A little way into Mayfair, In what used to be the Drones Members Club, Wild Honey has just opened. Its the next restaurant from Will Smith and Anthony Demetre, who must be busting for more after the successes of Arbutus. They've slotted into the existing location with minimal fuss around the elegant throwback ambiance, dark oak panels and intimidatingly long bar dominating the entranceway (a good choice for a couple). Happily they've taken away the over sized mobile-orrery light fittings that made the Drone's club feel like a grown-up's cot. The dining room is well tended by French accents and has an understated air, not too business-bland.
The lunch menu is printed on a single sheet of A4 and I must admit to finding this far more palatable than a book - having only a handful of options inspires confidence in their abilities (greasy spoons aside). Printed on another sheet is the wine list. Like Arbutus, almost all choices are served by the 250ml carafe, most lurking around the £10-£15 mark. For sure its an apparent-value approach but one that works "would you like to try a different one?" we're asked as the first slips away - "most guests do".
Set lunch at £15.50 is not to be sniffed at. There wouldn't be time anyway as the top-veal arrives pronto and is consumed almost as quickly - delicious. Its followed by another carafe (Reisling this time) and then onto well presented beef rib. Perhaps it's a little on the fleshy side - some thing I'm quite partial to as a northerner.
Wild Honey is a business lunch venue that's not too heavy on the business and all about the lunch. A welcome addition to the circuit and looking forwards to trying out the evening menu.
Wild Honey
12 St George St
W1S 2FB
Mayfair
020 7758 9160
http://www.wildhoneyrestaurant.co.uk/
Unbranded, unfussy, uncomplicated – Great Queen Street is the thoroughbred Gastropub on the far side of Covent Garden. Of Arabian proportions, Great Queen Street has been studded by the Anchor and Hope and let run with staff from the Easton and St John.
Between undecorated blood red walls diners sit at rustic tables, on simple chairs with standard, uniform tableware. Towards the back of the room a long bar fronts onto the kitchen where I can only imagine chefs are preparing food with one of five utensils and serving into one of three bowl types.
I'm not sure what the textbook Gastropub description is. For sure the Wikipedia page must include Great Queen Street. Menus are presented on a single sheet of A4 with 15 choices arranged by price. Paralleled with the surrounding simplicity they're all directly stated traditional English; game terrine, steak pie (for two, £30), rabbit stew… etc. We opt for a meat double bill with steak tartae to start and lamb shoulder as a main. Our waiter suggests that there are three surplus shanks in the kitchen available as a one-off for only a few pounds more (£28). We nod emphatically. Actually, I can recall a couple of times before when this has similarly happened in the Anchor – an effective marketing strategy.
The tartae was moderate (bland – go for the terrine instead) but the shanks divine. The meat was not just falling off the bone but diving off into the pool of superb, rich oily soup waiting for a knob of bread to soak it up. Served with a healthy bowl of potato gratin this was far more than enough for two and we had to call in for air support before ordering desert. The caramel crème is unmissable.
I heard earlier that in the UK we spend £8b/year in 27,000 restaurants. Good hearty English fayre has to be the most rewarding and patriotic spending of those pennies although I'm torn. I'm sure mothers around the country can do better - mine certainly can.
Great Queen Street is a welcome addition to the gastro-offering around London. It represents all the good things about English pub food with all the bad things taken out and intentionally un-replaced. There’s a premium to pay and one must wonder why… but not for long before returning for more.
32 Great Queen St
WC2B 5AA
Covent Garden
020 7242 0622
One bay east from Cannes, Juan Les Pins poses a more local, sedate rendition of its bolshy neighbour. The town is not without a string of Dior and Villebrequin boutiques and firmly on the Côte d'Azur with an extensive harbour sheltering an armada of modest cruisers. We’re skirting around all this though and heading to the rocky outcrop on the bay’s far side. Here rests the Bond-esque Cap D’Antibes – hotel to the rich and beyond famous (Tom Cruise is a current guest) where a week's stay could buy a small house in Salford. Eden Roc, set into the coastline below the hotel, presents a jaw dropping venue. From here earth sea and sky seem as if physically arranged for maximum wow. Wait staff in pure white skirt across the boardwalk open-air balcony glancing silent instructions to each other. The warm sun cast an increasingly orange glow over the impeccably formal tables, deep blue sea and dazzling surrounds. It could be a painstakingly rendered CGI scene – crisp lines, all straight edges.
Menus are presented bound in white leather and detailed with gold leaf… only gentlemen have prices. The wine list looks like a wedding album and is almost as weighty (and intimidating). I opt for a Premier Cru Sancerre without daring discussion with the sommelier. I need more time with the food, genuinely stuck for choice between, well, every dish on offer.
I choose my luxury boulder, a terrine of fois gras which is as perfect as any I've had before and served uniquely with French toast. Around the table we're tucking (in the most refined way) into king prawns with mango dressing, truffle & chanterelle ravioli and wild asparagus – all moderately presented. Unfortunately it’s over far too quickly but that gives time to soak in the ambiance. Arriving earlier there were only guests at one or two other tables, now every place is occupied, chinks and chatter float up into the fresh air backed by the muted waves beating against the rocks below.
After a complete re-dress of the tableware an oversize chef with a handlebar moustache coving 40% of his smug face wheels over a grill and heats a knob of herbed butter in a shallow Crueset pan. This is for the steak Diane, cooked in simple perfection as we beam back at him enticed (No wonder he looks smug – its just a slice of steak). Whilst distracted the waiters have snuck in the other dishes and mine – Seabass Provoncale style, is again amongst the best I've had. This is in the rare professionally-fussy category of restaurants where watchful waiters attend silently; a dropped fork will not touch the floor before being replaced.
By now the sun has dipped behind the hill. Across the bay Juan Les Pins sparkles. Over the balcony, 50 feet below as the tide-less Mediterranean sloshes, a pair of black-suited men help a couple into their tender to return to their huge cruiser anchored 100 meters away. Just behind lurks the luxury ice-breaker belonging to the money-drenched Packer family who're here for a €6m wedding the next day.
Deserts, coffee and petit fours follow and before long the outside world has paled into insignificance. Eden-roc is a restaurant where staggering food is only the start and the rest will leave you legless. It’s difficult to imagine this being normality and in a way I’m happy to keep it like that. So good we returned for lunch two days later. If only we had a yacht to float out to instead of a cab ride back to the now far less appealing Croissette.
Hotel du Cap Eden Roc,
Boulevard Kennedy,
B.P. n°29,
06601 Cap d'Antibes,
Cedex, France
Charlotte Street is a little-mentioned nucleus of restaurants in the awkward corner of central London trapped between studentville Goodge and tourist hell Oxford Street. Its pleasurable tree-lined vista offering a somewhat European aftertaste to a sunny day, far less of a mouthful than the pavement bars coughed up along Frith and Greek.
At the southern end of Charlotte Street stands Bam-bou, an almost member's only arrangement of restaurant, small private function-rooms and dark moody top floor bar. I've been here in the latter two capacities and it was well geared to such pursuits. Now I would see if they've managed to squeeze a worth-while restaurant into the labyrinth of small oriental wood and cast-iron furnished rooms.
The main restaurant room is small, 15 tables or so. Its understated, hinting towards Chinese with a detail here or there. Simple western Chinese is the theme and the uncomplicated menu is neither long or fussy with 10-15 choices each for starters and mains. To the bottom of the list is a note indicating that all dishes are intended to share, one wonders why that needed stating. Share we did (as with most Asian meals) and tucked into ginger squid, sticky Hanoi Style ribs, japanese dumplings and a couple of token dim-sum plates, shrimp har gau and sweet potato croquettes. Nobody else wanted to go for Tamarind glazed frogs legs, perhaps they'd have added an elevation from what was a satisfying but far from ground breaking collection. The mains were a little less formulaic with correctly seared scallops, tender beef with kow choi & shaoshing (who?) and a marvelous preparation of sea bass not far from Cocoon's earthquake inducing equivalent. Ordering rice was confusing and we ended up with one big bowl and a handful of smaller ones of steamed rice and another few tiny dishes of coconut rice. Restaurants really need to just put a per-person price then just keep it coming, heck, rice is literally cheap as chips.
Bam-bou has an intimate feel, service is appropriate, attentive and atmosphere is swanky upper echelon. I would first recommend coming here for the other functions with supper a close runner up. As part of Caprice Holdings (which includes The Ivy and J Sheekey) it's not for the shy wallet but will top up the kudos card.
Bam-Bou
1 Percy Street
London, W1T 1DB (map)
+44 (20) 7323 9130
http://www.bam-bou.co.uk/
When I'm rich and retired I plan to come to the Ivy for lunch every week. I'll have the same courses each time and a glass of my favorite in between pages of the racing post. How this plan formed, I've no idea - having never eaten here, read a single review or know anybody who's been. Well lunchtime today my time had finally come to visit the elegant dining institution. The Ivy resides as it has since 1917 on the little trodden corner of West and Litchfield street. Understated and elegant, inwardly pristine stained glass windows along both streets lend a bright and sheltered dining room. Unclouded decadence hangs in the air as well-tailored waiters nod and oblige their way around the traditional and impeccable surrounds. The menu is english, easy-read and encouraging. I opted for white asparagus with prosciutto and melted Dolcelatte followed by a hearty and mouth watering self-standing cottage pie topped with formidably layered semi-mashed potato. I wish I'd room left for the 2-person Baked Alaska which I'm told is only made properly in a handful of places in the world. My dining partner tells me that a good restaurant serves warm bread and room temperature butter. I'm more impressed with the food - ha. I'll be having both weekly here in the Ivy when I'm rich and retired.
The Ivy
1-5 West Street
London
WC2H 9NQ (map)
Tel: +44 (0)20 7836 4751
West Street, just off Cambridge Circus is one of those central London roads not often visited without purpose. On this evening, however, our purposely empty stomachs led the beat of hunger as we marched towards L'Atelier. Actually, we were running late and almost at canter, even though the nasally French Maitre d had already replied on the phone "don't worry, we are running late too!"
Bali is, I'm told, like no other of the Indonesian islands. A virtually 100% Hindu island the locals are welcoming, easy going, unexpecting and (probably therefore) difficult to read. Within a couple of hours walking around even the most amicable of Englishmen will have a hard nodding back and saying 'good afternoon' for the 55th time without a faltering smile.