Lunch Tue–Fri midday–2.30pm; dinner Tue–Sat 6.30pm–10.30pm
On first entering the dining room/sort of Japanese garden, we were struck by how dark it was. But after being seated, the method became clear as the low lights over each table created a conspiratorial feel, while still providing enough light to navigate your food. The restaurant re-opened in 2012 after a complete refurbishment, and it now has a natural, organic feel. There are no sharp edges – even the water jug slopes. In line with this simple, informal feel, food is served on mismatched plates and the restaurant is occupied by mismatched characters: romantic couples, surly business men, chatty friends, and in one instance, a sweet-looking father with his daughter.
We were brought glasses of champagne and (less conventionally) a bird’s nest. Those of you who have been watching Great British Menu will know what I’m talking about, for the rest, it is a nest of little chicks and cracked eggs full of a mousse that made me gag a little.
Happily, the starter was much better. This was French cuisine at its cleverest: the baked scallop with yeasted potatoes, osso buco, and toasted bread soup (£19.50) that Mother ordered melted in the mouth. I, on the other hand, ordered the snails. I have never wanted to try snails, but the waiter was so earnest in his insistence that they really were the best starter on the menu, I had to do it. So, avoiding the snails for as long as I could, I had a go at the surrounding bits: watercress emulsion, braised beef and hay-baked potatoes (£22.00). If I had not read the menu, I probably wouldn’t have known what I was eating, as the flavours and presentation were not easily recognisable. Nonetheless, it was delicious. The slightly smoky potatoes were so well-cooked they were almost creamy, while the beef and watercress emulsion, though very rich, was nothing less than a taste sensation. Having finally worked up the nerve to try the snails, I was pleasantly surprised. Although I can’t say I’d order them again in a flash (along with the mental image of slime and eye-stalks, I just can’t stand the chewiness), they were salty enough and complimented by the watercress.
For the main, Mother ordered the seabass with black olive pasta, courgette purée and basil (£31.00). She felt the courgette puree detracted from the natural flavours of the seabass, but I thought it was a nice addition. The pasta wasn’t amazing – kind of like a veggie lasagne – but Mother enjoyed it. I ordered the Pyrenean lamb shoulder with salsify, thyme curd and artichoke (29.50). The lamb was perfectly cooked, having been left to tenderise for a ‘very long time’ according to the waiter, while the little shells of mince were the right level of crispy and salty. If you like salt as much as I do, you will love this place.
How we possibly managed dessert I don’t know. The frozen chocolate ‘Aero’ with smoked and bitter chocolate was a lovely palette cleanser. However, the white chocolate parfait with black olive snow was too crazy for me – I admit I nearly spat it out.
Mr Aikens seems to enjoy playing with his guests’ taste-buds and expectations, not to mention feelings. Yet we emerged unscathed and somewhat enlightened by the experience. The food is not so drastic that it becomes un-enjoyable, but it is creative enough to make it a journey (and to dictate the topic of conversation if it is a bit lacking).
