Telephone: 020 7727 6771
Address: 127 Westbourne Park Road, London W2
No booking. Meal for two, including drinks and service, £40.
My account of the 10-strong Goddard family's departure from Embassy after the chef refused to go off-menu for one dish has initiated what Mrs Merton used to call 'a heated debate'. Half of those who wrote to me thought the chef had behaved like an arse; the other half thought the Goddard's shouldn't have gone there, that they shouldn't have had the temerity to choose something off-menu, that children should be bound up in gaffer tape and locked in the cellar, rather than even be allowed into restaurant dining rooms. (Not really, but you get the idea.)
What was most striking was the number of people who took issue with my comparison with service in the United States, which is generally so much better than here. Most pithily put, the response amounted to 'why don't you sod off there then'. This antipathy towards all things American is, frankly, bizarre given the vast influence the United States has had on restaurant menus in this country. There are no references in Chaucer or Shakespeare to dishes like ye olde Caesar salad or Maryland crab cakes or chocolate fudge brownies, but without them few modern British menus would now be complete. We love Americana, however ersatz it may be. It is, I think, the democratic, utilitarian nature of the food that appeals: the US has produced quality dishes which feed the soul.
The restaurateur Tom Conran has already proved that he has a keen understanding of that concept with The Cow, a pub in London's Westbourne Grove area. It has a relaxed dining room which serves good solid interpretations of classic European dishes. Now he has attempted to bring that style to bear on the ultimate symbol of American eating: the diner. The concept feels familiar because the iconography is so much a part of the popular culture we consume; we understand instinctively the mix of burgers, fries, soups and salads that are the diner's raison d'être .
Lucky Seven, which describes itself as a 'neighbourhood diner', and which sits just around the corner from the Cow, looks perfect. There are rows of booths, a tiled floor, a funky, retro dice motif on the mirrors and an open grill kitchen. It feels right. That is less true of the food, which reaches for authenticity but just fails to gain purchase. The service is a different matter entirely. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
I went with my American friend Josh. Who better to help judge a diner than a man who has spent time hanging out in the real thing? The menu, though covering all the bases, is short by US diner standards, where they can be the thickness of an airport read. Here there are four starters, half-a-dozen variants on the hamburger, a couple of other main courses and four puddings, plus a couple of breakfast options. Prices are moderate for London (therefore extortionate for an American in London) with most things costing between £3 and £6. To start, Josh went for the exterminator chilli, which really wasn't. 'I do have an American palate,' he said almost apologetically, 'so this is pretty bland.' I gave it a taste. It was nothing to do with the American palate. It was bland. My New England clam chowder, thick with shards of crisp cooked bacon, was much better, if less than traditional. The potato, rather than fully thickening the soup, was left in cubes. The broth, though, boasted a great depth of flavour.
Just after we'd begun eating our starters, the side dishes to go with our main courses turned up, followed by the main courses themselves. 'Are you ready for these?' the waiter said. Well no, we weren't, not really. The second waiter came over as the first departed. 'I'm sorry,' he said of his colleague, 'but he's, you know, really crap.' There's nothing like team spirit, and that was nothing like.
Josh's main course, a special of seared tuna with rosemary flageolet beans was taken away. It took an age to get it back, longer still to get the fries to go with my bacon cheeseburger, which had arrived equally early and hung about gently cooling. Temperature aside, the burger was really only so-so - a little bland, a little loose, not quite pink enough inside - and that's a major failing in a place aspiring to diner-dom. The burgers at the Ed's Easy Diner chain are better, the chips very much better than at Lucky Seven. Here the chips were a little limp and insipid.
The beer-battered onion rings were fine, if you ate them the moment they hit the table (during the starters), but became increasingly greasy as they cooled. Interestingly, as with the clam chowder, it was the much more complex dish of seared tuna, which really stood out once it came back to us. The fish was expertly seasoned and cooked, leaving it a perfect shade of deep purple within. Clearly the kitchen can manage complex; it is the simple which eludes. A fudge brownie to finish was, Josh said, fine, though no better than one he could pick up in a 7-11 back home. My hot fudge sundae did what it said on the menu.
Part of Lucky Seven's problem is the expectations of it created by its Conran pedigree. In truth, it's not meant to be a destination place like the Cow, though that doesn't excuse its shortcoming, particularly with the service. At one point, our cheerful waiter announced that he would find it a complete pain in the arse to share a booth with others, as we had to do, explained that he was only doing the job to help out his mate the owner (Conran, presumably) and told us how much he was looking forward to going back to his day job. None of that exactly inspires confidence. On the way out, I spotted a sign in the window. It read 'Happy, energetic and reliable staff needed for full- and part-time positions.' How true, how true.
Contact Jay Rayner on jay.rayner@observer.co.uk.
