164 Sloane Street, London SW1 (020 7750 5000)
Meal for two, including wine and service, £150
When I phoned to book a table at La Noisette I was told they only had spaces at 6.45pm or 9.30pm, and none of them on the day I wanted. This was peculiar. The restaurant hadn't yet opened, so there had been no reviews. I was sceptical. What better way to drum up word-of-mouth than to claim you are rammed? Whatever the reality of the virginal reservations book I wasn't at all surprised to find, when we rolled up half an hour early for the 9pm booking I had finally managed to wrestle from them, that only three tables were occupied.
I know all about the need to keep covers to a minimum in the early weeks of a restaurant's life, but I really think they should throw caution to the wind. This dining room, in a dreary building on London's Sloane Street, is so gloomy and uninspiring it needs all the help it can get. At least a few people sitting at tables talking to each other might give it what currently it lacks: atmosphere.
On one wall is a painting of an orchard losing the fight against global warming. On another is a dismal painting of a Tuscan hillside, easily outclassed by the blank slate tiles on which it is hung. It feels like the boardroom of a successful firm of receivers, only with none of the glamour.
It has always been a restaurant graveyard. Alain Ducasse had an operation here, but that closed, as did an ill-thought-out concept by Jamie Oliver. Gordon Ramsay Holdings then took it over and gave it to Ian Pengelley, but his style of pan-Asian cooking never found an audience. Now they have installed Bjorn van der Horst as chef, who was at the Greenhouse in Mayfair where he won a Michelin star and was marked out for a second.
I admired his cooking there very much - it was clever, intricate and tasty - and I only hope it can triumph here over this padded coffin of a dining room, though he has toned down his act. At the Greenhouse he would serve slices of pastrami-style spiced foie gras as a canape. Now it's herby yogurt with bread sticks and some perfectly sourced olives.
A taster of a crisp savoury cone filled, from bottom to top, with a light puree of tomatoes, a tomato granita and a tomato foam, showed an interest in multiple textures. We also liked a shot glass of a frothy artichoke veloute.
The menu language is a little overwrought. It has headings like 'Signatures and Classics', 'Summer Favourites' and 'Chef's Garden', when personally I find the words 'starters' and 'main courses' do the job admirably. Still, we managed to navigate it. A dinky tranche of wild trout, the skin crisp and flecked with the crunch of sea salt, came with a lush mix of English peas and lardons on an emulsion of grain mustard and red wine, the acidity of the sauce lifting the sweetness of the peas. In another starter, lobster claw came with sauteed girolles mushrooms and a deep green herb veloute. These were both intense and satisfying platefuls of flavour.
By contrast our main course, roast chicken for two, was comfort food at its best. Admittedly we were both disappointed that what arrived table-side was just the crown - the whole breast - sans legs, sans wings, sans everything, which is where I think the serious flavour is. Even so, this was expertly roasted chicken, with crisp skin and a potent jus, served with puffed and fluffy lemon rice with fresh almonds, a little tabouleh which was more chopped green herbs than cracked wheat and some soft roasted peppers.
We finished with a fromage blanc souffle with roasted apricots flavoured with thyme, and the only real misfire of the evening, a strawberry millefeuille which was far too heavy on the pastry leaves. Even allowing for that one duff dish this was a good meal, great in places, delivered with relaxed and easy-going service. What troubles me (as ever) is the price. With a couple of aperitifs, some mint tea to finish and a bottle of wine from the very lowest reaches of the list, we were looking at a bill for £165, which is a lot of money. The irony is that a substantial portion of that bill goes to pay the inflated Sloane Street rent on a room which is the restaurant's least attractive feature. And that, my friends, is how the restaurant business works. Or not, as the case may be.
