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You’d imagine that a fish restaurant located slap-bang next to one of London’s longest established and respected fishmongers would be just the place to find the freshest seafood around. And, to some extent, you’d be right. Halibut had pearlescent flesh encased in a cracking beer batter, and lightly own-smoked wild salmon steak – accompanied by perfectly wilted spinach and a gloriously runny-yolked poached egg – told a similar story. Crunchy chips did not disappoint either.
Starters, however, were lacklustre: gravadlax was limply tired; thickly cut ‘carpaccio’ of smoked swordfish was passable, but fried whitebait were floppily weary. Skin-on new potatoes appeared to be in their dotage. Staff seemed unsurprised by the barely touched leftovers. Still, the excellent mains were well worth the steep but fair price, and ample portions left no room for any of the traditional puds. A refreshing rosé from a short but sensible wine list added cheer. We left hoping that the venerable Jarvis, and its youthful eatery, show a return to form soon.