I'm not talking about the burger joints and diners that define foreigners' ideas of American food, but the stuff of family celebrations and prized local restaurants. A cuisine that treasures ingredients from a vast and varied country with deep agricultural roots. The place that embodied "fusion" before it was a trend, as immigrants from hundreds of culinary traditions lived side-by-side or married and merged kitchens. A country where the enduring tradition of "pot luck" parties and "family style" dining reminds us that sharing great food is at the heart of what's good in life. Hell, we have a holiday dedicated to the idea. (Thanksgiving, if you're planning, is 22 November this year.)You can probably find more Nepalese or Ethiopian restaurants in London than you can places that celebrate this kind of American cuisine. The two old warhorses, Joe Allen and Christopher's, sit a stone's throw from each other in Covent Garden. They're excellent, but expensive and noisy. Proper barbecue has seen a welcome rise in respect in London, but menus are usually limited to a narrow off-the-grill-and-sauce-it niche.
My discovery of The Fat Bear has therefore filled me with delight. It makes no pretensions to cover the whole country ... an impossible task when New York, St. Louis and San Francisco are as culinarily diverse as London, Paris and Rome ... but picks The South as its niche. And delivers to a standard that any Southern Living subscriber would applaud before inviting y'all round for a bite. This despite the fact that chef Judy Ong is actually from New York. (Believe me, that's a big compliment coming from a St. Louisan.) Husband Gareth Rees anchors a bar that does cocktails properly. No Shoreditch trend chasing or Mayfair price extortion: just an encyclopaedic knowledge of the classics mixed with healthy experimentation and an impressive range of top-quality boutique American brands. (And a few European classics, if you must.) Menu pairings include cocktails as well as wines; an excellent call when your bar is this good.
Nestled in the warren of narrow, winding streets between St. Paul's and Blackfriars, it's an intimate two-room place above a pub. The wood-slat blinds on the windows, the enormous bar on one wall and the excellent mix of jazz and zydeco on the sound system set an atmosphere to match the food. And though it's been close to full all three times I've eaten there, it's a small enough place to never be too noisy. One of those rare, moderately priced spots in London where you can catch up with friends over dinner and have a proper conversation without shouting or straining to hear.
(A quick disclaimer to university friends. Despite the fact that you have known me as "Bear" since we were 17, the above adjective has applied most of my life and Chicago banking magnate Homer Livingston once said he'd fund my bar and restaurant if I ever wanted to open one ... I have no personal ties to this place.)For Americans with connections to The South, the Fat Bear pushes the nostalgia buttons. One taste of the pimiento dip (a spreadable cheddar cheese spiked with bits of red pepper) pulled me back to neighbourhood Fourth of July picnics. Corn dogs take a direct line to the state fair. Braised brisket, slathered with sweet and spicy BBQ sauce, took me to the back deck of my family home; I could almost hear the crickets chirping and see fireflies dancing in the trees. Most importantly, it was done properly. Simple words, but perhaps the highest praise anyone from the barbecue belt can bestow.
But would the food hold up for Brits, or even American Northerners, who had no cultural identification with the menu? Yes. Corn dog neophytes proclaimed them delicious, if a bit daunted by the fiery sauce. The dips, while curious, were satisfying. Buffalo wings with blue cheese dip were a huge hit across the table.
Fried chicken, done as Southern grandmothers demand with the bite of buttermilk that's so often
Room for improvement comes with the desserts, opinions about which split the table on my last visit. I, who normally won't touch set cheesecakes, think their Oreo version is an addictively more-ish wonder. My husband, who prefers set and isn't an Oreo fan, thought the balance of ingredients was off and that it lacked the light airiness he wants in a cheesecake. The Brits liked the lemon tart. I referred back to the menu description ... actually Key Lime pie ... which the low-slung square before me most definitely was not. Key Limes are a specific variety with a unique taste, and the Florida classic has a colour, shape and texture not achieved here. The nostalgia factor came into play with the 'Nilla Wafer pudding. I thought it was the best of the lot, a triumph of a classic recipe ... including the re-creations of the distinctive biscuits' flavour ... that brought back happy memories of childhood. Two Londoners and one Michigander, none of whom had ever been exposed to this particular dessert (essentially a vanilla-heavy biscuit layered with sliced banana and vanilla pudding/custard), thought it was a bit vile.
Bottom line, there's enough to tempt your sweet tooth here but nothing that truly evokes The South's impressive dessert tradition. Where are the classic pies? Towering chiffons, flaky peach, bourbon-spiked pecan? How about lofty angel food cakes ... unknown in the UK but sure to be loved ... frosted in pillowy icing (my grandmother always opted for strawberry)? Or ambrosia, with citrus slices dressed in freshly-ground coconut, swimming in whipped cream, marshmallows and maraschino cherries? Actually, forget the ambrosia, Judy. This is one of those nostalgia options that will puzzle, and possibly disgust, anyone who didn't grow up with it.
With its comforting combination of food, cocktails and atmosphere, The Fat Bear gives American cuisine the respect it deserves. They can keep working on the desserts. And if Judy wants my St. Louis Gooey Butter Cake recipe, then one generously-sized ursus stands ready to help another.
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