13-14 Cork Street, London W1 (020 7409 1370). Meal for two, including wine and service, £150
If I had been true to my own advice I would, within minutes of arriving at Aurelia, have made a dash for the exit; instead I stayed, for I am here to serve. I'm glad I did, because you can eat very well at this new Mediterranean-influenced restaurant from the people behind the glossy Japanese fusion of Roka and Zuma and the Provençal fancies of La Petite Maison. But boy do they make a meal of it. Aurelia is a good place to eat, but only in spite of itself. There was the irritation of phoning to confirm my booking only to have them phone two hours later to confirm my booking. There was the offer of a crappy table in the upstairs room, which we declined, demanding something in the main downstairs space; the attempts to fill our wine glasses despite being told we'd do it ourselves; the refusal to give me a rosé by the glass because the wine they serve that way was finished (10 days after launch) until I suggested they just open a different bottle; a failure of basic maths in calculating a split on the bill.
Most tiresome of all was the waiter's offer to explain the menu's "concept". Oh God. The hell of a restaurant with a concept beyond "You choose things to eat off a list; we bring them to you". In the past I really have advised backing away swiftly from places announcing such idiocies. In this case it was the tired notion of everything being shared, but with an added twist: "The kitchen will send the dishes when they're ready, rather than in any order." Hang on. The menu says starters and mains. "Yes, but they come when they are ready." Ah, so this is a concept designed to save the kitchen the faff of having to plan. Frankly, if I'm paying £21.50 for a plate of lamb or, as you can here, £50 for a white-truffle risotto, I'll bloody well tell you when I want to eat it. Oh, and if you're committed to this family-style eating thing, get tables big enough for all the plates. Outrageously, we suggested they bring starters together and mains together; they did as they were told.
Witness the impact of all this. Nothing has been said about the food, which deserves to have things said about it. For the most part it's good value, if less than cheap. Then again this is Mayfair. A big, rustling bowl of deep-fried squid with a salty chilli kick cost £7.50; a generous pile of jamon croquetas, the shells giving way to something creamy and intensely hammy within, was 50p less. There was a generous plateful of swordfish carpaccio with lemon and rocket to lighten things and, at the heavier end, grilled discs of Majorcan salami sobrasada to spread on walnut toast. The slick of honey was a cloying touch, but the piggyness won through.
The downstairs dining room has an open kitchen so you can watch the cooks not giving a damn about the order in which they prepare things. Behind them are the rotisseries, radiating heat. It meant we could watch them roasting the leg of salt-marsh lamb to be sliced thinly and served with confit garlic and a punchy salmoriglio – a southern Italian sauce of chopped green herbs, garlic, lemon juice and olive oil. This is one of the most satisfying lamb dishes I have eaten in a very long while. Just as good was a thick-cut pork chop, charcoal grilled with fennel seeds alongside braised borlotti beans. A plate of queen scallops on the half shell with chorizo crumbs and garlic butter was only over-shadowed by the quality of its companions. Even so I liked licking the last salty, meaty bits off the shell's corrugations. All ingredients were first rate. A thin, crunchy lemon and thyme rosti was essentially the pimped-up aesthetic of the Kettle chip. That's OK. I like Kettle chips.
A crème brûlée into which had been blitzed those Provençal iced-marzipan biscuits called "calisson" was a crème brûlée adulterated. A tarte tatin, with very hot apples and cooling pastry, felt like a work of assembly rather than the genuine article; better was a mascarpone cheesecake with spiced quince.
In short, the desserts, while fine, are not the main attraction. Likewise the mindless, self-absorbed posturing and conceptualising is something to be tolerated. All of which makes Aurelia a place where you can eat very well indeed, but not yet a good restaurant. There is a difference.
Email Jay at jay.rayner@observer.co.uk or visit theguardian.com/profile/jayrayner for all his reviews in one place
