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The lowkey queen of London luxury hotels, this Grade II listed beauty has been propping up Mayfair since 1897; all art deco splendour, twinkling red-brick majesty and rooms literally fit for royalty. But what of Claridge’s on-site restaurant, which has, over the past couple of decades, kind of been through the ringer?
Gordon Ramsay chugged along with it to little fanfare until L’Enclume’s Simon Rogan picked up the baton and renamed it ‘Fera’. After that, it became Davies and Brook (so called after Claridge’s cross streets) under Daniel Humm, which rapidly closed when the Swiss chef scandalously suggested the place go entirely plant-based. Two years later, and with vegan-gate a distant, carrot-shaped memory, Claridge’s Restaurant is reborn, and finally seems comfortable in its own skin. Taking back the name it last used 20 years ago, at the helm is Coalin Finn, who’s done time in the kitchens of Inverlochy Castle and Sketch, as well as during the mayfly-esque lifespan of Davies and Brook.
The food, like the room, is resolutely classic and comfortably, knowingly expensive
One of the grandest dining rooms in Mayfair – complete with new but very vintage-looking, 1930s-style skylights which elegantly dominate the space, as well as so much marvellous marble – the food, like the room, is resolutely classic and comfortably, knowingly expensive, the culinary equivalent of a perfumed embrace from Elizabeth Taylor. There’s an appropriately starry clientele too; on the night we visit, one of Earth’s most famous living artists devoured a seafood tower next to us in what was perhaps their latest piece of powerful performance work.
But back to our own plates, and the sauce sorcery that Claridge’s Restaurant rightfully prides itself on. A starter of black truffle buckwheat crumpets came coated in a soubise topping so creamy and punchy you’d think it were brie – offering a far more powerful flavour than the truffle itself – while a gleaming piece of turbot was doused in a buttery sauce nantais, alongside some smoked caviar, pushing the price up to a hefty £58.
A rather spectacular grilled lobster was totally shelled and bracingly nude, and drenched, tableside, with a belting sauce américaine. A whopper at £68, far better than the accompanying flaccid jersey royals to sweep up the sauce with, were a side of crisp french fries, a relative bargain at £7. An honourable mention should goes to the sauce-free herefordshire beef tartare (unless you’re counting a sumptuous confit egg yolk), which was packed with herbaceous, grassy greenery for the full field-to-plate raw cow experience, and served with a dainty dish of bone marrow on the side.
There was more theatricality with pudding, a citrus baked alaska for two set ablaze and glowing blue ‘like the northern lights on a plate’ according to my dining companion. Inside the wonderfully gooey meringue sat a delicate orange, lemon and grapefruit sorbet, fizzy with tarragon and verbena. Divine.
After two decades of flip-flopping uncertainty, Claridge’s Restaurant has finally found its footing – but it comes with a price. And that price is… the price.
The vibe A fancy crowd in the grown-up dining room of Mayfair’s poshest hotel.
The food Trad British classics, with French technique and tableside pomp all part of the fun.
The drink A 41-page wine list, with bottles going up to an eye watering £7,000 for a Pétrus Pomerol 1998. The cheapest glass of plonk is £20.
Time Out tip It’s an all-day dining joint, so if you want a more pocket-friendly experience, then swing by for breakfast and grab a stunner of a scallop and bacon muffin.