Liverpool Street Chop House – Review

Gawking at Tower Bridge, Butler’s Wharf Chop House was opened in the early mid-1990s by design/fashion/restaurant icon Terence Conran. Back then, the isolated area was almost as unappealing as his idea: celebrate British food. A bad joke at best, an oxymoron at worst, British food was globally associated with nothing more than a spit or a sneer. Over the years, however, Butler’s Wharf Chop House became widely respected and laid the foundations for most kitchens’ current concerns: sustainability and local sourcing. The Evolv Collection bought the restaurant a while back and recently opened a second Chop House a few minutes walk from Liverpool Street. Although darker in interior design and mood, it offers exactly the same menu as Butler’s Wharf, except for Fish and Chips.   

Perpendicular to Bishopsgate, New Street is cobbled and historical, looks like it might have been strolled through by Dickens and Hogarth. In spite of the bright red canopies which provide the Chop House courtyard with a modern flourish, inside, the aesthetic is more antiquated. Dark wooden floorboards could easily support spittle and sawdust. Ceilings are low. Large, round wooden chandeliers house two handfuls of pinprick lighting which emulates candlelight. It turns out this is the bar but worth noting: pints cost an appealing £5 and include Guinness, Peroni and homemade IPA.

A twist to the right and the restaurant awaits. Similar aesthetic but not quite as dark, red leather chairs and banquettes surround white table clothed tables for a smart Steakhouse vibe. Ye Olde London prints of the Thames and architectural curiosities decorate the walls along with calligraphic typography announcing steaks of the day. 

We take a dry vodka martini with a lime twist. Our proud and knowledgeable waiter, Bek, explains how celebrity chef Mike Reid spent four months reinvigorating the menu and much of the staff who also worked at the venue’s previous incarnation, the New Street Grill. Crispy Sourdough arrives with two types of butter but not as we know it.

Bowls of viscous liquid shimmy in the dim light; no spreading here, just dipping. The green pool is garlic butter sourced from leaves rather than cloves and the shades of sunset pool is chorizo butter. We wipe both bowls quickly dry. Liquid butter is an old custom, apparently, but one which could surely catch on again, could even be served in cups and saucers and without bread.

We move on to a Cortese Gavi Alasia Piemonte white wine which is smooth and has subtle floral notes. The six Jersey oysters are small and more manageable than some, certainly less briny than others. Unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome, the traditional grey/white oyster slick is decorated with tidbits of red and drops of vibrant green; mignonette and olive oil. Lemon chunks and tabasco sauce are offered but left at the diner’s discretion.

For me, the Potted Shrimps is the night’s stand out dish. Expecting them to be presented in clarified butter, once again expectation is confounded and the butter is viscous. Thicker than that served with the Sourdough, the concoction is nothing short of glorious in its gooeyness, drips like lard, has to be seen and tasted to be believed. The toasted slice of bloomer is too small to take up the whole portion so in the end I spoon the mixture for a truly decadent, lip-smacking starter. 

Given the Chop House still honours Conran’s legacy in supporting British farms, steak seems like a must-order. Our fillets come from one in Hertfordshire which uses regenerative practices to rebuild soil health and promote biodiversity, all of which also boosts the nutrients and protein inherent in the meat. Interestingly each portion is carbon-negative and actually removes more carbon from the atmosphere than it creates. Whilst explaining this, Bek also invites us to choose a life-threatening steak knife. Constructed at the Blenheim Forge Company in Peckham, inspired by Japanese construction and design, each knife is unique, takes seven days to make, is satisfyingly weighty in hand and dipped in black paint for a rough, masculine finish. 

Bek recommends we swap to Susana Balbo Signature Malbec, a rich, fruity dark red with a velvety texture and a subtly spicy aftertaste.The fillets are thick and chargrilled on the outside, bloody and tender on the inside. Our knives slip through them as if they were (solid) butter. The fillets have been dry aged for twenty eight days so flavour is pure and at a premium. It seems wrong, therefore, to order any of the sauces (Béarnaise, Parsley Liquor Gravy, etc) but we do add some unfussy spinach and chips. The latter are triple cooked in beef fat and noisy in their crispiness. They also come with homemade tomato sauce which is sweet and tangy, cooked in stout and turbocharged in zestiness.     

Puddings (not dessert, mind) include the classic Steamed Spotted Dick and Sticky Toffee Pudding but we opt for dishes we’ve never tried. My friend’s Treacle Tart and Clotted Cream is treacherous in its density and richness and is one of the best puddings he’s ever had. Rather than just the traditional golden syrup/treacle recipe, sultanas are also added for extra flavour and texture. It’s all very sweet, of course, but it’s fruity too and demolished silently but surely.

Bek brings my Sherry Trifle to the table in a large crystal glass drum which my granny or quite possibly my granny’s granny might have used. Portion is generous and supposed to be unruly if not downright messy; it’s certainly unidentifiable as Bek slops large spoonfuls onto my plate. A mixture of jelly, forest fruits, bread, whipped cream and custard, it’s a feast to end this verifiable feast in a restaurant which will surely and quickly become a city favourite.