Anyone fatigued by the endless, ominous chatter about the oncoming era of Chinese global domination may be heartened by an unlikely British counterstrike. Royal China, an upmarket and gaudy London chain, recently opened a branch in Shanghai - quite a surprise for a company based in Neasden.
Budgetary constraints being the dispiriting dullards they are, any request to review it seemed unworthy of the breath needed to voice it, so instead I have been to the newest domestic venture, which is so close to an existing branch that you wonder whether, not content with taking spring rolls to Shanghai, the owners hope to rival Sherlock Holmes and Gerry Rafferty as the word-association game auto-response to the question "Baker Street?"
To be strictly accurate, this is not yet another RC, but the first Royal China Club. Since no membership is even available, this styling is evidently a cunning ruse to imply a level of exclusivity beyond even that offered by the flagship in nearby Bayswater, long regarded by many as the best dim sum joint in town. Well, it was until Hakkasan and Yauatcha arrived, melding a sparse, trendy decor with imaginative dim sum. Doubtless feeling threatened, the RC mob have hit back with one of their own, eschewing the black lacquer and golden flying geese of their other outlets for slatted bamboo walls, swirly carpet and gentle lighting. The staff are done out in black, rather than the gold brocade waistcoats worn elsewhere, and it is with them, as much as with the food, that the major tonal difference between Club and non-Club appears to lie.
The service in Bayswater, albeit less psychotic than in the livelier Chinatown restaurants, falls somewhere between brusque and plain rude. Here the staff were so sweet, attentive and eager to advise about food, wine and the dozens of different teas (an idea nicked from Yauatcha), it seemed there was nothing they wouldn't have done for us. Had I mentioned the need for a retinal transplant, I have no doubt the chap known to his name badge as Stone would have gouged out an eyeball and given me a tenner for the taxi to Moorfields.
If that did most to make this a highly original Chinese meal, the food helped, too. After we'd kicked off with two portions of the familiar - fabulous crispy roast duck and sweet, succulent pork belly - things took a turn for the recherché, albeit not in the traditionally gruesome dim sum manner (those dishes at the back of the menu they never bother translating for non-Chinese customers: crow's feet braised in radioactive rainwater, gizzard of syphilitic mountain yak, that sort of thing). Lobster dumpling in yellow wine sauce and Dover sole cheung feung are dishes I've never seen before, but would love to see again. Next up, Stone tutored us in how to eat delicious crab dumplings, placing one on a spoon, pricking it with a chopstick to drain the hot juice, drinking that, and then dunking the dumpling in a vinegary sauce. "God, I love food ritual," said my friend. "It really lifts a meal."
By this stage in any other RC they'd have been ratcheting up the pressure, asking, "Ready for the bill?" every 27 seconds and sucking their teeth when told no. Here, they were delighted to serve the meal in many stages, after the fashion of a minor imperial banquet. Barbecued ostrich had a spectacularly tangy kick, and then came two memorable dishes recommended by Stone. Eel marinated in sherry and coriander was, said my friend, "gorgeous - just what you'd give to someone who swears they'd never eat eel". The pick of the bunch, however, was stir-fried king prawns, great fat buggers with that perfect springy texture, their sweetness weirdly but rather brilliantly balanced by bitter clumps of a tea called "dragon well before rain". As for the tea we drank, I'd recommend Taiwan Dong Ding Oolong, even if it does sound like something wilfully unfunny sung by the Goons.
After all that, saying goodbye to Stone, one of the most engaging waiters I've come across, was a bit fraught. Tears welled as we shook hands and we came dangerously close to a hug. If the experience felt a long way from Shanghai, it seemed farther from Bayswater or Chinatown just a few tube stops away.
Rating: 8/10
· Telephone: 020-7486 3898. Address: 40-42 Baker Street, London W1. Open: All week, noon-11pm (11.30pm Fri & Sat; 10.30pm Sun). Price: Around £40 a head with wine and fancy tea. Wheelchair access and disabled WC.
