Restaurants

This icon of roast beef, and by extension Englishness itself, has rather fallen from greatness. Service is uncoordinated and uninterested (on the evening we visited, at least), the clientele comprised too great a proportion of tourists for any native character to emerge. Upstairs, the bar speaks more of faded than grandeur, with threadbare sofas. That said, there was a distinct spark of life where it counts: in the kitchen. The food is lighter and more imaginative than Simpson’s lengthy heritage might suggest, particularly the specials. A pea and leek tart was crispy and delectable; chicken with seasonal turnip and swede pleasingly subtle. The beef processes down the aisles on its silver-domed trolley accompanied by white-hatted chefs in a Heath Robinson-esque pageant. It was delicious, but swamped by its own gravy and accompanied by bullet-hard roast potatoes. The room – more of a hall, with extravagant mouldings and panelled ceiling – is gorgeous, but the glories of the past don’t compensate for the inadequacies of the present, especially given the prices. The Savoy Group should look to its laurels.

Time Out Eating & Drinking Guide 2009