People can mimble on about the regeneration of Kings Cross but I’m not convinced – the hookers may have moved on but in the pouring rain, it’s still pretty grim. Acorn House is not easy to find, being on the ground floor of a grey, unprepossessing office block (albeit with their lovely logo with its tinge of whimsy on the wall) away from the main drag, but the chill and raindrops were chased away the minute we stepped inside. LC’s birthday flowers were whisked off out of her way and placed on the front window sill of the restaurant in view of the sodden passer-bys, which we thought was adorable, and the room buzzed with chatter from couples and families with teenage children (I really was an adolescent in the wrong age).
The food was perfect for the weather: homey, filling and rib sticking. I plumped for the Jerusalem artichoke, goat’s cheese and almond salad with chilli and kale – I made the mistake of crumbling rock salt over it (it’s part of my default dining setting as a smoker), which it didn’t need. I followed up with a bloat-inducing tikka chaat on a potato cake with chickpeas in a rich tomato sauce and carrots. JB and LC didn’t go any lighter with the meaty venison and juniper pappardelle, and fatty porchetta.
Perhaps unwisely we also decided to stuff dessert down our straining sides – and just to add to the porcine vibe of the evening, a sticky (a wonderful word from my dad’s day, which I can always hear him saying in his over-loud voice). My walnut and semolina tart tasted like the ‘healthy’ snacks from Holland and Barratt my mother used to palm off on me in the late eighties in lieu of chocolate, but the accompanying barley ice-cream tasted marvellously of Maltesers.
The service was gently and unobtrusive and discovering from the menu at the start of the meal that all proceeds go to the Terence Higgins Trust made the evening even sweeter.
