REVIEW: Flat Iron
Some of you may have heard of or indeed experienced the delights of Flat Iron, some of you will be hearing about it now for the first time. Towards the Carnaby end of Beak Street sits a disheveled little building, hosting a symphony of wondrous creations. I shan't be holding back with my opinion of Flat Iron, so hold on to your hats. Or y'know, lace-front wigs, whichever.
So my day begun checking out the Derek Jarman exhibition (totally unrelated to Flat Iron, but definitely worth a visit), and after meandering through a hundred #LFW types at Somerset House, finally managed to get in and out and keep all of my limbs. Amy and I were wondering where to go to eat, and I'd read about Flat Iron somewhere online. With a mutual love of steak, it was a resounding yes.
The first thing you'll need to know about Flat Iron is that they have one meal only on their menu, and that is steak. Steaky steak steak. If you're a veggie you might as well stop reading. Or
, if you want something else to do.
When we got there, we were greeted by a lovely lady who informed us there'd be about a 15 minute wait for a table, and invited us to go downstairs to the bar. She also gave us a weird phone/alert type thingy which vibrated and flashed red when our table was ready. So, off we popped downstairs.
Many of you will know I'm an absolute sucker for a cocktail, particularly ones involving hard spirits. That sounds bad but whatever, we're all adults. I've also got a bit of a penchant for Aperol Spritz after a long weekend in Venice a few years back and a re-ignition on a first-date with Amy in the summer. We drank a lot of Spritz on the Southbank, it was fabulous. ANYWAY we ordered a Blood Orange Old Fashioned and a Plum Aperol Spritz and shared them both because 1, we're disgusting and 2, we both get extreme food/drink envy.
The lady who served us seemed to be an expert cocktail maker, she hacked away at a huge block of ice while sweetly making conversation and recommended we go for the special rather than the usual Flat Iron. She told us all about the USDA Prime Steak and we listened with glee like children round a campfire. I'm a bit of an interior obsessive so the candlelit exposed brick atmosphere was riiiight up my street. It did make for somewhat dimly lit photos, however, so apologies for that.
When our buzzer buzzed and called us to our table, we were greeted with a Falcon Enamel Mug full of popcorn (another aesthetic favourite, frequented in my own kitchen) and water served in what looked like a Sipsmith or Random gin bottle. Gorgeous.
The waitress that came over to take our order was ridiculously welcoming, asking us if we'd been there before and talking us through what was on offer on the menu. I always think it's a bit difficult for someone to do this without coming across as patronising, and she managed it with ease. It was at this point that I noticed that there were absolutely no men working in the entire place, that I could see. Who knows who was working behind closed doors. Stupidly enough, steak is often branded as a 'manly' food, so of course I was overjoyed by the feeling of subverting that ridiculous stereotype. Food quite obviously is not gendered.
We opted for the USDA Special (recommended cooked medium rare), Roast Aubergine with Tomato, Basil and Parmesan and Dripping Cooked Chips. The steak came with side salad, and we also ordered Fresh Horseradish Cream. The steak was on the rarer side of medium rare which is perfect for me, cause I'm a bloody fiend and I can honestly say with 100% sincerity that it was the most delicious steak I've ever eaten in my life, probably one of the best meals I've ever had.
JUST LOOK AT IT
After this, I was feeling pretty smug. I don't know what it is about gastronomy that makes you feel like that, but I felt amazing. Maybe the blood had a True Blood V effect on me or something. When one of the waitresses came and took our plates she asked if we'd like dessert. We asked her what there was on offer and she explained that they had one dessert on the menu, and it was a Salted Caramel Mousse.
I asked whether it had nuts in it because in a strange twist of fate, I am a lesbian with a nut allergy (har har). She made sure she double checked with the kitchen, came back with 100% assurance and make a joke about the dessert 'having a Mars Bar in there somewhere' and it 'coming out of a canister'.
She was deadly serious, she brought over a Nitrous Oxide canister and sprayed this gorgeous creation into (yet another) Falcon mug. This Falcon was grey. I fell in love with it.
The waitress recommended trying it without adding any salt, and then adding our own sea salt to taste. Once again, I was blown away. Simply perfection.
I really never considered myself to be a foodie, but I've truly been changed ever since starting
. I would love to eat out all the time (ha, another lesbian joke. I'm full of 'em) but unfortunately I simply don't have the budget. Flat Iron felt to me like a luxe dining experience and it cost less than a trip to Wagamama. I'm no Grace Dent but I'm pretty sure you can't go wrong with what we had.
I'd recommend it a hundred times.
I think she would too.
In short, go there.
Take your girlfriend, take your boyfriend, take your friends, take your family.
Take me, I wanna go again.
Happy happy Steak Faces