Discover Merkato, London: A Gastronomic Delight that Surpasses Michelin-rated Standards – Restaurant Review

When it comes to reviewing restaurants, food critics often dine without any professional obligation. No fancy invitations, no trendy new venues, and no need to keep receipts for reimbursement.

So, when I agreed to have dinner with a chef friend, I didn’t anticipate reviewing the experience. Our plan was simple – find a casual spot, enjoy good food, drink excessively, and engage in industry banter. It was more like deep research, but let’s not try to pass that off as an expense. By the way, if you ever get the chance to dine with a chef, don’t assume they’d prefer their own high-class establishment. The best chefs know hidden gems where your identity doesn’t matter, and the food isn’t served on curated china. These places offer a lot more fun than having a waiter fuss over your napkin. “Let’s go to Merkato,” my friend suggested. “It’s on Caledonian Road, near the prison. Have you ever tried Ethiopian cuisine?”

My friend had previously cooked in Las Vegas, which has a substantial Ethiopian and Eritrean community. His time there had sparked an obsession with the cuisine. As for me, I was simply intrigued.

The tasting menu at Merkato is a lesson in culinary creativity. It presents two matrices of dishes – nine meat-based and nine vegan. Each dish is accompanied by a picture, and you’re invited to “Choose diagonal, horizontal or vertical. Three dishes for one person.” I can’t recall another menu involving geometry.

My friend, with his experienced eye, quickly scanned the menu and, with a mischievous delight in my confusion, declared, “We’re going to try some gored gored, some kitfo. We must have the dereq tbsi, along with all the vegetable options. And of course, lots of injera.” It reminded me that surrendering control and trusting the recommendations of others is one of the joys of dining off-duty.

We started with ajbo ms’hamli, a dish that can best be described as “cottage cheese” in the form of rubbery milk curds accompanied by spinach. The spinach, however, deserves a more enticing portrayal. It’s not the delicate baby spinach leaves you often encounter, but robust dark greens reminiscent of cavolo nero. Its vegetable and astringent flavors are amplified by slow cooking, similar to collard greens in the American South. When blended with the cheese curds, it becomes a visually pleasing dip with an intense taste.

The essential component of Ethiopian and Eritrean cuisine is injera, a fermented pancake traditionally made with teff flour. At Merkato, they use a combination of rice and wheat flour instead. It resembles a thin Scotch pancake but possesses a tripe-like texture, with bursts of bubbles and a color reminiscent of an elderly person’s tights. Its fermentation process imparts a sourness, almost like it’s been prepared using vinegar.

Oh, did I mention there are no utensils? Injera not only serves as a plate but also acts as a barrier between your fingers and the dark, spice-infused oils.

Before we moved on to the main course, we delved into a nerdy discussion about flavors. In northern Europe, our aromatic herbs are leafy, vibrant, and tender. As you venture south, woody stems and oily leaves dominate, adapted to thrive with minimal water under the Mediterranean sun. In the harsher climates of central Africa, the fragrances are found in seeds, barks, and oils.

I must confess, I couldn’t identify all the flavors I experienced. To learn more about the regional ingredients with their diverse names across different cultures, I attempted to reach out to the chef but unfortunately didn’t succeed. However, I can tell you this – the predominant flavors at Merkato are rich and woody, with a fiery chili kick and the umami depth of groundnuts. There’s a trace of sharp citrus, but it defies identification as a specific fruit. Fermentation plays a significant role, while oil provides a crucial textural element.

The conversation took unpredictable turns, resulting in a jumble of thoughts in my mind. We covered Moroccan baking culture, the hidden preferences of a famous chef, the second season of “The Bear,” bar mitzvahs, and the correct pronunciation of hummus. We even discussed the best hot and sour soup in existence (apparently at Canton Element on Red Lion Street).

The highlight of the evening arrived in the form of a bed of injera placed in a flat basket. In its center stood a black clay chalice containing dereq tbsi – a dry sauté of beef and peppers. The vegetables encircled this centerpiece, including more of those enchanting dark greens, a spiced red lentil paste, and a yellow lentil dhal that astonishingly resembled the flavor of wild strawberries stored in a cigar box. But the true culinary masterpiece was gored gored.

Gored gored, often described as “raw meat,” is based on niter kibbeh, a spiced and clarified cultured butter akin to ghee. It can withstand high heat without breaking down, so the chef boils it and then adds strips of raw beef fillet. Once removed from heat, the meat poaches and confits in the spiced butter until it cools down. This process results in a velvety, meaty texture reminiscent of oily raw liver, with flavors that surpass any sensational tartare you’ve ever tasted. Believe me, there’s truly nothing else like gored gored on this planet.

Choosing the perfect wine to accompany such a unique dish was a challenge, but since we agreed to pay the corkage fee (or rather, happily borrowed glasses for a tenner), my friend surprised me with a bottle of chilled Billecart Salmon ’96 Clos de St Hilaire. His justification: “Because it doesn’t require a corkscrew.” Only chefs can pull off such charm. And after that, the rest of the evening dissolved into a gentle golden haze.

Follow Tim @TimHayward and email him at [email protected]

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