Before setting up the original Mimo, Jon, had taken time out from a high-flying career in finance to work as a bell boy in San Sebastian hotel. He was captivated by the local tradition of pinchos (tapas) bars and started taking visitors on private tours. Nicole came on the scene while on holiday in San Sebastian with friends. She left her corporate London life working for Disney to help Jon set up the gourmet shop and cookery school. Since then, the pair have opened outposts in Seville (2016), Mallorca (2017), the Algarve (2018) and now, London.
What they will be offering here, in one of London’s oldest food markets, will be hands-on cookery classes, chef’s tables, progressive food experiences (whatever they may be) and market tours.
Executive chef Joseba Lasa — a Basque himself, grew up cooking in his father’s restaurant and has a name-dropper’s dream of a CV, which includes politicians, pop stars and presidents. Most recently he was executive chef at Urban Caprice — part of Richard Caring’s Caprice Holdings.
I was invited to a chef’s table, taking along with me a foodie school mum mate, LL. She’s married to a former chef, so knows her nosh.
On offer? A five course menu of ingredients inspired by what’s available in the market plus wine pairings. Having left my car at the station, I could only taste a mouthful of each wine. A frustrating glimpse of excellent Spanish and Portuguese blends, hand-picked by the lovely and very likeable head sommelier, Nobuko Okamura, who explained her choices as we worked our way through the evening.
After a glass of Billecart-Salmon NV champagne, the next wine, served with the first course of a couple of pinxhos (canapes or teeny, tiny tapas) was pure theatre. It’s called txakoli (pronounced ‘cha-ko-lee’) and is a young, fresh and slightly fizzy wine, popular in San Sebastien. It’s light, food-friendly, and served by pouring from a height. (‘Spanish pouring’ as we used to call it in my family — I never quite understood why. Finally, I get the joke!)
The circus skill pouring isn’t just for show, nor to test the waiter’s skills. The extended bottle-to-glass time helps to aerates the wine, which is served in small measures to ensure it remains sufficiently chilled, for best flavour.
The pinchos included a sliver of sweet quince paste on a morsel of Idiazabal cheese astrided a slim crouton and topped with a shower of spicy horseradish. It was impossible to bite delicately, so I had to cram the entire thing in my mouth like Sylvester scarfing down Tweety Pie. No hardship — it was superb.
The next course was pretty as a picture and a pleasing jumble of flavours — sunny wedges of golden beetroot, segments of blood orange and delicate pale green radicchio, arranged around a courgette flower filled with ricotta, the entire plate dressed with walnuts and honey. I needed to tear off chunks of the amazing sourdough bread — from new neighbour Bread Ahead — to wipe the dressing off the plate. “We’ll be baking our own bread” explained head chef, Ander Macho (another Basque and childhood mate of Lasa) explaining that he although he's a skilled baker (having spent years working in bakeries) their starter (the yeasty base of a sour dough loaf’s flavour) had not yet had time to grow. "It needs at least 10 days" he apologised.
Next up: a last minute addition to the running order, as the chefs had found (super early) new season asparagus (blame it on global warming) and just had to use it. Under a smooth, creamy blanket of burnt butter hollandaise sauce made by Macho in front of us.
Hollandaise or mayonnaise making in front of a crowd is akin to tightrope walking. At any minute the whole lot could curdle, plunging the sauce into a messy gloop. Brave to do it under the watchful eyes of 12 food critics. The matcho, Macho stayed firmly on the rope, producing a stable and sublime sauce. More bread wiping ensued. My greed outweighing any care of being judged for the piggy that I am. LL also reached for more sourdough — and another glass of wine as she'd sensibly left her wheels at home.
Back on menu was the fish course — a tiny square of perfectly cooked sea bass next to cheffy teardrop smear of the smoothest cauliflower puree, and crunchy purple broccoli, that we’d watched being sautéed on the hob in front of us plus some capers to cut through the creaminess. Faultless. Treyfe eaters had a sea food topping of some sort.
The others enjoyed glazed lamb with another smooth as silk puree — artichoke this time — bright green wild garlic oil, pomegranate seeds, pickled fennel and fennel flowers. While non-meat eaters were served an flavour-filled orzo risotto. The menu is very flexible and can be tailored to accommodate vegetarian or fish options.
The finale, end of season rhubarb — some poached and some dehydrated into crisp, pink slivers — on an oversized quenelle of rice pudding-flavoured mousse. LL and I almsot sighed with pleasure as we scooped up this dream dessert. We each could have demolished a second. The glass of syrupy Gonzales Byass Pedro Ximenez sherry on the side was nectar. For the final time that evening, I wished the car had been at home. But perhaps it was a blessing on a Monday night, or the rest of the week would have been a wipe out.
Okamura said they will be doing sherry classes to try to return the rep of the drink. There’s more to it than maiden aunt’s tipple of choice. The classes will involve food pairing and a range of Spanish sherry options. The classes which will take place on the ground of the building — which overlooks Southwark Cathedral — all look excellent and include market walks to teach guests how to shop. I'm sure many of us think we need no help in that department, but it's worth knowing the secrets of how to find the freshest fish or the most perfect plum.
I'm smitten and will definitely be back for more.
Mimo London
