Céleste at The Lanesborough, Knightsbridge - Review

Celeste at The Lanesborough
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It's been a whole ten months since I last penned some thoughts about a London restaurant; last year's ambitiously-priced Christmas menu at Quattro Passi, and gamey delights from The Hyde Bar in Knightsbridge, were the last two.

Regular readers will know I sodded off galavanting shortly after those write-ups, mostly to eat my way around the rest of the world. I did quite well with that, but I've been back for a couple of months now, and through catching up with friends, peers and contacts, I was invited to pop over to The Lanesborough near Hyde Park, to check out the recently refurbished, rebranded and let me tell you, resplendent, Céleste.

I've dined in this space before, under its former guise of Michelin-starred Apsleys. I spent the best part of a frigid December afternoon warming the cockles with a giddying concotion of champagne, Early Grey and mulled wine, whilst getting hopped up on finger sandwiches, toasted teacakes and homemade scones. And a very pleasant - if not somewhat squiffy - visit it was too. It was their Christmas-time champagne afternoon tea, in case you hadn't already figured that out.

Celeste at The Lanesborough
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In December 2013, about a year after my first visit, the whole property closed. The hotel was stripped back to its shell, then each corner meticulously refurbished and transformed by world renowned interior design studio, Alberto Pinto. Eighteen months and truck loads of money later, it reopened it's doors. The Lanesborough never did comment on how much the refurbishment cost; a telling sign in itself. The official line on the matter was “no expense has been spared,” - quite apparent once you're in it.

I'm a sucker for a pretty room, and this space lays it on thick. Richly decorated with 250 bas-relief mouldings surrounding the frise under the glass domed roof - through which light floods in - there are fluted columns, powder-blue walls, and English crystal chandeliers, the largest of which weighs in at 200kg. It might be over the top, but that's the point. And I love it. It's still a very easy place to relax, despite everything going on on the walls around you. Which is key.

Executive chef at The Lanesborough is Florian Favario, formerly head chef at Epicure in Paris. He was chosen by chef patron Eric Frechon - Paris' most esteemed three Michelin-starred chef and a leading figure at Oetker Collection's Le Bristol since 1999 - as the person to lead one of London's most celebrated addresses into a new gastronomic chapter.

The Lanesborough is often referred to by it's unofficial name, 'the most expensive hotel in London'. With doubles coming in from £720 per night and the lavish Royal Suite at an incogitable £26,000 per night, the whole property is likely dismissed as entirely unattainable by most.

Except, that this doesn't necessarily apply in Céleste. Mere mortals can bask in a slice of this lavish grandeur for an altogether more accessible £44 for a set three-course lunch menu, £48 for a traditional afternoon tea, or £55 / £95 for a five-course / seven-course dinner menu.

Celeste at The Lanesborough
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There was a terrific posh scotch egg - a Burford Brown encased in mince of chicken and rosemary-spiked lardo from Colonatta, crispy, with a rich and golden runny yolk and earthy truffle mayonnaise (£14 a la carte, also on set lunch menu). My brother had a cold starter with lobster - good chunks of meat presented as a sort of salad, with tagliatelle-style ribbons of a vegetable we couldn't identify and forgot to ask about. 

A somewhat better result than what the must-have fad gadget of the moment - the spiraliser - would produce, I suspect. But it's annoying this irritating trend of making vegetables look like pasta has reached beyond the blogs and cookbooks of the skinny / affluent / female bone-broth elite of West London, and into restaurants. My brother would have preferred actual pasta. The creamy dressing was bland, and the dish was altogether a bit uninspiring - the weakest plate from both our meals (can't locate on website for price). 

I had lobster in my main, with conchiglioni pasta and it's own light and frothy bisque. I enjoyed it, but I suspect I would have done so much more with the absence of peppers, the flavour from which I felt had no place on the plate. The capers though, definitely (£34 on a la carte).

My brother nailed his choice - roast Norfolk black chicken, confit crispy leg, and girolles mushrooms. As good as it reads - savoury, umami, like the chickeny essence had been extracted from 50 fine birds and concentrated into one plate's worth of food (£24 a la carte, also on set lunch menu).

Laudable desserts came in the form of a vibrant mango eton mess, shards of meringue sticking out like ship sails in the wind (£12.50 a la carte, also on set lunch menu), and a gloriously seductive Guanaja chocolate mousse with streusel crumble, demonstrating some impressive paint brush skills (£12.50 a la carte).

I had a glass of good, light red with my meal, and there were champagne cocktails with a clump of golden British honey on the end of a fork to stir in, so potent in its nectar we could smell it before the waitress had turned the corner with them from the bar. Heady and delightful.

Liked lots: the unashamed opulence of it all, their scotch egg and chicken, desserts and service

Liked less: the lobster salad starter

Good for: basking in magnificent surroundings; impressing a date; pretending you have a room 

Note: This meal was kindly hosted by the restaurant. All views remain my own.

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barrafina adelaide st, covent garden - review

I have a lot of love for the new Barrafina in Covent Garden. The sort of love that stems from envy. Envy that places like this are not the norm in this country, but are in ones I don’t live in.

I turned up a bit before opening time at 5pm, gazing longingly through the glass at the bar seating occupied by staff already in their kitchen whites, fuelling up on an early meal before a busy service. I pleaded with them, with palms and cheek pressed against the window, to let me in and let me have some of what they were having (in my mind, of course). 

I was eager and hungry, and the anticipation I had for eating their food had been mounting for days. I was really looking forward to it.

My pal and I walked around a while, returning at what seemed a more acceptable time to embark on an evening meal. Only a marginal improvement at 17.10, but there were already three people seated at the bar and into their first plate of tapas. 

We chose our two stools from the twenty-nine, anguished over a menu that is almost impossible to exercise much decision-making over (the additional specials board didn’t help), and were charmed by someone who talked us through the dishes and the wine. Fast forward little more than half an hour and the place was full, with people waiting in the wings for seats to become free by 6pm.

The affection I speak of is for the feel of the place, the atmosphere. The plancha sizzles and smokes and battle cries of whatever the Spanish equivalent of ‘Yes Chef!’ add to the cacophony. There’s a rippling excitement both behind and in front of the counter, from the love of what’s being cooked by the chefs, to the impatience to eat it all by the customers. 

It’s exciting, real and palpable, and a pleasure to be in the thick of. But let me tell you - in terms of the food, it didn’t blow me away. And I was expecting it to.

The pal in question is someone who’s lived and worked in different parts of Spain for some time. An ex of hers worked under Ferran Adrià; she knows her benchmark of excellent tapas, and spent most of her free time over there working her way through the best places to eat them. A good person to bring to the latest tapas edition in town that has everyone gushing. She too thought the food was ‘pretty good’, said with a voice of enthusiasm, ‘but it sort of ends there’.

Pan con tomate were fine, chunkier tomato than I’m used to (£2.80 each), but I’ve had better at La Mancha - a humble family-run Spanish restaurant all the way out in Chiswick with no PR fanfare. Pimientos de Padrón were also fine. I prefer more skin blistering, and too many of them were a little too hot for comfort, to the extent that the pal stopped eating them after three (£5).

Fried artichokes with alioli were pretty, brown and crisped up and fun to dunk into the mayo then drop whole into the mouth with head tilted back (£6.80). Suckling pig’s ears, served whole and fried, were fatty and rich and with more alioli (£6.50), but I prefer the cooking method at Duck & Waffle which essentially turn them into Frazzles, and who doesn’t love those. 

Prawn and bonito carpaccio could have been a lot lighter and brighter than it was. The quality ingredients were swamped by a pool of oil and citrus (which needed a hell of a lot more astringency), turning what should have been a zippy contrast to all the fatty pork elsewhere, to something heavier than it needed to be (£7). And a plate like that needs bread for mopping; you’ll need to order that extra (£2). But the raw prawns were wonderfully creamy, and the tuna firm and fresh.

Queen scallop ceviche fared better on the seafood front, zingy and delightful mouthfuls. They really are just mouthfuls though, and conservative ones at that (£3.50 each). Braised ox-tongue with crushed potatoes was another weighty plate. It needed something to lift the meat; perhaps winter greens instead of potato would have helped (£6.80).

We did attempt to pull ourselves out of the meat mire, with a tomato, fennel and avocado salad. It was much needed to help balance everything else, but not especially noticeable on its own merit (£7). 

Expect to find choice specials on the board, and to fork out for them. There are whole turbots, whole lobster - the lists are shared twice daily on the @BarrafinaADst twitter account. We indulged in a red "carabinero" prawn that can fetch up to £25 per critter, but on our visit were £16.50 size. 

Like I said, ‘a’ carabinero. We shared it between the two of us, however best a large gambas can be shared. After peeling away the shell, there was very little flesh to split (I did get the head though - result). I’d prefer to have a cheaper specimen on offer and get more of it with my meal. What was there was beautiful though, I’d expect nothing less at that price.

Also from the board, expertly fried little quail eggs atop good morcilla Iberica and piquillo peppers. A classic combination that doesn't fail, and easily replicated at home - once you’ve got the quality sausage. The best dish of the night was an exquisite flan with a coffee mousse, beautifully set, great flavours of vanilla and caramel; it was a positive note on which to close (£6.50).

I remembered towards the end of the meal -  before the flan but in the full aftermath of too many rich meats and not enough vegetables - that the crab croquettes had people singing their praises. So we got some - more cloying richness - and they were good (£4.50 for two). I’m sure I would have enjoyed them more if I’d eaten them earlier, but regardless, they were no match to the sensational ham croquettes at Fino.

And that’s where my summary of the evening comes to its conclusion; whilst I very much enjoyed the meal at Barrafina for the event that it was, I prefer Fino, the first enterprise from the same group. 

The idea of eating at a bar is fun and continental and makes us feel more European, but after three hours sitting on a backless stool, the spine gives in and it becomes uncomfortable. Of course, traditional tapas bars are not meant for lingering in for hours. You pop into one, savour a plate or two with a glass of sherry, throw your napkin on the floor, and move onto the next. So that discomfort is our own fault entirely. 

But it’s part of the reason I favour Fino; you get the tapas but in a bigger, more comfortable dining environment. That takes reservations. Sure, you miss out on all the action from the ktichen-table that Barrafina’s bar essentially is, but I’m willing to sacrifice that. 

More importantly, though, I think the food at Fino is better. I’ve been a number of times, and the simple aioli tortilla, their knock-out crab croquettes and that squid ink risotto never fail to make me swoon. There wasn't anything here that particularly stood out for me - except the flan. It’s worth noting I haven’t visited the first Barrafina, though, so I can't compare it with that.

I also need to mention my uncomfortable night’s sleep. I writhed in bed from 2am that night until well into the next day with a serious case of gurgle guts. I wasn’t ill, but my innards were far from right. I'm almost certain this wasn’t due to any fault of the restaurant, but instead our selection of a full range of dense protein and little fibre, that bubbled away in a toxic soup in my gut for most of the next day. The pal experienced a bit of the same.

I’m pretty sure I’d visit again, as there are still a lot of dishes I’d like to try. But I’d probably pop-in for just one or two plates and a glass of wine, and I suspect I’d enjoy it more because of it.

Liked lots: electric atmosphere, wonderful staff, great view into the open kitchen - it’s basically a chef’s table without the matching price tag
Liked less: there’s a lot of rich, heavy dishes on the menu - be careful not to over order on them
Good for: spontaneous and fleeting dining; going solo

My rating: 3.5/5

Find the menu on Zomato.

Afiyet olsun.

grain store, kings cross - review

We all have one. That single friend who is almost impossible to please when it comes to choosing where to have dinner. That person with a list of allergies, intolerances or preferences longer than the Magna Carta, that must be met before they even consider leaving the house for a meal.

Mine in question is a vegetarian who doesn’t like goat’s cheese. Almost enough alone to warrant real life defriending, but I persevere; it’s with her I have one of my longest friendships. 

She also rules out Indian, as she is Indian and eats the stuff at home all the time. To this no-go zone, add most of the rest of Asia. Her reasoning: she lived in Canada for a year, where Asian food is big, and feels she has consumed a lifetime’s worth in those months. 

She’s not a huge fan of eggs, particularly the yolks (the specific reason the rest of us eat them), doesn’t like vegetarian food that’s ‘just a bunch of vegetables on a plate’, will only entertain centrally located destinations, and does not care for ‘poncy’ restaurants which roughly translates to anything that might dare have a tasting menu.*

Thank goodness then, for Grain Store; one of the few restaurants we’ve eaten in that has both met her uncompromising list of requirements and at the same time been very good. One of its (several) selling points is it caters for almost everyone; vegans, vegetarians, meat lovers, innovation seekers, the health conscious, cocktail chasers, interior design fanatics. There’s a lot going for the place. 

*Despite her foibles, she’s a great person, so don’t feel bad about me outing her dining downfalls on here. Pretty sure she doesn’t read my blog anyway. This will be a good test.

This is chef Bruno Loubet’s second outfit following the success of his self-named bistrot in Clerkenwell. It’s been open since June 2013, yet managed to evade my diary for almost a year and a half. 

I’ll be honest, I put that partly down to my thinking it was a vegetarian restaurant for a lot of that time. The menu gives vegetales an equal billing against fish and meat, if not the starring role; I think this message got lost in translation and I was just too lazy to cross-check it.

The space is cavernous, whilst still able to offer intimacy and warmth. Exposed industrial steel ducts and pipes criss-crossing the high ceiling, great panes of glass and bare brick contrast and compliment the choice of furnishings, which seems to be homely and shabby chic with mismatched white wood chairs and tables. 

The open kitchen is certainly that. There’s an unrivalled view into the workings of the engine room, and one that looks after 140 covers with another 80 or so at the bar and on the terrace is as loud and boisterous as you might expect. The chefs shout to overcome the restaurant noise, the restaurant gets louder in return, and it goes on - I personally love feeling like I’m in the thick of it.

To make up for having missed out for almost 18 months, I went twice within seven days and good timing meant I got to eat from two different menus; I caught the end of summer on my first visit, and the newly launched autumn menu on my second. 

The overriding message that comes from the kitchen is innovation. I can imagine a pep-talk from Loubet around the time of menu development going something like, ‘Right team, zis is your playground. Show me your creativity, show me your skill, show me what excites you, showcase your flare, but above all, don’t forget to ave fun. Allez!”

The food is playful and inventive and different and interesting. It’s stuff I can imagine is a lot of fun to cook. How can sweet potato doughnuts with citrus curd and dill and vodka ice cream not be a pleasure to deal with, either creating or consuming? (Incidentally, very good. Light but substantial balls of sweetened dough with tart curd and the cool soothing hint of aniseed - £6)

From lunch first time round, salted watermelon with minty borage flowers and curried crab mayo would be ideal enjoyed in the shade of the summer’s midday sun. A very light pea mousse tartlet with slithers of dark summer truffle, shavings of parmesan and the last hard and sweet raw peas of summer was delicate and savoury. 

A big bowl of sprouting pulses and miso aubergine had the type of crispy citrus skin nuggets the fork desperately roots around for after tasting one, but the sails of thin potato wafers that stuck out went a bit soggy in the mouth (£6.50).

Duck pastilla with grilled Lebanese cucumbers was a little too clunky compared to the buoyancy and finesse of the rest of the dishes, and the quinoa tamale with pork belly - a corn-based dough cooked within the corn husk - was good, but not particularly persuasive (£15).

But then there was the squash ravioli, a dish that remains a permanent fixture year round thanks to its popularity. Rightly so. Exquisite little al dente parcels of well-seasoned, well-cooked squash, served with rocket, a sprinkling of parmesan, the crunch from toasted pumpkin seeds, and a second layer of sweetness from mustard apricots. Simple, solid and very satisfying (£7.50/£14.50). I’m told if you pop in around opening time you can see the chefs assembling hundreds of these every morning in full view of the restaurant, a pleasure to watch I’m sure.

From the autumnal dinner, there were piping-hot wild mushroom croquettes, heavy with the essence of funghi, served on a mattress of pine needles and with pine needle salt (£6). Finger food inevitably means you’ll lose one or two to companions; limit it to that. 

The tarlet appears again in a similar format, this time with a celeriac and hay mousse instead of pea. Even lighter than before, possibly a little too light almost, verging on an ‘air’, but great flavours regardless (£10).

The squash ravioli made a second appearance, of course. Then there was a roasted fermented corn brioche with burnt leeks, a slow cooked duck egg and lovage oil. Fitting for both a lazy weekend brunch or a Friday night meal (£7). Slabs of salt beef cheeks with fermented cabbages, salt baked turnips and hot pickle mustard was like a deconstructed salt beef sandwich, with potatoes instead of bread, and meat that surrendered to the molars on contact - I very much enjoyed it (£17).

“Caesar custard” is an interesting idea. It’s the main flavours of a Caesar salad - cool green lettuce, Parmesan, lemon, perhaps a bit of anchovy - set as a warm green custard in a bowl. On top of this, good chicken and quinoa falafels, and some romaine leaves. Sounds weird, does work (£15).

Grain Store win some serious points with dessert. My summer lunch finished off with a dense and decadent dark chocolate and beetroot torte with creme fraiche, the texture of which I gushed about so audibly, I was generously given two further slices in a doggy bag to take home.

Dinner a few days later saw those excellent sweet potato doughnuts and a whole baked apple with rosemary crumble, creme fraiche and salted caramel sauce (£6). All things you instantly know will work together before tasting.

From the two, I preferred the autumn menu. Portions are generous and three courses along with the unusually textured but very enjoyable focaccia (to be dunked in the oil then squished into the little pot of dukkah) and some wine will leave you full, satisfied and with a bill per head of around £50. 

Three of us were left to occupy an early table for over three hours on a Friday night; you wouldn’t get away with that in most places. Staff are attentive, knowledgeable and all look like they enjoy their jobs. I can't think of anywhere else that's quite like Grain Store; that in the restaurant industry, is an achievement in itself.

If you haven’t already, head over to the now very slick Granary Square and check it out. And be sure to take the most pernickety person you know, I bet they’ll love it. 

Liked lots: cocktails are a big deal with dish pairings suggested; doggy bags are encouraged should you have leftovers
Liked less: a couple of dishes were less inspired than others, but the autumnal menu was consistent in what we ordered
Good for: taking a group of people who all like different things

My rating: 4/5

Find the menu on Zomato.

Scarfes Bar at The Rosewood Hotel, Holborn - Review

Scarfes Bar, Rosewood Hotel

The Indian venues I have recently stumbled across - stuffing me with all things keema and seekh and sambar, cooked in tandoors and on tawas, and served in pretty copper karahis - have been doing it quite well. It seems I’m on a good-Indian roll. The most recent is Scarfes Bar, stashed away in the splendid Holborn neoclassical landmark that is now the Rosewood Hotel.

In a similar vein to Zumbura, Scarfes Bar is about as far from the well-worn and tired Indian high-street restaurants of yesteryear as you could hope to achieve. Firstly, it’s not a restaurant - it’s a bar. A beautiful, stately bar. A bar with the atmosphere of a drawing room and the sophistication of a gentlemen’s club. A bar you would equally be chuffed to find out was the destination of a first date, or the location of today’s business meeting. A bar with live music in the evenings and potions that make you squiffy after one if the day is warm.

It has a roaring fire (burning in June, even) and weighty wooden tables with velvet and leather chesterfield armchairs. Should the occasion call for an appreciation of the arts, the shelves are stocked with over 1000 antique books hand-picked by a Portabello antique dealer, and the walls are embellished with one-off paintings by renowned British artist and caricaturist Gerald Scarfe, who lends his name to the space.

Scarfes Bar, Rosewood Hotel

Don’t forget to relieve yourself, because the journey to the lavortary across the lobby provides a glimpse into the hotel’s elegant opulence. The £85m refurbishment of this building - opening as the Rosewood Hotel in October 2013 - is evident.  The overall aesthetic is modern, monochrome and metropolitan. “I’ve found the place I want to get married - here,” cooed my interior designer lunch partner. “You can tell they don’t get any riff-raff - I really like that.”

She could be right. Around us, there are mostly meetings - papers strewn across tables, suits made for air conditioning on hot days, a lot of mundane chat about ‘deliverables’ and ‘actions’ that our heady cocktails did wonders at tuning out. Expected, I suppose. We’re next to Chancery Lane and close to Farringdon. 

And so it is here you’ll find a mostly Indian lunch-time menu to partner with over 200 single malts and a specially-curated cocktail list that has few other intentions than to get you hammered - they’re no wall flowers. The food pares down to light dishes and bar snacks in the evening, and head chef Palash Mitra (previously at the Cinnamon Club) is behind it. I say ‘mostly Indian’; there are a few European-style casseroles thrown in for - what I can only assume - is good measure.

Scarfes Bar, Rosewood Hotel

There was a chaat (which I can’t find on the online menu) tart from tamarind, with a touch of heat and a flourish of plump pomegranate jewels; dug out with crisp sourdough, it was very pleasant. Crisp soft-shell crab with chorizo oil had a great texture, sat on a bed of sweet apple matchsticks, but could have done with a dollop of hot paprika mayo - or something similar - to loosen things up (£12).

Grilled asparagus and a runny egg accompanied soft hunks of well-spiced chicken tikka, arranged elegantly on a lot of hot green chutney; a brunch-time winner (£9). There were firm oblongs of paneer cooked with a mush of punchy spinach concealing generous slithers of ginger and fenugreek - very good (£19). Then there was flaking-away fresh-water fish from south India in a rich gravy with glorious hits of cardamom (£17), and glossy black daal marbled with yoghurt. 

King prawns with garlic and parsley - hailing from the slightly misplaced non-Indian entries - singled itself out by arriving on a board with crusty quarters of bread and a golden mound of what I think was a saffron mayonnaise. It was good (£17).

The cucumber raita was strained and thick, which pleased me greatly (I’m not the biggest fan of watery yoghurt - £4). Blistered and coriander-speckled naan was the preferred utensil of choice for the great job of sauce excavation that lay before us (£3.50).

Scarfes Bar, Rosewood Hotel

Scarfes Bar, Rosewood Hotel

If our dapper cocktails - plying us with their English sparkling wine, homemade vinegared shrub syrup, 18-year-old whiskeys, spice formulas that have seemingly been allocated hashtags (#GI08 - whatever that is), Victorian lemonade and elderflower foams - didn’t provide enough booze for a weekday lunch, the Bailey’s chocolate pot administered a final dose. It’s boozy and wanton, with a mousse bottom layer, frozen dark chocolate shavings, crunchy dark chocolate balls, and delivered on one of those antique books (£6).

The pricing seems a little haphazard. Starters, sides and desserts are reasonable. Some mains are down-right spendy for what they are. And cocktails come in at £14.50. One could very easily, and under the influence of such splendid surroundings, end up with a sore wallet at lunch. They know their target market, and their target market (I suspect) are people who 1) work close by or 2) have the sort of funds that enable them to stay at The Rosewood in the first place. 

The evening snack menu is nothing but reasonable, ranging from £5.50 for a smoke salmon pot with bread, to £13 for a burger or club sandwich.

I fully plan a revisit. It’s the after dark entertainment I’m after, with candlelight, live music and a higher level of general room inebriation. The connoisseurs behind the bar are calling me.

Liked lots: cocktails, food, interiors, staff, Giovanni - the wonderful bar manager
Liked less: some of the lunch mains feel steep
Good for: work, pleasure, impressing a date, solitary dining with a good book

My rating: 3.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

Note: I was invited as a guest to review this bar.

hibiscus, mayfair - review

I have a long list of Michelin-starred restaurants I’m yet to visit. Within London and beyond, the order of priority is a fickle science loosely based on what recent dishes catch my eye, and recommendations. The third very influential factor is the availability and value of set menus. 

A set menu in a Michelin restaurant allows mere mortals (like me) to visit them a little more frequently than we could afford to if we had to fork out for a la carte each time. The accessibility of their prices allow a greater number of people to sample some of the best cooking in the industry, without needing to remortgage the house to do so. If you’re not a fussy eater and your time is flexible, there are a number of Michelin establishments that have some great-value deals.

The Saturday brunch at 2-star Hélène Darroze at The Connaught is one of the best - three courses of exceptional ingredients and cooking, with course one and two being buffet. That's right, 2-star Michelin buffet. As much tea and coffee and juice served in stunning Hermes crockery as you can handle, and all for £55. You’ll be in there for three hours and won’t eat again for twelve.

Hot Dinners recently published a handy guide to the best London restaurants with set lunch deals, my first port of call when searching for somewhere to accommodate two ladies for a long, posh (and preferably boozy) lunch. The Hibiscus entry grabbed me by the shoulders screaming, “PICK ME". Three courses of sublime 2 Michelin star French cooking, half a bottle of wine, petit fours and coffee for £49.50? Well shut the back door and call me Mary, you've got yourself a deal.

The fact around a third of the tables remained unoccupied during the Tuesday lunch service we visited is beyond me - business folk, tourists, and people who never seem to work alike, get yourself a table. With an unassuming frontage that would beguile the misinformed of the kitchen-workings within, you'll find Hibiscus neatly tucked away on Maddox Street in the heart of Mayfair (I walked past it twice before realising where it was).

Following its revamp in early 2013, the dining room is now one of understated elegance and sophistication, without being stuffy - a pale wood floor, white walls with contemporary art, upholstered blue chairs, and a playful and brightly coloured theme found in the knife holders and water glasses.

It also acquired a new bells-and-whistles development kitchen where Head Chef Claude Bossi and team unleash their creative juices on new menus. Not to mention front-of-house were a complete joy; when my companion lamented over wine being the first thing she would consume that day after a stressful morning, our waiter quipped with a smirk, “Wine is better than orange juice anyway”. Good point.

On our table soon after ordering, an egg box with two pale blue shells filled with mushroom royale, frothy coconut foam, a touch of cheese somewhere, the surface speckled with curry powder. It was still early enough for brunch and these felt like a splendid start to one.

The rabbit and foie gras terrine with apple, elegantly arranged radicchio and a pea-green dollop of hot lovage mustard had all the pleasure of a slab of cold-cut enjoyed on a picnic blanket amongst overgrown grass.

A jug of vichyssoise (a soup of leeks, onions, potatoes, cream, and chicken stock) poured at the table, created an island of black truffle topped with ornate parmesan crisps in a grass-green sea. Light and earthy.

Scottish beef bavette (from the sirloin, between the porterhouse and the hind leg), with its crusted exterior, deep pink middle, rich jus, sweet barbecued Spanish calcot onions, and horse-fat pommes hollowed out like puris, was a triumph. The sort of soft and yielding meat you cut tiny amounts from at a time in an attempt to make the dish last longer.

Choux farci is the French term for stuffed cooked cabbage leaves, like one massive, glorious dolma. In this instance, concealing a mound of flaky slow-cooked ox-cheek, seasoned with anchovy, sitting on a velvety parsley root purée, doused in cooking juices and diced apricot for a touch of sweet. Hugely inviting, with the breach of the cabbage casing imparting a lot of pleasure and table-cooing.

Towers of piped coffee sorbet sandwiched between two halves of choux pastry were model profiteroles by which all others should be measured. Two flanked each side of a pretty whisky crème Anglaise pattern on the plate, and were smothered with melted dark chocolate. On the menu, it read so well. It tasted better.

A drift of sweet potato and clementine hillocks with a single cheesecake-mix quenelle, topped with speckled meringue shards, was an ingredient combination I wish I could come up with. 

There seems to be a current trend of petit fours invoking childhood Cadbury-related memories of late - the delightful dark chocolate Crunchy bites at The Quality Chop House and now the wonderful minty Aero-esque mouthfuls at Hibiscus. Restaurants, please continue with this theme - I’m really enjoying it. Batons of blanched rhubarb that were tart and juicy came with a pot of vanilla sugar in which to dunk them. Mini madeleines reached the table still warm, pistachio, orange and oats and raisins, light and buttery. 

Claude Bossi’s cooking is assured yet playful, seemingly effortless yet expertly constructed, and he creates menus of things you want to eat. There is no pomp and circumstance and it’s not in the slightest bit intimidating. There’s just a lot of wonderful, accessible cooking with flare, enjoyed in rested and accommodating surroundings. Lunch there felt like a mini-holiday - I left revived, happy and entirely satisfied. I will be back, and back. 

Liked lots: incredible lunch set-menu value; amount of wine included (we didn't even finish it); Bossi himself coming out of the kitchen and saying hello to each table - a warm touch I've not experienced in another Michelin restaurant; exemplary cooking; they were entirely accommodating about my big SLR
Likes less: we were charged £5 for table water, which was from a jug. If they charge for water from the tap, that's annoying and they shouldn't
Good for: an accessible introduction into Michelin-standard cooking; a nice chat with front-of-house; some great eating

My rating: 4.5/5

Afiyet olsun.

 

hakkasan hanway, dim sum sundays - review

Hakkasan is the long-serving establishment that did the slick-lined, low-lit, subterranean celebrity haunt thing before most others. Since 2001 it has served as a dining vestibule for evenings often ending in whichever night-life hotspot is currently most impenetrable. 

It certainly lends itself to this clientèle. The interiors are dimly lit enough for wisp thin socialites of the evening crowd to avoid interacting with the food without attracting too much attention to the fact. There’s a lot of black leather, dark wood and deep pockets. 

And it’s probably one of the only restaurants in London (other than The Ritz) to exercise a desire for certain attire: ‘Our dress code is smart casual. No sportswear. Jeans are permitted as long as they are worn smartly with shoes and a collared shirt. Please do not wear hats inside Hakkasan.’ I’m not sure the girls blinding waiters with full body sequins were planning to do so whilst wearing their Converse.

In an attempt to broaden their customer base beyond tourists, business men and debutantes, Dim Sum Sundays launched in the tucked away Hanway Place branch in September this year. The menu available each week from 12-6pm is a rather good excuse to get sloshed during daylight (but in the dark) whilst eating good food to the backdrop of beats chosen by the lounge DJ (thankfully proving to be nothing more than elevator music). 

There are two set menu options with the main difference being the volume of alcohol involved. If you were hoping for a dry lunch, hope some more; at a minimum you will be drinking two (strong) cocktails. At a maximum add to that half a bottle of Perrier-Jouët Blason Brut Rosé Champagne (blimey). Unless you opt for the non-alcoholic drinks, of course. Witness any good intent to boycott the booze dissipate as the desire to get your money’s worth overrides. 

The atmosphere was freer and less self-obsessed than I recall in my last visit on a Friday night some years ago when the corridor to the ladies acted as a makeshift catwalk runway. But one would hope so, at 1pm on a Sunday afternoon. 

Pre-lunch cocktails were quickly followed by a crispy duck salad with well textured nuggets of meat slightly sweetened from a glaze, lifted by fresh segments of pomelo and sprightly salad leaves.

From the option of seven steamed dim sum, we selected smooth and transparent har gau bonnets filled with firm little shrimp with bite, Chinese chive dumplings with prawn and crab meat topped with goo and a goji berry, spicy seafood sauce and scallop rounds with Thai asparagus and lingzhi mushrooms, and morel mushroom and lemon sole mouthfuls - the superior and most discernible of the four.

Then there was the fried, baked and grilled course and while the same swathe of golden glow adorned all four of our choices, shapes and designs were interesting enough for us to wonder out loud how they were achieved. 

A light and crisp pumpkin puffball encasing a smooth middle of the gourd flesh itself along with the (apparent but undetected) presence of smoked duck, creamy lobster meat rolled in ultra thin rice noodles and fried into something lighter than air, Shanghai dumplings with ground pork, and poofed up pear and taro (starchy root vegetable) balls with another beautiful centre, and in the shape of pears!

From the small eats we swapped out the two available options in exchange for the salt and pepper squid from the alternative menu at the cost of a decent course. 

It came heavily battered and fried; an unwanted vision after previous plates of the same vein. Bereft of the levels of (white) pepper needed to satisfy the two present of Chinese and Taiwanese heritage, it was not befitting of its label; "this has been made for the western palate and is not at all authentic". It was a plate of slightly better than bog-standard calamari and was an effort to entertain.

For mains, a luminescent grilled hunk of Chillean seabass made a vibrant orange from something I don’t believe we ever identified. The Chinese honey coating rendered it too sweet for my palate after a couple of forkfuls, but the flesh was cooked so precisely that despite the sugary mouth, I was unable to leave it alone. Soft and smooth, just the right side of opaque, breaking away in meaty flakes with a slither of crisp fatty skin full of flavour. Really very good.



To accompany the bass, pak choi with al dente whites and wilted tops cooked with Shaoxing wine and garlic (I could eat barrels of this), and a wad of sticky rice wrapped in lotus leaf, punctuated with nuggets of sweet Chinese sausage and grainy salted egg yolk.

To conclude, a choice of three desserts, the best of which I selected. A smooth and fudgy dark chocolate bar shot through with a very cherry sauce along the length of its centre, with a sweet and tart cherry sorbet imparting the sensation of submerging my head into a bucket of them freshly picked from the tree. 

Also of note was the elderflower sorbet with the strawberry panna cotta, chantilly cream and elderflower jelly - one lick of the spoon left a ringing of the tak-tak sound of sourness as the tips of our tongues smacked the roof of our mouths. The macaroons were ok, mostly with indistinguishable flavours.

With the meals came endless pots of freshly brewed loose leaf Taiwanese tea; delicate, cleansing, refreshing and altogether more preferable to the cocktails, the post-lunch ones of which remained mostly untouched.

I was duly impressed with all courses, particularly my dessert but excluding the squid. And should one's lunch desires involve a good saucing on a Sunday afternoon, the value is of note when considering the drinks involved; the menu described above is £48 and the one including the champagne is £58. Quite reasonable for an establishment that has retained it’s Michelin star since 2003.

The praises from the Taiwanese and Chinese were a little muted. Whilst they enjoyed it, proclaims of ‘but I have had better’ followed any accolades. The day I too eat truly authentic dim sum in China or Taiwan itself is the day I suspect I may mirror their sentiments. Until then, I'll settle - in the loosest sense of the word - for Hakkasan.

My rating: 3.5/5

Afiyet olsun.