The Hovel, Soho Square

John Major, back in the early 1990's, proudly proclaimed his desire to get Britain going "back to basics". I had assumed he was referring to our way of life in general, and not just an irrational desire to get Edwina Currie into bed. If Mr Major had been referring to cuisine he could have looked no further than "The Hovel" a little gem of a restaurant in sunny Soho Square.

I had phoned and left several messages down at Little Dozey-on-the-Wold seeing if Filly was free for the evening to come and pick me up, but no one had got back to me. Some hours later I was just having a moisturising session whilst listening to a bit of Chet Baker when the phone rang. It was a very teary Letitia (Filly's sister). She apologised for Filly not calling back but they had been busy cremating her mother. I made a comment about Filly always being a dreadful cook when she screamed several words of abuse down the line at me, ending with "arrogant prick". I asked her if Filly could come and pick me up when she simply hung up. So it was back to the taxi rank for Giles again this evening. Sometimes Filly can be terribly selfish.

"The Hovel" is halfway across the verdant grasslands of Soho Square and as you can see from the picture, brings a big slice of rustic degradation to the swish streets of West London. The owner and head chef is Zoltan Szquittz, a Hungarian revivalist of Medieval cuisine and a keen practitioner of Zen buddhism and panel beating. As you push the front door open, it falls off it's hinges and you are immediately assailed by the atmosphere of the place with it's heady mixture of smoke, cow dung and BO. Zoltan approaches shaking you firmly by the hand (remember to bring some wipes with you to clean your hands after this disturbing moment). His enthusiasm for Medieval food and it's preparation is only matched by his desire not to wash. After sitting at my table I requested a menu. Zoltan pointed out that as most peasants in Medieval Europe were illiterate there was no point in having a written menu - he would bring out a sample of what was available this evening. That sounded good to me, however one was a little surprised when he returned leading a large Frisian cow by it's nose ring and carrying a sleddgehammer over his shoulder. The cow twigged what was going to happen next and tried to make a run for it, wrecking most of the few tables still in one piece. Zoltan chased, swearing fluently in Hungarian and taking wild swings with the sledgehammer. He eventually connected with a wild swinging upper cut and the cow toppled sideways through the wattle and daub walls. The roof began sagging gently. Zoltan leapt on the cow and began hacking at it with a large sharp knife. My desire for beef waned remarkably quickly and I asked if Zoltan had anything else on his menu. He recommended the liver and sprout soup which was not only very nutritious but apparently good at fixing leaks in radiators. Zoltan appeared with a large cauldron of this greeny brown broth which bubbled a little like the Icelandic landscape, however on touching it I found it was stone cold. I asked Zoltan how it was heated - he said by simply "make the fire" and offered me a flint and some kindling. Zoltan demsontrated as best he could, but nothing was happening for him, so out came my trusty Zippo. On seeing me produce this and begin to strike it, the rest of the diners in "The Hovel" made a run for the door. I wasn't entirely sure why until I brought the flame up to the top of the cauldron. The explosion was huge. Apparently the process of making liver and sprout soup was to mix it all together and then leave it for a few months for the gasses to build up. I apologised to Zolan for blowing up his restaurant but he seemed ecstatic at what had occurred and began planning his next gastronomic blow out with the eight or nine starlings I'd killed when I ignited the soup.

I limped into the offices of The Clarion later that evening. The news desk were very excited. Apparently there had been an Al Qaeda suicide attack in Soho Square that evening. Good job I missed it. I asked if there had been any casualties but luckily there hadn't been any aside from a traffic warden who had been knocked out by a flying cauldron of all things.

If you have any good ideas for restaurants for me to try (preferbly within limping distance of my house) then drop me a line to gileslondongetsstuffed@yahoo.co.uk and maybe we can have lunch together. Bon appetit.