Sophie's gaff is worth a butcher's

This review was published in February 2002

If you lurk silently on the Internet's foodie forums as often as I do, you'll quickly realise that - apart from a discerning elite - our American cousins take a dim view of our restaurants. They sneer at the quality of our cuisine before going on to rant about their terrible experiences in the likes of the Aberdeen Steakhouse and TGI Friday's.

Well, hell mend them, I say, serves them right for their appalling, small-minded chauvinism. But on the other, more well-balanced hand, I concede they've got a point. Anyone who's ever visited the glorious temples to beef that have reigned for decades in Manhattan and Chicago will have to acknowledge that what we've usually got to offer are anaemic imitations.

It is places such as Brooklyn's legendary Peter Luger which inspired Sophie Mogford and Rupert Power, the owners of Sophie's Steakhouse, which has just opened on that stretch of Fulham known to its hair-flicking habituÈs as The Beach. Sophie is the daughter of Jeremy Mogford, founder of the Brown's chain which sold for about £35million.

Since the young duo have, until recently, been honing their skills waiting tables at the likes of Smollensky's and Quaglino's and, admirably, taking courses in butchery skills at Waltham Forest College, it doesn't seem too cynical to speculate that Papa might have had a hand in financing this handsome new venture.

For handsome it is, in a rugged, Manhattan-Wall Street kind of way. (Sadly, the well-heeled clientele - the place is already bursting at the seams and no bookings are accepted - didn't feature anything as well developed in the chin department as the young Michael Douglas or Charlie Sheen).

There are rough-hewn touches (heavy oak tables, exposed brickwork, bare, low-wattage lightbulbs) and flashes of wit: red leather banquettes fringed with train-style luggage racks. It all comes together very well, creating a welcoming, informal and slightly butch space - perfect for the terse, meat-heavy menu.

And while it's no Peter Luger, whose ludicrously immense dry-aged steaks still fill some of my more primeval thoughts ten years after experiencing them, it's pretty hot stuff. Steaks are aged for 28 days rather than the usual 14 to 21 and they are organic, reared in Scotland and Northern Ireland.

The result of this care and attention shows on the plate. My 'contre filet' or sirloin had a firm velvetiness that yielded to the knife like royal icing. Beneath its charred crust, it oozed juice, depth of flavour and a slight sweetness. A fillet which had - sacrilegiously - been ordered well done by my date managed to fight against its mistreatment, remaining still tender, still moist, still tasting of good-quality beef.

The accompaniments were good - fabulous home-cooked chips and sparky Bèarnaise - and so-so: a baked potato which could've done with a fluffier interior and Sophie's special sauce, a kind of low-rent HP.

Starters are limited to salad. Roasted vegetables were cooked perfectly to that point where they're meltingly sweet but before they disintegrate; fresh baby spinach, avocado and bacon supported each other nicely; only Caesar disappointed - it had those lily-livered marinated anchovies rather than the correct evilly pungent jobs and was overwhelmed by too much of an admittedly excellent dressing.

None of this is exactly haute cuisine, but - as has been memorably proven elsewhere (yes, that's you Lucky Seven) - getting simple food right isn't always simple. It helps if you start with great produce, but there's a knack to dealing with hordes of carnivores demanding their pound of flesh; sweet staff help, as do good wines, not outrageous pricing and freebies like a dish of aged saucisson. There are other choices at Sophie's: spit roast chicken, grilled Canadian lobster, even a vegetarian option, but, hey, it's a steakhouse - stick with the main event and you won't go far wrong.