Chelov Kabab Koubideh (so happy I took a photo of the menu), which was a skewer of tender baby lamb along with one skewer of minced baby chicken, served with grilled tomatoes and rice. Don't judge us too harshly; EVERY dish was made from baby animals. Vegans, you have been warned; Mahdi is your antichrist. My mother broke from the table trend and ordered Lubia Polo, green beans, mixed spices and saffron cooked with rice and served with a portion of lamb chunks. Mahdi is not for the faint of heart.
The cooking was almost violent, pulled from clay ovens and seared feet from our tables. Chefs reached over each other, driving skewers into barbecues and carving meat from rotating spits mounted behind windows at the entrance. I don't think the restaurant was showing off; they probably had no other place to put them. I wished I had photos showing my Mom's reaction when the food was served. Our amazement probably matched that of the filmmakers in Boogie Nights when they first saw Marky Mark's impressive attribute. The metaphor goes deep...damn, that was not the right wording. I meant the skewers were...well, you get the idea, and they were huge, nearly 13 inches each (told you). If that wasn't enough, the rice and salad "side" could have/should have been on separate bowls. The plate was 16 inches across (I measured) and it was stacked with food. And my mother's was even more intimidating, the same size with depth to hold at least six cups of rice. We didn't order one meal; we ordered the next three. Why did we get the naan bread? Who are the people on the planet that can eat this much food in one sitting...well, okay, Americans. Our tacky plastic-topped table was filled with food, with a tea kettle, bread basket, hummus bowl, cream decanter, and spices with plates that could be used as shields in case the restaurant was attacked.
Yeah, I guess you could call that good value. Take-away bags are assumed and our food was shoveled away for later enjoyment. I felt close to crapping out a person-of-interest...
...okay, even I thought that was inappropriate...
I easily understood Dave's appreciation of this place. The value was beyond understanding... quite literally, how they make any money with this level of food I may never know. The bill for three people was barely 50 quid, and with that you eat like a khan with enough to spare for your harem when you return. If you happen to be in Hammersmith someday in the future, you would be stupid not stop in Mahdi.
Food: 5/5
Service: 3/5
Presentation: 4/5
Value: 8/5
Recommendation: 5/5
MAHDI RESTAURANT
217 King Street, Hammersmith
London, Greater London W6 9JT
020 8563 7007
With that, we returned home, past 10:00 in the evening. Dave rocketed down the M1 like the cameras from Top Gear were behind him. The best day thus far.
We never had the leftovers.
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