Rain pounded into the gray London pavement with such enthusiasm it was hard to tell what was a puddle and what not. Black umbrellas, clutched by gloved hands in charcoal coats. Like walking through the opening scene to a 60s thriller.
We picked our way down Charing Cross Road leaping over the deeper puddles to land in the shallow ones. Our destination, our glass and metal Mount Ararat, a repetitive grid of windows, grey-to-buff stone cladding, and a heavy, horizontal emphasis. Hardly a welcoming haven from the pounding deluge.
We shook off our umbrellas and stepped through 1970s uninspiring, bank-front doors and everything changed. Like stepping through a portal into a new world.
Inside – a backlit wall of bottles filled with cream and orange, green and brown tequilas and mescals glow from behind the bar like a welcoming hearth.
Deep green cacti, large-leaved tropical fronds, and creepers climbing all the way to the ceiling and then across it. Behind the greens a very pretty chinoiserie wallpaper. For the art they’ve gone salon style. Images of turn of the century Mexico, of different sizes in mixed styles of frame, 19th century Salon style. It may not sound coherent on the page, but in real life it really works. It’s a lovely space.
Red and white marble floors dotted with airily spaced chairs that look comfortable enough to nap in.
Anachronistic design like this can sometimes feel like a set from one of the hundred theatres round the corner. But here, they’ve managed to pull off a fusion of the exotic and the intimate. As we walk through this feast of detail the rain is forgotten and we’’re ready to eat some food.
The happy marriage of the exotic with the familiar continues into the menu.
Scrambled eggs with truffle quesadillas, pulled pork with chipotle mayo burgers. It’s genuinely hard to pick.
Eventually we went for crispy fried chicken on warm waffles, with agave syrup. Three delicious items in one plate. Bring it.
And a “French brioche soaked with milk & muscade, layered with smoked salmon and our chipotle whipped cream, lifted by a touch of ají amarillo and chimichurri sauce.” with an extra fried egg for three pound fifty.
To understand the salmon dish, think of eggs benedict go from there. It looks a little like it and you can taste that brunch base in the bread, egg and salmon, but that’s where the comparison ends. They’ve reinvented and it’s infinitely better for it. Using whipped cream in place of the mayo is inspired and the chipotle threads a smokiness through it, balancing out the heavier dairy. Ají amarillo is a kind of chilli which brings a warm caress to each mouthful and the chimichurri adds an acidic sparkle that lifts the whole spoonful up.
If I ever follow my dream and write my book about touring the world in search of the best eggs benedict, surely the final chapter will happen here. It’s great. Order it.
Wait! If you do that, you’ll miss the chicken waffles which would be a crime.
The waffle is well made but, as ever, this dish thrives on what you put on it. Agave syrup (or agave nectar) is the translucent, honey-like sap extracted from the Blue Agave plant—the same plant used to make Tequila. It gained massive popularity in the early 2000s as a “healthy” alternative to sugar, though that reputation has been significantly debunked since. I don’t care — I’m already having a waffle with fried chicken and cream. – the taste equivalent of a 50-tog duvet. It’s like telling a 40-a-day smoker the drag on the vape is bad for them . It is, but… well you get the idea. Anyway, it’s not like I have waffles every day.
But this dish is all about those chicken bits. Crispy strips of smoky, juicy chicken crunch in the mouth and cut against the opulent backdrop of waffle and cream
And then the whole forkful is laced through with jalapeño cream, coriander and pickled onions. The resulting effort elevates a North American standard into a Central American delight. A really well designed dish.
I hadn’t even finished my plate when I found myself coveting the same dish sailing past our table headed to other diners, many of whom probably have no idea they are in for such a treat. To yearn after a dish while you’re still finishing the same one in front of you says it all.
I washed mine down with a virgin mary – crisp and fresh with lashings of lime. A perfect accompaniment for all that delicious carbohydrate.
We also begged for a frozen margarita – it’s not strictly on the brunch menu but if you get lucky with your server I recommend it. The trick at Tigermilk is to dash it with jalapeño juice which lifts the whole with a spiky zing.
For pudding. Pudding?! You just had a waffle. Yes, and now I’m having pudding. Ok, so we split one. We went for the Brioche Perdue. Caramelised brioche drenched in salted caramel and piled with whipped cream. That’s what the menu says – what they don’t tell you is they top it with lovely warm salty peanuts that bring a lovely layer of texture to what could without them be quite dense. I thoroughly enjoyed it, though not as much as the chicken or my tastes of the salmon. Perhaps it was a little sweet, even for me. But you can’t blame them for that – they’re very clear about what’s in it.
We reluctantly gathered our dripping coats and prepared to venture back out to England, but this time carried on a joyful Mexican wave of happy, filling food. Maybe it was the sugar, maybe the worth-a-trip-by-themselves frozen margaritas, or maybe the fond memory of that I’ll-be-back-soon-for-more crispy chicken waffle. I rather think it was a mellow combination of all three.
We stepped back into the street. It had finally stopped raining. Sun glistened on the shining streets. Umbrellas were down. People were smiling. It was going to be a good day.
Tigermilk, 127 Charing Cross Rd | London WC2H 0EW – Tigermilk – [email protected]
Monday • Wednesday
12:00 PM – 03:30 PM
05:00 PM – 10:30 PM
Thursday
12:00 PM – 10:30 PM
Friday • Saturday
12:00 PM – 11:00 PM
Sunday
11:00 AM – 10:30 PM BRUNCH only : 11:00 AM to 04:00 PM