Mon –Thu 8am–11pm, Fri–Sat 8am–11.30pm, Sun 9am–10.30pm
The Ivy is synonymous with old-fashioned Anglic charm. Having fond memories of enjoying kedgeree with friends and family at the Ivy Club many moons ago on my 21st, it came as a happy surprise to hear that Richard Caring’s The Ivy franchise had spread to my neighbourhood of west London. Caring’s Caprice Holdings is the power behind many of London’s most well-known establishments, including the Soho House Group, J Sheekey, Annabel’s, George’s and Le Caprice.
But why should Mayfair have all the fun? After two years living in the States, the day I arrived home in Holland Park I craved the charm, cosiness and cultural history that America fails to provide and London offers so well. Jet lagged and wanting to avoid getting in a taxi, my first night took me to my favourite snug spot, Maggie Jones, in all its Dickensian glory. Now Maggie Jones has a competitor though, just further down on High Street Kensington itself, with the opening of The Ivy Kensington Brasserie last week.
Decorated with the same charm as other Caprice establishments and themed around the Great Exhibition of 1851, the mirrored walls, white cloth table tops and deep green leather seating provided just the right amount of Victoriana without looking like something trying to appease novelty-seeking tourists.
Our gracious host Filippo, who by the end of dinner we wanted to hug, recommended we try some of the bespoke cocktails: an ‘English Rose’ and ‘The Ivy Kensington Royale’, a delicious mix of Champagne, Hibiscus and Sloe Gin served fittingly in a coupe.
We started with the Seared Scallops and the Mozzarella di Buffala—though I barely got a taste of the scallops, my mother devoured them so quickly. With just the right amount of black truffle, they disappeared in a matter of minutes as she declared them some of the best she’d ever tasted.
For mains, I ordered her the grilled lobster—to be honest mainly because I wasn’t sure if she had ever handled a whole lobster with the necessary tools and was amused by the idea of it all. Despite being a lobster novice this also disappeared in a trice, alongside exclamations of enjoyment. I took the fishcake, which was just as on point as I expected, sharing a side of truffle and parmesan fries, which perfectly complemented our fish and seafood dishes.
Having spent two hours being lectured by my family on why living in London and England was preferable to the States, our meal was topped off by the Chocolate Bombe, which silenced everyone. It came resembling Saturn and was melted by the warm salted caramel Filippo poured over it. It was a hit, even if I had naively ordered the frozen berries as well, in a bid to stay somewhat healthy.
Slightly less formal than the classic Ivy and keeping a large percentage of tables open for walk-in customers, I knew very quickly that The Ivy Kensington Brasserie would become one of the gang’s local hotspots. The cocktails were formidable, the staff were attentive without being annoying, the food came at the exact time we wanted it and the atmosphere was elegant and fun. It’s true, London does food well and the Ivy Kensington is a great example of that without having to make the journey into the centre of town. We left perfectly content and the right amount of full, walking straight out of the flower-laden reception straight into a traditional English thunderstorm. Oh England, how I have missed you.
