Fire and Stone is a pizza crime scene

Editor’s note – We’re delighted to welcome a new contributor to The Prodigal Guide today: Douglas Blyde. Blyde is a former documentary man and utterly gripped by gastronomy: driven by a love of good taste and fascinated by that almost nocturnal, nervously energetic breed known as chefs. He longs, one day, to own a pristine restaurant, boutique hotel, almost mythically revered vineyard and a vast chocolate factory…

We cannot fathom why the promoters of this girth expanding, expanding chain actively courted our criticism. Nor why we gave in to give it. Our reactions to their invite to ingest an unconventional interpretation of Christmas dinner ranged from surprise to disgust.

But we were not alone. Polpo/Polpetto restaurateur, Russell Norman, ‘Wine Chap’, Tom Harrow, and restaurant and cheese appraiser, Chris Pople were our partners in pizza crime.

However, on this midweek visit, we wondered whether we were being overly unoptimistic? Despite a capacity to pen 250 diners at once, Covent Garden’s defiantly international pizzeria vault, Fire & Stone still had to turn walk-ups away. Regardless, we enthusiastically attempted to dull our tastebuds with an off menu martini, measured with corporate precision and served tepid.

We could tell you about the fumy, slippery vegan antipasti we suffered before the main act, or the Margherita, ordered alongside as a ‘control’ and topped with flaccid tomatoes sapped of colour. The pizza which followed might also warrant a mention. It was the definition of anti-date food: hoi sin duck and spring onion sprinkled pizza. But to go into any depth would distract from the chief protagonist which was, as predicted, doomed from the start, or rather, the base.

According to representative, Jo, who was such a regular visitor to our table that we offered her a seat, Fire & Stone uses semolina for the base for convenience rather than customer pleasure. But that it doesn’t stick to their big oven is hardly an endearing fact. Involving Semolina, it looked as scratchy as sand, smelt of corked wine and antique dust and bore the texture of brown cardboard – overall, as moreish as a tramp’s pillow.

Lounging on top of this surprisingly rigid platform was thickened gravy, regularly sliced pork sausage and apricot, traditionally bland turkey ham breast, sofa like innards of sage and onion stuffing, near undetectable chestnut, lurid cranberry marmalade and machine cubed garlic and rosemary potatoes. Lending the impression of the points of a gory looking sundial, off topic strips of parsley sprinkled brie added the finishing touches. But Brussels sprouts failed to put in an appearance because “you have to draw the line somewhere”, said Jo. It was mesmerisingly horrendous and we refuse, on its lack of aesthetic merit, to show a full frontal festive image of it.

Harrow earlier suggested that we endeavour to find the perfect drink to tame the festive pizza beast. Norman’s delicate northern Italian riesling and Harrow’s unpasteurised artisan sake were too subtle and highbrow for this establishment’s brave fare. Instead, we preferred our selections. Hence Sir Cliff Richard’s Algarve pink, ‘Vida Nova’ (Syrah, Aragonês) smelt of carcass and tasted of spam and really flattered the reams of Norfolk turkey, while delicately chilled, pétillant Red Bull, which glinted prettily in the glass, accentuated the confected apricot.

Mission over, we left behind the legions of office parties in their entirely wipe cleanable orange vault with its curious car park like ceiling. Despite lukewarm martinis, messy food and an aloof setting, we had enjoyed eachothers company. Although it had occasionally verged on that of TGI Friday’s, service had also been sweet. But would I return, even on a perennial lastminute.com deal? Not even as a reincarnated ingredient.

Fire and Stone, 31/32 Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, London. WC2E 7JS