Ye Olde British Food Place For Fried Things and Meat
Dan and I went to an overlooked British Pub in Sherman Oaks last night, on the corner of Woodman and Burbank Blvd called Robin Hood. There's a small Friar Tuck shoppe in there, too, where you can get ceramic knick-knacks, buck-teeth and whatnot, but we didn't check it out.
Dan heard about it from a homey of his, so before we recorded our new show (Gastrologica. On iTunes. Check it out!), we ran over there to see what they had. My impression before heading out was that it was a Fish 'n' Chips place like H. Salt. It was actually a full-blown English Pub, complete with bad dental work and dartboards.
You thought I'd take pictures? What I can describe to you no picture could ever capture, unless you're really desperate to look at a backlit hunk of battered fish and ceramic pot pie. Sustinence, not presentation, is what British food is known for.
The first thing I noticed was the presence of British accents. Being in LA, I assume forty percent of the time someone is faking it, but the old codgers behind us were the real deal. Crumudgony and bitter, the shaky octogenerian admonished the server to take the food back as he had not finished his salad yet. Sounded British to me!
Anyway, while we were knocking back a couple of Doddington's, I was mentioning how "If you build it they will come theory" works in the unlikliest of places. Build a British Pub in Sherman Oaks, they come trotting through. Build a German Bier Garten in Silverlake, everyone goose-steps in for sausage. Open a kabab place in Canoga Park, everyone straps on a bomb and heads up for some kubideh.
Somehow, some way, word of mouth spreads through thin populations, and they start trickling in. So the Brits have a place to hang out and chuck darts in Sherman Oaks.
The food was great. I ordered the steak and mushroom pie, and Dan had a full order of fish and chips. I'll explain why they have a half order in a minute. There are no appetizers except for soup and salad, and there are daily specials and traditional breakfast foods which became obvious why they never caught on outside of the UK. Deviled Kidneys and Toast. I'll stick with pancakes and sausage.
If you're like me, the only exposure to fish 'n' chips or fish fillets is either wedged between a thick glob of tartar sauce and rank bun from McDonalds, or from Gordon's or Van de Kamps straight from your toaster. These are meager, flaccidly breaded, painfully tasteless fakes of the real thing.
Our food arrived, and there were two huge, battered boulders on Dan's place, perched on top of chips (fries). Each bowling-ball sized chunk of Icelandic Cod was battered with a hearty, crispy shell that resembled volcanic rock: porous and crunchy. They killed Moby Dick!
Although I didn't eat any, he reported the fish was fresh, clean tasting, crunchy and the tartar was hearty. He plowed through both pieces like a goat chews through a field of trash, but that's Dan.
My plate was comprised of a ceramic bowl crowned with puff pastry, pile of fries, ramekin of plain, steamed peas and a side of jus. The jus was beefy and hearty, thickened with what I hope was collagen.
The pie had a great beef flavor, with the chunks of meat soft enough to offer no resistence to the teeth, and grant a lively burst of meaty flavor, yet firm enough to not fall apart and render the meat stringy.
I first delicately picked at the shell, and with measured bites, balanced the right amount of pastry, meat and juice. About halfway through I said "Screw it" and dumped the chips and gravy into the mix and meshed it all up. The 'pot pie' had enough of its own gravy, but the addition of the chips, like Peruvian saltado, added an extra dimension and absorbed the bulk of the gravy.
Hearty and satisfying. If you find yourself in Sherman Oaks, and craving Old World fare, definitely swing by and chug a few British beers on tap. Have some bangers and mash to absorb the drinks, or any one of their hearty meat pies. Unless you're Andre the Giant, stick with the half order of Fish 'n' Chips.
Robin Hood
13640 Burbank Blvd
Sherman Oaks, CA 91401
(818) 994-6045
Dan heard about it from a homey of his, so before we recorded our new show (Gastrologica. On iTunes. Check it out!), we ran over there to see what they had. My impression before heading out was that it was a Fish 'n' Chips place like H. Salt. It was actually a full-blown English Pub, complete with bad dental work and dartboards.
You thought I'd take pictures? What I can describe to you no picture could ever capture, unless you're really desperate to look at a backlit hunk of battered fish and ceramic pot pie. Sustinence, not presentation, is what British food is known for.
The first thing I noticed was the presence of British accents. Being in LA, I assume forty percent of the time someone is faking it, but the old codgers behind us were the real deal. Crumudgony and bitter, the shaky octogenerian admonished the server to take the food back as he had not finished his salad yet. Sounded British to me!
Anyway, while we were knocking back a couple of Doddington's, I was mentioning how "If you build it they will come theory" works in the unlikliest of places. Build a British Pub in Sherman Oaks, they come trotting through. Build a German Bier Garten in Silverlake, everyone goose-steps in for sausage. Open a kabab place in Canoga Park, everyone straps on a bomb and heads up for some kubideh.
Somehow, some way, word of mouth spreads through thin populations, and they start trickling in. So the Brits have a place to hang out and chuck darts in Sherman Oaks.
The food was great. I ordered the steak and mushroom pie, and Dan had a full order of fish and chips. I'll explain why they have a half order in a minute. There are no appetizers except for soup and salad, and there are daily specials and traditional breakfast foods which became obvious why they never caught on outside of the UK. Deviled Kidneys and Toast. I'll stick with pancakes and sausage.
If you're like me, the only exposure to fish 'n' chips or fish fillets is either wedged between a thick glob of tartar sauce and rank bun from McDonalds, or from Gordon's or Van de Kamps straight from your toaster. These are meager, flaccidly breaded, painfully tasteless fakes of the real thing.
Our food arrived, and there were two huge, battered boulders on Dan's place, perched on top of chips (fries). Each bowling-ball sized chunk of Icelandic Cod was battered with a hearty, crispy shell that resembled volcanic rock: porous and crunchy. They killed Moby Dick!
Although I didn't eat any, he reported the fish was fresh, clean tasting, crunchy and the tartar was hearty. He plowed through both pieces like a goat chews through a field of trash, but that's Dan.
My plate was comprised of a ceramic bowl crowned with puff pastry, pile of fries, ramekin of plain, steamed peas and a side of jus. The jus was beefy and hearty, thickened with what I hope was collagen.
The pie had a great beef flavor, with the chunks of meat soft enough to offer no resistence to the teeth, and grant a lively burst of meaty flavor, yet firm enough to not fall apart and render the meat stringy.
I first delicately picked at the shell, and with measured bites, balanced the right amount of pastry, meat and juice. About halfway through I said "Screw it" and dumped the chips and gravy into the mix and meshed it all up. The 'pot pie' had enough of its own gravy, but the addition of the chips, like Peruvian saltado, added an extra dimension and absorbed the bulk of the gravy.
Hearty and satisfying. If you find yourself in Sherman Oaks, and craving Old World fare, definitely swing by and chug a few British beers on tap. Have some bangers and mash to absorb the drinks, or any one of their hearty meat pies. Unless you're Andre the Giant, stick with the half order of Fish 'n' Chips.
Robin Hood
13640 Burbank Blvd
Sherman Oaks, CA 91401
(818) 994-6045
3 Comments:
I LOVE Robin Hood!!! That was one of my fave places to go when I worked in the valley. It sure beats the hell out of Fox & Hounds whose food sucks and has wannabe actors for servers. Give me good fish & chips and the old crumudgeoney bar wenches any day.
By
Daily Gluttony, at 7:57 PM
Yeah, I read your piece afterwards...loved it! We'll probably load up on that from now on before recording. I never went to Fox and Hound, but used to go to a great (sadly, defunct) bar called Residuals in the back of the strip mall across the way. That was also a hangout for aspiring actors. They had a leaderboard with which regular landed which parts.
By
Steve Wasser, at 8:12 PM
What the fuck is "Doddingtons"?
I think you meant "Boddingtons"
Signed,
Your drunken Canuck pal, Monica
(it's a 2001 Chateau Roubia from the Minervois)
By
Anonymous, at 3:20 PM
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