Caravel: a current obsession
I’d normally pass on the idea of dinner on a boat. To me, it’s the kind of novel that borders on naff. But I couldn’t ignore the buzz around Caravel any longer – a visit was in order to see what this Regent’s Canal restaurant was all about.
As it turns out, Caravel is, in fact, anything but naff. The interiors are elegantly simple – flickering candlelight, emerald coloured walls, velvet curtains, white tablecloths. The atmosphere is intimately charming – groups of friends here, dinners à deux there. This is a restaurant that makes everyone feel at ease, serving excellent food while doing so… which is exactly why I paid my second visit to Caravel just a few weeks after my first.
Said second visit started much the same as the first – with one of Caravel’s cocktails, a rose negroni served in a frosted martini glass. When it came to the food, I was excited to see that the menu had several new dishes to try out, along with the signatures I was desperate to taste again.
Bread, butter and marinated anchovies kicked things off wonderfully: a trio that comes together to produce one of life’s simplest but most rewarding of pleasures. Next came a zingy salad of Dorset crab, fennel and bergamot. This was a bold and bright dish for the eye to admire, with flavours that not only matched but surpassed its appearance. Now onto one of those Caravel signatures I mentioned earlier – the sesame prawn toast with chilli jam. It was comforting, joyous and a little naughty, so no wonder it was quickly devoured and hard to follow on from.
Luckily though, next to arrive was a plate of perfectly al dente tagliatelle, with a nutty earthiness made up of cavolo nero, wild garlic and walnuts. Not to mention the hefty sprinkling of Parmesan on top. Our final main was roasted hake in a creamy leek and mussel broth I could’ve happily bathed in.
Never one to turn down dessert, a rustic and resplendent pistachio tart with blood orange, crème diplomat and flaked almonds arrived with three spoons. Sweet without being overly so and beautifully textured, our spoons animatedly danced around the plate until not a single crumb was spared.
We were the last diners to leave, having ordered one more cocktail as a nightcap before bidding the boat farewell. As the waiters wrapped up the evening’s service around us, it felt like we were at the end of a friend’s dinner party. In line with the rest of the evening’s service, it was relaxed, familiar and unhurried.
When I think back to both of my visits, Caravel’s dishes didn’t follow a pattern – there was no grouping them together or finding a common cuisine – but that was what made the menu so special. The red thread between things ran much deeper. From one dish to the next, there was a difference, an excitement, yet it all flowed so seamlessly. There were playful combinations mixed with uncomplicated comforts. We were on a boat in the middle of London, its tiny kitchen serving up some hugely impressive food and for a few hours, everything was right in the world.
