Time Out says
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When Mr Chow first opened, in 1968, it became a little like a Chinese version of The Ivy: a place that swinging A-listers (The Stones, The Beatles) could come for a noodles and cosseting service. Fifty years on, little has changed. It still deals in everyday Cantonese dishes (spare ribs, crispy duck with pancakes) plus a few signatures. Many, like the Mr Chow noodles – hand-pulled with minced chicken in a yellow bean sauce – are unexpectedly moreish, in spite of amateurish notes (too-soft noodles, lurid bright orange liquid). Green beans were overcooked but the chilli-spiked XO sauce was delicious, while morsels of stone crab folded into a ‘cloud’ of egg whites was light and gingery.
But prices – like £20 for a starter of sesame prawn toast – are fairly outrageous. Plus, there’s something about the starched linens, waiters in dickie bows and over-loud Ed Sheeran tunes that’s just naff. Yet the oil-rich of Knightsbridge can’t seem to get enough: on the night of my visit, staff were turning Rolex-toting walk-ins away from the door.
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