The Canton Arms, 177 South Lambeth Road, London SW8 (020 7582 8710). Meal for two, including drinks and service, £75
There is one item served occasionally at the Canton Arms, a re-opened pub in Stockwell, south London, which best sums it up. That is the foie gras toastie. It is the meeting place of scuzz and appetite, the logical answer to the question: "What do you get if you cross a real old boozer in one of London's more energetic districts with a bunch of greedy people?" That the Breville sandwich toaster, which is to Stockwell what the Smeg oven is to Dulwich, should have been turned to such a purpose fills my congested heart with glee. For those who want to rant at me about fattened goose liver, go find someone who's interested. From endless conversations with chefs it's clear to me that, in the grisly business of animal husbandry, properly administered gavage is not deserving of any particular bleating. And anyway, I was tormented by two guard geese that my parents kept when I was a kid. Eating their liver is my revenge.
Except it wasn't available the night I went. They were fresh out of foie (though trusted friends say it is great). Instead I tried the haggis toastie, the crisped white bread giving way to something peppery and dense and meaty all the way from Dundee. That bar snack could also stand as a marker for this pub, which is a co-production between people involved with the Anchor and Hope in Waterloo and Great Queen Street in Covent Garden. In the kitchen is Trish Hilferty, alumnus of the Eagle in Farringdon and the Fox in Shoreditch, all of which name-dropping speaks of a hugely attractive type of food: rustic, solid, big flavours, no ingredient frottage. That is exactly what you get. To see it spread to this quieter corner of town is a marvellous thing. Not least because I live a mile away.
One achievement is that the team has managed not to chase the old clientele out. This isn't some gussied-up, ersatz version of a pub, new scrubbed for the emerging middle classes. It remains what it always was, with a bar at the front full of regulars deep into their pints and the dining room out back. They've given the place a lick of paint but done little else. The menu is admirably short, with four starters and mains supplemented by a couple of specials.
It was one of those specials that we chose: the six-hour braised shoulder of blackface mutton for four, at £48. No matter that there were only two of us. We were a big two, and we reckoned we were equal to the task. It arrived as a casserole dish, a folded tea towel placed underneath as a heat mat, so we could help ourselves. The sheep had been taken to that point when it could be carved with a spoon, the liquor speaking of a virtuous interplay between aromatics and meat. It is true that this was something I not only could make myself, but had literally made myself just two weeks before. However, it requires some effort, and I was grateful that Hilferty was the one taking the strain. It came with pickled red cabbage, still with its crunch, and new potatoes. It was proper dinner.
Our starters needed only to play a supporting role, but they did so much more than that. The house terrine, thick and dense, served with still-warm Melba toast and cornichons, was an exemplar of its kind, especially so at £5.40. Even better were softened leeks, under the classic tangy sauce gribiche – a mayonnaise-style sauce, punched with chopped pickles, a julienne of boiled egg and fresh green herbs – that had me sweeping around the plate with the edge of my fork.
We finished with a startlingly light treacle tart and "little chocolate pot", the only desserts on offer. Such brevity shows extreme and very welcome self-confidence. The mostly French-Spanish wine list starts at £12.50 a bottle and offers significant choice below £30. It is, like the entire operation, without pretension; they are absolutely not trying to be all things to all people. They are only trying to be themselves. Unlike with many places I review, I will definitely be returning, probably often. Hell, that foie gars toastie just has to be tried.
Email Jay at jay.rayner@observer.co.uk or visit guardian.co.uk/profile/jayrayner for all his reviews in one place
Side order: the tipping point
It was only last autumn that a law was passed barring dodgy restaurateurs from using tips to top up staff pay to the minimum wage. Now the government has launched a campaign on the issue. With the law change, a code of conduct was introduced by which employers are meant to announce publicly what happens to tips. If they don't, us punters are now supposed to ask before tipping. While it feels like law enforcement on the cheap, the cause is unarguable. So before you cough up the extra 10%, find out where it's going.
