Kaspar's at the Savoy

Kaspar's is the reincarnation of the old River Restaurant, reborn with some style. I actually arrived at the Savoy by way of a very pleasant amble through Victoria Embankment gardens, so the simplest thing would have been to nip in the hotel's understated River Entrance and straight in to the restaurant. Simple maybe, but there was no way I was going to miss the opportunity to stroll along Savoy Court and make a grand entrance beneath the famous glittering steel frontage, passing a pristine pearlescent Rolls valet-parked at the side - as you do.

Just before we go in, let me take you on a small detour along the aforementioned Savoy Court; it is a much-loved and oft-quoted piece of London trivia that this is the only road in London where vehicles must drive on the right. According to the Savoy's press officer this is because traditionally, when travelling in a horse-drawn carriage, ladies would sit behind the driver and so would exit on the right hand side; this system enabled a decorous and less muddy descent straight into the hotel. The Londonist, a wonderful and authoritative site on all things London (if you're not already following them, do so immediately on Londonist.com or @londonist), has pointed out that Hammersmith bus station employs the same rule, though presumably not for the same reasons. I have since heard the 'fact' re-quoted as the only named road in London where traffic drives on the right. Either way it's a rarity and still a nice little nugget of London randomness.

Meanwhile, back to the Savoy itself. Graciously greeted by numerous members of staff (all, inevitably, far more elegantly dressed than I was) I made my way through the lobby, past the shop and through the tea room to Kaspar's. The sheer sumptuousness of the hotel is reassuringly impressive; chequerboard marble floors, glittering chandeliers, cascades of vibrant orchids and gleaming polished wood. Entering Kaspar's itself is like stepping back into the 1920s, with dramatic Murano glass lighting above the circular bar, huge mirrors and stylish Art Deco detailing.

Before we get to the meal itself, for those of you who don't know the story of Kaspar, let me give you a little background; are you sitting comfortably? One evening in 1898 Woolf Joel, a South African mining millionaire, hosted a dinner for fourteen at the Savoy. One of the diners cried off at short notice and an anxious guest suggested cancelling the entire evening; superstition has it that, if thirteen people sit down to dine, the first one to leave the table will die within the year. Joel reassured his guests by ensuring that he himself was the first person to get up from the table; weeks later, he was murdered in his office. 

Erring on the side of caution the Savoy began providing tables of thirteen with a member of staff as a quatorzieme, but this meant diners could not always speak freely. The problem was solved in 1926 when Kaspar was sculpted by Basil Ionides; to this day he sits before a full place setting as the elegant fourteenth guest when required, napkin around his neck, silent and utterly discreet. 

 However, as our booking was for two, sadly there was no need for Kaspar to make a personal appearance. Settling down at the table we decided to look through the menu over a glass of champagne; dithering over the crispy duck salad to start, I eventually went for the garden pea soup, which was served poured over an asian-style prawn and salmon dumpling. The soup was excellent and the pairing with the dumpling worked much better than I expected, the different sweetnesses complementing each other really well. My companion (an effortlessly chic friend who could very plausibly have been 'in residence') chose the beautifully presented wild garlic pannacotta with white and green asparagus and sauce gribiche, a kind of tartare/aioli sauce I usually think of pairing with fish but it was delicious with the asparagus.

For our main course we had the pan-seared fillet of pollock with escalivada (a wonderful Catalan roasted vegetable dish with punchy, smoky flavours) fennel and shellfish nage, and a perfectly-textured sun-dried tomato and goat cheese risotto with basil oil. We had considered ordering extra sides but the portions were actually more than sufficient for lunch (not always the case in set meals), particularly after the very more-ish freshly-baked bread on arrival. 

 

None of which meant, of course, that we were going to miss out on the dessert options. We opted for the delicious but incredibly rich dark chocolate and black sesame tart, served with chocolate ganache and a delicate milk tea ice cream, and the homely artisan cheese selection with chutney. The service throughout was very good; attentive without ever hovering, and friendly without being too informal - not something I generally mind (within reason) but somehow the glamour of the surroundings requires a certain poise and professionalism on the part of the staff to round off the experience; this is lunch at the Savoy, after all. The only, tiny cloud on the blue sky of the day was the off-menu drinks prices; we had considered treating ourselves to a glass of pink fizz, but as that started at a slightly eye-watering £23 per glass, we thought better of it. But, as I say, this is the Savoy, and it did feel like a special treat.

Another little strange London fact for you, before we go; Carting Lane, that runs alongside the Savoy, was allegedly known as 'Farting Lane' in the late nineteenth century. This was due to the Webb Patent Sewer Gas Lamp installed there, which both burned off the unpleasant and potentially dangerous gases from London's sewers and used them to provide 24-hour lighting. Even the combined donations of the Savoy's guests were not sufficient to power the lamp alone but the methane did supplement the more standard gas supply; it does, however, give a whole new meaning to the term 'gas lamps'.

The original was all but destroyed by a careless delivery driver reversing in to it, but has been restored and there it still stands; you can see the difference in design compared to the lamp at the front of the hotel.

Yours, officially a lady who lunches,

Girl About Town xx

Hawksmoor Air Street

 As regulars amongst my lovely readers will know, I am a firm fan of Hawksmoor: their truly excellent steaks, laid-back atmosphere, quirky cocktail list and, of course, their cornflake ice cream. But much as I do love a meltingly rare steak with the now ubiquitous triple-cooked chips and some fierce English mustard, I also have a passion for seafood. So, I headed off to Hawksmoor's Air Street restaurant to see if this really could be the best of both worlds.

You may think me unwise to choose a celebrated steak restaurant for a seafood feeding frenzy and normally you would be right; however, at Air Street the seafood is not just an add-on afterthought but is fully half of the menu. Hawksmoor's steak-by-weight options are still on the chalkboard, but carnivore favourites like the burgers have made way for turbot, monkfish and Dover sole. And in case you're wondering what experts in sourcing and cooking beef would know about fish, cue a man who does - award-winning chef, restaurateur and fishmonger Mitch Tonks, who not only offers an advisory hand but also sources their seafood straight from Brixham market in Devon.

The entrance is tucked Harry Potter-like into the chunky stone facade of the Piccadilly/Regent Street stretch of Air Street. Once inside, a curving staircase leads to a welcoming bar area (strewn with Sunday papers on our early evening visit) and an unexpectedly large Art Deco dining room, capable of seating over two hundred diners either in booths or at tables made from reclaimed school desks. (Remember those inky compass-point etchings in desktops? Well now they're cool, not cause for detention.) 

The room is undeniably stylish, with a gorgeous light above the staircase and wonderfully atmospheric stained glass windows between you and the heart of London, but has quite a low ceiling which makes for tricky acoustics and some background noise (don't worry though, it adds to the buzz and very young visitors are usually seated at one end of the room).

We decided to start with half a Dartmouth lobster - cooked in a specialist high-pressure steamer, we are told - and roast scallops with white port and garlic. Once the disturbingly surgical implements for lobster-mining had been carefully laid before us we turned to the wine list, which is varied and not exorbitantly priced; £40 will get you a choice of over thirty bottles of wine, including a Prosecco and three Hawksmoor recommended wines. We were pacing ourselves for the evening so decided to go for wine by the glass; a 2003 Muscadet with good depth and a bracingly crisp Picpoul de Pinet, one of my unsung summer favourites and an excellent choice by the glass or bottle as it goes with pretty much any fish or seafood.

Both starters were delicious; the lobster was sweet and moist with plenty of meat and the scallops were equally firm and flavoursome. A standard portion has three scallops but, as we were sharing both starters, our waitress offered to bump this up to four - presumably to prevent tears and a general falling-out. Our waitress, by the way, was excellent: knowledgeable, experienced, attentive but not intrusive, warm and friendly. 

One gentle word of warning; she was also one of the best up-sellers I have met, so if you are on a budget, do be careful - the relaxed atmosphere can lead you to accept those expert and friendly suggestions on sides, drinks and main course choices that together can really add to your bill (the possibly obvious but unmentioned fiver for the extra scallop, for example). In a restaurant of this quality even the cheapest wines will still be good, and you really don't have to go overboard with the sides; the mains are protein-heavy and very filling and hey, you can always order more if you need to.

So, back to the feast. For the main we plumped for the monkfish which was creamy, firm and delicious, grilled over charcoal in signature Hawksmoor fashion. In honour of spring finally having sprung, we teamed it with some Jersey Royal potatoes and a generous dish of spinach with lemon and garlic; perfection. I have no idea how my partner-in-crime managed to find room for sticky toffee pudding to follow, but all I could squeeze in was a single scoop of ice cream. I was prepared to settle for salted caramel or clotted cream (it's a burden I bear for you, dear reader) until, having casually mentioned to our waitress that I was disappointed not to see their signature cornflake ice cream on the menu, she managed to sneak me a scoop from the bar, where they use it to make the cornflake milkshakes (yes, really). 

The pudding was everything you would hope; comfortingly rich yet light and fluffy, served with ice cream. The cornflake ice cream was what it says on the tin; again I wondered, why didn't anybody think of this before? It's a genius combination.

If you had any doubts that the Hawksmoor guys would be able to reach the bar they set very high with their previous restaurants, then let me put your minds at ease. The only problem now is how I explain why I'm sending people to a steakhouse for some of the best fish in London. 

Yours, with another 'Hats off!' to Hawksmoor,

Girl About Town xx