We love Jamie Oliver for lots of reasons; his technical ability as a cook is not one of them. Sure, we love his minimalist flat and his tousled hair. We adore his matiness and his 'so laid back I'm horizontal' style. The obsession with good ingredients is cool, too - the way he flits from market to boutique bakery to pukka fishmongers and back again, squeezing and sniffing and fondling the produce as he goes. And yes we do, of course, love the food (or at least, I do). But that's not because we think he might be Escoffier's love child. On the contrary. The whole Jamie Oliver brand has been marketed on exactly the opposite, a throw-it-together approach which, as he himself puts it in the credits, strips down recipes to their bare ingredients.
So it's kind of weird that his first restaurant venture since he was indecently assaulted by fame - the dining room at a club in Chelsea called Monte's - should be such a poncey one. The ponce factor lies not just in the food, which, in places, is exceptionally un-Jamie, but in pricing, too. I doubt whether many of those mates of his who crowd into his living room at the end of each programme to eat his grub could afford to come here regularly or, given the location, whether they would want to.
I had visited Monte's once before, for a works party held in the basement nightclub. On that occasion it struck me as the kind of place where gentlemen would go to sniff substances off the thighs of ladies whose services come at an hourly rate.
The restaurant is in a rather more sombre second-floor room dressed in brooding shades of chocolate and devoid of art, save for a peculiar black and white photo of John Lennon. The only flash of colour comes from the bright cover on copies of Jamie's latest book, stacked up on the windowsill. The windows beyond those stacks overlook Sloane Street from whence most of the clientele seemed to come. You know the type: scarves by Hermès, shoes by Manolo Blahnik, cosmetic surgery by Harley Street.
His books may have been there, but Jamie himself was not. While he did man the stoves in the open-plan kitchen during the first few days, he is here merely as a consultant. The only obvious Jamie thumbprint lies in the occasional burst of incongruous menu language. Mixed-grilled breads are described, for example, as 'tasty' (as against what? Tasteless?); bruschetta is served with 'a lug of good olive oil' (as against bad olive oil?). That aside, the food seems generally more complex than anything we'd expect from the lad.
I started with fritto misto of Scottish girolles (£8.50), which was a hell of a lot more than just wild mushrooms: there was borage, Swiss chard, sage, anchovies and capers, all expertly cooked in a batter so light as to make even an accomplished home cook whimper with envy. The only duff note was the inclusion of a sweetbread which remained a pulsating, grey gland beneath its crisp coating. Louise, the magazine queen, chose grilled langoustine for her starter (£14.50). The sharp-clawed creatures themselves were admirable, but the advertised basil and lemon mayonnaise was a bit of a dud. I mistook it for a caper mayonnaise before looking it up on the menu, so unsteady was the flavouring.
It was Louise's main course of ravioli stuffed with courgettes, ricotta, mint and pecorino (£12) which really gave the lie to any suggestion that this was the cooking of that Jamie off the telly: the dish was made with a seriously delicate and unctuous pasta. It was excellent. My spicy fish broth of red mullet with squid, clams, mussels, crabmeat dumplings and coriander (£14) was a ballsy fish stew with a real depth of flavour and generous lumps of fish. The only dish that came close to delivering the kind of thing you'd expect of a restaurant selling itself on the Jamie connection was the pudding we shared - a pear and almond tarte tatin (£6) with lovely chewy lumps of caramel and a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
I suspect this all reads as though I'm criticising Monte's for being too good, but that's not it. My beef is the gap between the marketing of the product and the product itself. If Jamie Oliver really does believe in his 'Naked' brand, he ought not be servicing the ladies who lunch (so to speak). He should be running somewhere urban and funky, serving up simple, modern food at reasonable prices. He should, in short, be doing what John Torode has done in his restaurant at Smith's of Smithfield, London. Because our bill for two, with three glasses of a modest Sauvignon, came to £90 including the pre-added 'discretionary' service charge. And that's an awful lot to pay for the Jamie Oliver experience.
Monte's, 164 Sloane Street, London SW1 (020 7245 0892). Lunch for two, including wine and service, about £90. Only open to the public at lunchtime. Contact Jay rayner at jay.rayner@observer.co.uk
