Header image Maria Bell photography

A quick walk through an almost perfect woodland and visitors are confronted by 24’s pavilionesque, space ship aesthetic. With its reflective and angular aluminium sides, it could hardly be more of a contrast to the verdant trees and foliage it stands between but it’s a statement design, for sure; something special beckons. Inside, bright vertical op art gleefully greets us. There’s no reception desk but a long corridor lit purely by skylight. Within the dining space, a notable calmness dominates; London is another city. The ceiling is a couple of storeys high so much of the sound dissipates above but even the open plan kitchen feels mollycoddled by a respect for the countryside which envelops it and is emphasised by 24’s large windows. If, inside, the overall illusion is one of convening with nature, there’s also a large outdoor terrace that destroys the illusion and makes it a reality.  

We remain inside and sit in the furthest corner from the entrance. A Yayoi Kusama sculpture yellows the greenery of a distant field. Nearer by, shadows flit on walls and cut geometric patterns. We order glasses of Rathfinny Classic Cuvée from East Sussex, a crisp and clean cut way to help us dissect the small menu which includes ‘Nibbles’, ‘Small plates’ and ‘Dessert’, except on Sundays when ‘Roasts’ are added. From the former, the homemade Sourdough is a must; light and fluffy but with a playfully crisp crust and marmite butter, which adds salty but subtle flavour. 

Our waitress recommends four to six plates, depending on hunger levels. With one exception which we ordered later, the plates arrive at the same time, which presents a small challenge to fit them on the table. The Seabass Crudo swims in a green flecked olive oil and is decorated with a sweet apple and cucumber salsa and three sliced jalapeños for a little kick. It’s an unusual but delicate and elegant combination. Likewise, the Sussex Fishcake; watercress pesto offers a sour twang to the saltier caper mayonnaise, both of which add succulence to the crispy, fish-laden cake.

The Goodwood Lamb Shoulder and the Chalk Stream Trout are the closest the menu has to mains. The former is super tender, slow-cooked and delicate, much like pulled pork in texture. The latter is chargrilled and clean and is accompanied by a bisque sauce. Both come with their own sides but we order more ‘dedicated’ ones. In visual terms, the Potato Fritter is the meal’s biggest surprise. Orange coloured in an orange sauce, it resembles a cubic asteroid, lands with all the exuberance and excitement of an unidentified flying dessert and is the closest option to comfort food. I stay away from the Charred Cabbage but my friend is very excited by it.

The 70% Chocolate Mousse follows in a similar vein to the above; traditional British cuisine with twist. The mousse is heady and silky and smooth and might even have a small slick of caramel on its bottom. On top, a cluster of nut crumbs mingle with honeycomb chunks for a decadent way to finish our meal. We sat down to eat at around 1.30pm and left for a walk around 3pm. Last entry is 4pm and the estate encourages visitors to leave by around 5pm.

With only two hours, we were a little tight on time, especially when there’s two small exhibitions to take in. The main gallery is dedicated to deceased American ‘land artist’ Nancy Holt, best known for her large-scale earthworks and site-specific installations. Including poems and type-writer art, Holt shows communication was way more frivolous and fun back in the ‘60s. There’s a 16mm film about the construction of her famous concrete Sun Tunnels and, most impressively, a specially constructed shiny aluminium fan/exraction system taken from Holt’s original design. Not only does it look like an integral part of the gallery’s structure but it also expands outside to look like a deliberate part of the exterior. The smaller gallery is devoted to Eva Rothschild who practices ‘material dissonance’ and often deals in brightly coloured, if not fluorescent objects of both two and three dimensions. Two tapestries have been specially commissioned for the space and were woven locally at West Dean College’s Tapestry Studio.

Other artists on display include Lee Ufan, Hélio Oiticica and Isamu Noguchi. Rachel Whiteread has one piece which looks like slick space age coffins beamed down from another dimension and one which represents her more urban and concrete ‘negative space’ period. With her erect and flesh coloured sculpture which resembles both an arm bursting from the ground and something(s) more phallic in nature, Rose Wylie suggests there’s more enjoyment to be gained in the countryside than anyone might imagine. Yayoi Kusama’s instantly recognisable sculptures seem a little over-exposed these days but the sight of two large, iconic, yellow and black spotted pumpkins slumped together in a massive English field is an undoubtedly joyous moment. That said, the standout piece for me is a site-specific aural installation by 2010’s Turner Prize-winning Susan Philipsz. Hidden in several trees, loudspeakers burst forth every seven minutes with music and lyrics derived from Elizabethan songs. Words evoke the woods as a site of gathering, exile and refuge, perspectives change and the audio is so crisp that I half expect the singers to reveal themselves. Although uplifting and pure in nature, it also conjures up images of witchcraft and Wicker Man-type horror films.

The Goodwood estate may be better known for its horse and car-racing events but owner, Duke of Richmond, is just as keen, if not more so, on art and with his art foundation, he’s amassed an impressive display of internationally renowned artists to prove it. From woods to fields to the occasional quarry or open space, the array of sculptures elevates the already beautiful landscape into a surreal and beguiling one. The sense of discovery, the anticipation for what might lurk around the next tree bark, the happy confusion as to how the sculptures interact with nature renders the experience magical and intriguing and fully engrossing.  Add the delightful 24 into the mix and this experience has all the trappings of a perfect day out. 

The post Cafe 24, Goodwood Art Foundation – Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

The entrance is a narrow climb, literally, twelve steps up from the courtyard. Inside, Sartoria kow-tows to unfussy and timeless elegance, where white cotton table cloths and napkins still rule supreme but bronze lamps hold court. Everything is dramatic in its darkness and minimal in decoration, although the handful of moody black and white photos don’t display Sophia Loren, Ferrari or Dean Martin but rather the technique of dress-making. A couple of busts, one of an unnamed Roman Emperor, the other, a saucy and sozzled moon face advertising a product called ‘Rossi’, add playful decoration, confirming the space is more than a stiff paean to stuffiness. Overall, the entrance is transformative; goodbye England, hello Italy. 

I was running twenty minutes late, so I needed an immediate pick-me-up/calm-me-down. Sartoria’s main menu offers three aperitivos: Peach Bellini, Campari Spitz and, my go-to, a Negroni, which was pretty perfect and did its job impeccably. That said, for more choice, make sure you don’t miss the bar menu as we did. It lists a load of Signature Cocktails, including the evocatively titled Saville Stitch, Weekend in Milano, Il Sarto and Via Brera, all of which take the restaurant’s mythology and run with it.

Between Cicchetti e Pane, Antipasti, Primi Piatti and Secondi, it’s never an easy decision working out which courses to have and how many portions thereof. After a quick QnA session, our waiter advises and comes up with what sounds like a five-a-side football formation. Cichetti e Pani sits on the bench in favour of a two-two-one or a two-one-two. We opt for the latter. 

Antipasti is certainly a tough call with both Insalata di Polpi and Carpaccio di Filetto garnering lengthy discussions, but we eschew both. The Vittello Tonnato (Veal Carpaccio with Tuna and Caper sauce) presents simplicity as elegance. The veal slices are thin and perfectly pink, the tuna mayo is fishy, maybe with some anchovy, but not overpowering, while pickled, coloured cauliflower adds a crunchy texture and capers, a tang. The Crudo Di Tonno is a less pure tuna tartar than some, spiced up and flavoured with dill, tomatoes, Tropea onions and a green oil, but is moreish to the last. 

The Calamarata Alla Pescatora garners immediate murmurs of admiration from both my friend and I. This pasta belongs to the paccheri family and receives its name from squid, which it resembles in its tubelike form. Large enough to hide some of the seafood inside, or like clunky finger jewellery,  there’s a magnificence about this pasta. Its size and al dente chewiness make it feel like the main event and, of course, the succulent mussels, the finely cut, tender red prawns and the lobster bisque type sauce make it a joyous dish. My friend even notes its worthy of her favourite restaurant in Venice.  

I take a glass of Dolcettta d’Alba, Brezza, Piedmont with my Filetto al Pepe Verde. The Aberdeen Angus is sustainably raised and grass-fed and comes medium rare. It’s thick and chunky and is presented in a green pepper sauce full of fresh peppercorns, which burst with herbaceous crispiness. My friend takes a San Vincenzo, Anselmi, Soave with her Tonna Alla Puttanesca. The finger-sized strips of tuna are super rare, super tender, taste like they’ve been thrown in a hot pan and ripped out almost immediately. A reductive and rich tomato sauce with basil leaves, olives and capers renders the dish a romance for my friend. Special mention goes to the Patate Al Forno contorti, super fluffy on the inside, light but super crispy on the outside; an unexpectedly pure potato offering which wipes up the sauce from both Secondi dishes. 

Special mention should also go to Sartoria’s Italian themed playlist, geographically specific but stylistically and chronologically expansive. Expect therefore, anything from sixties Doo Wop to seventies Prog Rock to eighties Synth with everything in between including Mambo, Disco, Spaghetti Western, and House music. If it sounds distracting, it most certainly isn’t; eclectic it may be, exuberant it most certainly is.

Dolci consists of four choices but Tiramisu wins out as it always should and, much like in every Italian Restaurant, design and taste are idiosyncratic in the best way. Served at the table from a deep, seventies-style glass bowl, we share one portion. On closer inspection, it looks like slabs of marble sunk into concrete. It certainly isn’t as viscous as some, is relatively firm in texture and doesn’t fall apart upon first spoonful. Amaretto seems more located in the sponge, which is less soggy than many whilst the cream is thick and fresh. We love it. On our way out, the chef flits by. We have time to congratulate him on his great work, but not to ask if the Tiramisu is a family recipe. Either way, his mother would be very proud. 

The post Sartoria Liverpool Street – Restaurant Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

Not far from Buckingham Palace, a stone’s throw from Victoria Station, situated on the corner of Ebury Street and Lower Belgrave Street, Uni is refreshingly located in a largely residential area. With its fresh and tidy white exterior contrasted by a black awning, some shrubbery marking its border, and a handful of tables placed optimistically on the pavement (in a dreary and cold mid-March), the outside could easily be mistaken for a smart neighbourhood French bistro or Italian trattoria. 

Inside, a bronze plaque boldly announces the restaurant’s name, making sure you know exactly where you are, but if you don’t know where you’re going, upstairs and downstairs are options. I head downstairs, where I’m unexpectedly transported to what feels like a 1920s-type cruise liner. Five oceanic coloured, curved booths fit into a large right angle. Each has a round marble-topped table and what could be windows looking starboard but are, in fact, mirrors. Below them, even more unexpectedly, two private dining rooms are set within historic caves, practically hidden away and rendered invisible with dark curtains. 

Upstairs, the first thing to catch any diner’s eye is the enticing golden glow of the equivalent of a wine cellar for sake; the first visual sign that Uni is, indeed, a Japanese restaurant. If there was any doubt, the sushi counter around the corner confirms it. Topped and bottomed by slick, slatted wood and bronze railings, six seats stand in front of six red lanterns in front of three hard-working chefs.

The space stretches to the right with more slats and golden wallpaper emblazoned with red flowers and white blossoms. A mirrored wall at one end offers the illusion of an area larger than the reality and we find ourselves seated at a table which should be looking out of a window but is surrounded on three edges by black velvet drapery. Uni serves forty-seven covers and definitely makes the most of its space, which is intimate and cosy.

Cocktail menu offers both classics and Japanese twists on classics, so expect Sakura Sour, Geisha, Raichi Collins to sit alongside Mojitos, Margaritas and Martinis. Usually, I aim for the restaurant’s more specific offerings but my friend utters the words ‘Espresso Martini’ almost before we’ve opened the menu and I can’t shake it out of my head. My friend defects to a Lychee Martini, which is, happily, less sweet than many served in the capital, whilst my Espresso is thick and cool and served with three coffee beans. 

The menu includes several subsections, including Nigiri, Rolls, Sashimi, Uni lux,  Izakaya style, Salads, Tacos and even the Latin American Parilla and an Omakase option. A handful of different Sea urchin options include Risotto with Parmesan and chives, and an extravagant Sea urchin with caviar gunkan. We keep proceedings relatively simple and start with a handful of baby corn cobs and an Indian inspired Fatty tuna Pani Puri. The former comes with an appealing Tajin wasabi mayonnaise, which conveys the piquancy and flavour of the root vegetable but none of its brutal kick. The menu describes the latter as ‘make your own’, so that’s what we do. There are five small crispy baskets in which to add not only the exemplary tuna but a smoky and spicy paste, barbecued corn niblets and a mojo verde type dip. 

We cleanse our palate with a bold but refreshing Wasabi Caesar salad. It’s light and crispy and again, the wasabi doesn’t overpower. The truffle gnocchis are warming, the pecans caramelised and sweet and the radish slices zesty.

The sushi comes both as nigiri and maki. The seared Tuna nigiri disintegrates impressively, the Salmon is spruced up with a small dollop of cucumber paste, which almost overpowers the salmon and the Yellowtail is lightly basted in some kind of aniseed derivative for an unusual but winning nigiri. 

Buzzing from my Espresso Martini, I return to my original intention of trying something more in line with Uni’s aesthetic. ‘Sakura’ is Japanese for ‘cherry blossom’, so I opt for a Sakura Sour, which veers towards a pink colour, is frothy on top and decorated by a purple and yellow petal. Gin-based and with cherry blossom liquor, it’s light and refreshing and rather blissful, a liquid version of a bunch of pear drops. 

We share Chilean Sea Bass which is covered in a Miso and basil paste. Pad choi, chimichurri sauce in a wooden spoon and Gohan (white) rice sprinkled with furikake accompany. There’s no Black Cod on the menu so, chunky, tender and slick, the sea bass is undoubtedly a worthy competitor to Nobu’s sublime signature offering.

For dessert, the Mochi’s look tempting, but we finish with an extravagant off-piste option worthy of any of London’s finest patisseries. Layered with flavours and textures, green pistachio sponge is divided by a yellow Yuzu jelly and a creamy top. Striations of liquid chocolate decorate, and an egg-shaped, violet coloured ice cream vies for attention opposite.

Uni likes to consider itself a neighbourhood restaurant, but even if you don’t live in Belgravia, it’s definitely worth a visit. 

The post UNI London Restaurant – Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

Orion by Alex Webb exudes an immediate, casual elegance. It’s much larger than it appears from the outside and stretches deep within. Next to the bar on the left is an iced seafood counter upon which catches of the day preen like beautiful momento mori. Beyond is a marble-topped chef’s table for six and then the open-plan kitchen which is only partially visible from our table. Dark sea green tiles intersperse walls and from one, the area delineated for private parties, hanging contemporary art proclaims ‘The World’s Your Oyster’. Greenery softens various edges while white table cloths match the ash floor. 

Our excellent waiter for the night, Will, who joined the restaurant before it opened, as it was being built, even, offers us menus and holds up a small blackboard with the day’s specials. Fish is sourced from the tips of Scotland to the outliers of Cornwall; Webb has many a fisherman’s number, knows most of their boat names and wheels and deals to bring in what he does. Sometimes portions come in only five or six so grab them while you can. Hake, Dover Sole and Chalk Stream Trout are on offer today. 

My friend’s Smoked Old Fashioned causes him to groan as if he’s been pleasurably punched. It’s certainly a heady and deeply satisfying cocktail and demands to be consumed in slow, appreciative sips. I opt for the most contrary option. The small, dry oyster shell on its rim offers a literal visual interpretation of the Oyster Shell Martini, but it’s also decorated with four green onion oil spots. My friend says it’s like drinking a bag of crisps (onion without the cheese, presumably), whereas the seawater is the first flavour I notice. So basically, it’s a seawater and onion vodka martini? Well…yes; it sounds ghastly like it should be illegal, but against all odds, it is a revelation; a sublimity that fuses ingredients to form a whole far greater than the sum of its parts.

Partially inspired by my martini’s name, we each order a Carlingford oyster as an hors d’oeuvre. The ritual of adding lemon, shallot vinegar and tabasco is always part of the fun. The oysters are plump and meaty and super clean. And, maybe, they taste a little like a Vodka Martini!?

Alex’s Signature Lobster & Prawn Toast isn’t called that for nothing; it was one of his standout dishes on Master Chef, apparently. And it’s easy to understand why. Proper sized bread slices with a fluffy, light, irresistible commingling of lobster with the more traditional prawn. Covered in black sesame seeds, it possesses a dramatic, volcanic drama and also comes with a sweet carrot purée. The toast is chopped in half so it’s very easy to share but frankly it’s one I’d happily keep all to myself. Will also recommends the Seabass Crudo, which comes in six 50 pence-sized chunks, each wrapped over itself. A buttermilk sauce with dil onion is poured at the table for a creamy and unusual but effective addition to what often comes with citrus. Small grapefruit chunks do add zest and, not mentioned on the menu, a bite-sized Seabass tartar accompanies. Wrapped in a thin, crispy wrapping, it possesses an appealing purity and could well be the posher, if more emaciated, cousin to a spring roll.

Will recommends a Camille & Laurent Schaller Chablis, which is crisp, dry and smooth and works perfectly with our shared John Dory. To put it bluntly, John Dory is not a looker. Served in its murky underwater skin and unboned, therefore, it looks scary, beastly, like a creature from a black lagoon. We don’t fancy our chances at skinning or boning without doing serious damage to ourselves or indeed, our meal, so we ask the kitchen to do it. Minutes later, a metamorphosis has occurred; the beast has become a beauty. Four large filets of white meat luxuriate in a champagne sauce peppered with orange and black trout roe. The meat is moist and delicate and has a pleasant char-grilled twang. Accompanying is another Webb signature, his Slow Cooked Butter Thyme Potatoes with Parmesan. The plural is misleading and we were expecting new potatoes but this single oblong offering bears more than a passing resemblance to a chunky fish finger. Crispy on the outside, light and fluffy within, it’s topped with parmesan shavings, is eminently moreish and any self-respecting diner will want to order more than one. 

I’m suddenly anxious as, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a flame burning towards us. Turns out it’s a large swathe of gold leaf catching the light. And this, it turns out, is edible decoration for Alex’s Twix. ‘Bloody hell! The chocolate’s hard!’ My friend proclaims as he almost breaks the plate trying to cut the thing into mouth-sized portions. The shortbread is made of tonka beans, and we end up eating it with our fingers. The dish exudes childhood dreams, compounded as it is with ice cream sitting in a mound of what could be broken cornflakes. My Brown Butter Martini has nothing childlike about it at all, of course, but it’s a knock-out compliment to dessert and another unique martini. Butter is burnt for a softer caramel flavour and mixed into the top’s semi-solid froth for what is a delirious, end-of-night tipple. 

We could easily stay for another, but as the last diners, we don’t want to overstay our welcome. Back at reception, Webb offers his good-byes to the penultimate guests. After they leave, we have a lively chat with the tired but still bright and bubbly man and his charming husband. We discuss the arrival of the fresh garlic season, the couple’s plans to move from Acton to be much closer to the restaurant, the soon-to-go-live Chef’s Table and the fact that half the Wimbledon tennis players will undoubtedly drop in during the Championships. Only recently opened, Orion by Alex Webb is sure to become a firm favourite with international tennis players and all else who visit. Book now to avoid disappointment! 

The post Orion by Alex Webb – Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

Pleasingly set back from a main road or even a minor one, Timbre Virtudes blends in seamlessly with Porto’s largely residential Miragaia district, best known for its colourful housing, hanging laundry, its cobbled streets and its proximity to the dramatic Douro River. Dating back to the 16th Century, the hotel’s 71-room expanse is constructed around the dwellings of three different aristocratic families who are believed to have been involved in the burgeoning maritime industry of the time. The building’s aristocratic origins are illustrated by a 17th-century coat of arms, displayed both above the entrance and adopted as the hotel’s brand signature, found variously on stationery, towels, and menus alike. 

If the building’s exterior is dominated by original but pristine granite brickwork, the interior follows suit, providing the reception, bar area and restaurant with a cavernous elegance compounded by dark flooring, proscenium arches and burgundy pillars and ceilings. Stylishly mixing contemporary with historic, the space exudes what the hotel staff like to call ‘silent luxury’. It’s certainly dramatic and, in its own way, quite masculine too, brooding and atmospheric but paradoxically calming and gentle.  

The Alfândega grand occupies a sizeable proportion of the top floor and stretches to an impressive 70 square metres. Homely and welcoming, walls are pistachio, floors are walnut and orange highlights from pillows and artwork inject the suite with energetic bursts. Compartmentalised into three sections, all with closing doors, the uncluttered bedroom sits furthest on the left as you enter. The bed is king-size, and the room has its own balcony, which is especially useful for catching the sun’s end-of-day rays. The living room has a comfy sofa, a TV, a minibar, a round dining table as well as its own balcony which, much like the bedroom one, offers beguiling and practically timeless views over terracotta roofs towards the river on one side and colourful residential properties on the other.

If the spacious bathroom is the suite’s highlight with its slick marble flooring, its his and hers basins, its faux steamed up mirrors and its Bulgari soaps, as charming as the shower is, it’s the jacuzzi which is the jewel in the suite’s crown. Sizeable in its roundness, with its own underwater lighting and powerful jets, it’s surely worth taking an evening off and staying in to luxuriate in this opulent monster of self-pampering. The Alfândega is the only space in the hotel which has a jacuzzi, but in-room massages are available for all. 

The hotel’s chef Tiago Bonito held one Michelin star throughout his previous tenure at Largo do Paço in Amarante. Of his work, he says “My food is sea and fire. It’s smoke, eucalyptus, pine and vines. Flavours that I know and put into my dishes, creating experiences that appeal to all the senses.” Través restaurant’s granite walls and high ceilings make for dramatic dining and our sommelier cum waiter, the affable and endearing Rui, expertly curates the evening for us. Salmon in crispy tartelettes serve as a satisfying amuse bouche and an orange infused garlic and thyme butter renders the homemade bread irresistible.

If starters are both colourful, the Foie gras visually reminds one of a desert with its beige aesthetic offset by bright raspberries, green leaves and almost yellow croutons. Its soft texture is also dessert-like and the figs add a sweetness to the silkiness. The Boiled Octopus is cut into thick finger-sized chunks with green basil and coriander sauce and sliced carrots, lifting presentation. 

The star of the show has to be the Tiger Shrimp with brothy rice for two. Rui serves from a large Le Creuset type black casserole dish at the side of the table and sprinkles with a generous helping of black pepper. Essentially, it’s a local version of the bouillabaisse and years ago, it would have been the kind of comfort food mothers or wives would serve their men after a hard day’s fishing on the nearby Atlantic.

Portions are generous but we still have two helpings each, all ably washed down by Lisbon’s Quinta Do Gradil Chardonnay. A Meringue served with Greek Yoghurt ice cream is surprisingly fluffy and a gin and tonic jus offsets the slightly sweeter strawberry element. 

It’s impossible not to pass the bar on the way back to any of the rooms, situated as it is, directly opposite the elevator. Rui plied us with what we thought was a final tipple for the night, a Quinta Da Romaneira Tawny port, but the hotel’s resident mixologist, Bruno, has other ideas. How can we disappoint him? We’re not quite sure what to order so he offers to make each of us an off-piste, off the cuff, bespoke cocktail. After a brief question and answer session, he rushes off to get busy behind the bar. I end up with an earthy white truffle flavoured whiskey sour and my friend an espresso martini inspired whisky sour with prickly pear cactus, honey and egg white ingredients. The man is a wizard, the drinks gentle but intoxicating; someone please give him a prize!

It’s not long before we’re back at breakfast, last sitting for which finishes at a luxurious 11am. There’s a table in the main space which serves healthier fare such as chia seed puddings, yoghurt, granola, dripping honeycomb and beyond the proscenium arch, a larger spread which covers fried breakfast, pastries, breads, fish, cheese and meats. Golden, red and occasionally black fishtail tiles provide the space with an inviting and magical glow and for anyone who’s not in a hurry, a glass or two of the local sparkling wine is a must, as is Portugal’s national snack, a Pastel de nata. I try it all but my favourite has to be the two different types of granola which have both white and milk chocolate buttons in it.

In the summer Timbre Virtudes’ rooftop turns into one of the city’s coolest bars. In February, the bar is closed but Duran Duran’s Hungry Like The Wolf bursts over the speakers, providing the space with a suitable exoticism. Its view over the Miragaia district, the Douro river, the Ponte da Arrábida is a sight for sore eyes and behind it, almost within touching distance, is an architecturally out of kilter but fascinating brutalist school with a large concrete playground and tall concrete grey walls. The sun is out, and the always-friendly staff are more than happy to bring food or alcohol to guests who want to take advantage of this spectacular location, one of the many reasons this hotel is a must-visit when in Porto.  

The post Timbre Virtudes – Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

Village by Boa has two entrances right next to each other. Both understated, one looks like a shop front and the other a more likely apartment block. The shop also works as a low-key reception but offers a bunch of carefully curated design-conscious products, all of which begs to find an appreciative home. Matcha chocolate, stuffed squid in ink, and blue gin rub exotic and pleasing shoulders with truffle polenta, brightly coloured china sardine plates and Japanese malt whiskey. It’s hard not to browse and be slightly hypnotised by all the pretty packaging and design. 

Check-in is quick, and at the end we’re slipped six digits handwritten on paper. It’s hush-hush, turn your eye, spy stuff, it turns out, Village by Boa doesn’t do physical keys so this is your front door and apartment door code. Memorise if you can, take a photo as insurance, lose at your peril. 

Renovation started in 2020, and its concept was to keep original features but give the premises a contemporary and natural twist. Certainly, the exposed concrete in the main building achieves this, reminding us less of brutalism and, especially with cord-woven chairs and what could be milkmaid stalls, more of a Nordic slickness. On the ground floor, a compact gym offers plenty of exercise options, including weights, rowing and cycling machines.

The apartment continues the natural theme and mixes warmer, brighter oatmeal tones in upholstery and bed linen with heavier, darker chocolate ones in the tables and chairs. The marble-clad bathroom stands immediately on the left upon entry. With two different types of shower heads to choose from, body wash, shampoo and conditioner come from the Danish Meraki brand. Down the corridor is the main living space. Also on the left, a wire glass divider blocks off the cosy bedroom, which has more than ample wardrobe hanging space and a queen-size bed with a generous handful of fluffy pillows.  

Given Village by Boa lacks a restaurant, the kitchen is sizeable and slick; the grey and white marble worktop and backsplash look expensive and fit neatly amongst the array of pistachio cupboards. The kitchen comes with all things one would expect to find at home, including a (New York Times ‘no recipe recipe’) cookbook for those not wanting to seek inspiration from local cuisine and a pink popcorn maker should guests prefer to relax in front of the TV. If you’ve forgotten your popcorn, no worries, a welcome basket includes a packet along with local red wine, beer and dark chocolate. Two inverted lobster basket lampshades dominate the living room/kitchen space, which has its own balcony. This outdoor area is narrow but looks over some of Porto and the rest of the Boa village, which is where the Aparthotel’s history is most evident. 

In the 19th century, Bairro do Silva was a working-class neighbourhood, and the houses were built in tight rows. The inhabitants formed microcosmic communities, lived as villagers and, pretty much, as family. With outsized pots, flourishes of ferns and fish scale tiling, this area now forms an idyllic escape from the city, with the renovation offering a sense of gentle introspection. If you’re not staying in this part of the Aparthotel, it’s well worth a casual visit, especially when the sun’s shining, and the city’s bustle gently fills out the background. 

If you’ve booked breakfast with your bed, Simpli Coffee looks onto the village but isn’t accessible from it. To the front of the building’s immediate left, it’s a five-step walk. Its interior retains the naturalistic Nordic sensibility with magnolia-toned walls, a total of ten different chair types, some flora and salvaged wood-based art. Contemporary R&B plays from the Marshall amp radio and guests are invited to select breakfast by filling out a red form. Choose one each from a First Bite, a Morning Main and a Finishing Touch. 

The Yoghurt parfait with fruit and granola was light and fresh as were the smashed peas on sourdough toast and the Chickpeas, tomato and spinach mix, also on sourdough. Coffee comes with its own cream based art, once in the shape of a happy snail, another a fern. Each cup is also delivered with what look like Top Trump cards, which explain the origins and name of the coffee bean used. Together, it all makes a solid basis for which to explore the surrounding historical area.

The post Village by Boa – Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

With more to come in the next year, Torel Saboaria is the fourth and newest property in the luxury boutique chain’s Porto collection. The interior design of each is influenced by its specific building’s history, and if you didn’t know ‘saboaria’ means ‘soap factory’ in Portuguese, the first step into this historic space gives the game away. Part functional shop with an array of different designer soaps, part historical tribute with scales, weights and a cabinet full of soapy curiosities, it could equally serve as a reception, but that’s a few steps deeper inside. With a similar cabinet of historic curiosities shining from behind, not only is the reception Torel Saboaria’s physical centre, but it’s also its heartbeat, where the super-friendly staff converge, commingle and chat enthusiastically to guests as if they’re old friends. Leading outside to the spa and pool area, the space also segues into the restaurant and bar and practically props up the lift to the 28 rooms above. 

The suite is a beguiling paradox of calm drama. All heavy blush walls with softer wooden flooring, tables and chairs, nature’s aesthetic dominates. The open plan space is compartmentalised with minimal fuss so that the king-size bed faces the street but away from the living area. Here, a large coffee table and sofa stretch opposite a pistachio bordered sink/cooker. In the closest corner fits a small round dining table on which a decanter full of port has the habit of magically refilling itself before sunset. Black and white checked floor tiles snazz up the bathroom, and the generously sized walk-in shower offers British Racing Green tiles for a more traditional elegance. Shampoo, conditioner and shower gel are all provided by Torel boutiques and, maybe one day it will be made on premises. Slashes and slabs of contemporary art unify the room. It might not be immediately apparent, but look closer, and one of the largest pieces isn’t made of vertical brickage but a bunch of soap bars.

Once you’ve spotted the soap bar art, you’ll notice it decorating corridors and the restaurant. Luffa has an altogether lighter, breezier aesthetic, so light in fact that the original limestone walls practically sparkle and remind one of a Flintstones new build. Tables shine with bright flecked marble whilst chair backs offer darker brown hues which match the wooden floor and, on one side, diners can sink into poolside cabana-type sofas and cushions. Continuing the soap factory inspiration, lights are covered in linen and wooden frames border clothes, which might have been historically washed in the nearby Douro River.

Inspired as much by the names as the ingredients, we kick off dinner with a couple of signature cocktails. ‘Greenz ‘r’ Good’ contains less vegetable goodness than the title implies, but this refreshing gin-based tipple made mainly of pear, apple and celery juice, still tastes like drinking a tasty salad. ‘Wild Card’ might well describe the restaurant’s entire ethos with its sense of familiarity but playful adventure. Part of the whisky sour family, scotch is infused with pomegranate, peach vinegar and cocoa for a refreshing and tangy experience. 

The menu is sharing and our sommelier/waitress for the night, Rita, suggests three to four dishes before dessert. With the addition of sourdough and a fantastic Prawn rissol, however, the portions are suitably generous that three would more than suffice. Sitting somewhere between pitta bread and pizza, the choice of flatbread with one of three different toppings is a must.  We eschew the apple and the chorizo for the Algarve rose prawns, which are of unusual, delicate and supple texture. Raw but not cooked, the prawns are actually cured with salt and sugar before lemon juice is added. A handful of coriander leaves decorates this moreish dish, in which chayote is also present for crunch and freshness.

The Tuna is cut into raw chunks and hidden from sight under a decoration of sweet kohlrabi ribbons. The dish swims in a fermented tomato and olive oil sauce peppered with sesame seed drops. Refreshing and light, it’s not as unexpected as the steak tartare, the presentation of which errs away from the more traditional French method. Here, egg yolk sits under the finely chopped steak, which is also cured for a noticeably sweet taste. Buckwheat proliferates for unexpected cereal puff crunchiness and slices of toasted homemade brioche curve around the plate to dip into this delicious mess of silkiness.   

Rita advises expertly on the wine, the menu for which includes red, white, orange and green. The orange and green seem more exotic than the red and white and the green smoother than the orange. We opt for a Desvirttuado from Phulia Wines, a winery initiated by a couple of students in Coimbra who decided to try their hand at restoring abandoned vineyards in the Lima Valley. It works well with the Monkfish which again defies expectation, this time with a spicy yellow lemongrass soup, kimchi powder and green kefir lime extract. Even more surprises; underneath it all, pasta shells curl. 

We share a Chocolate, banana merengue dessert which melds together for a gooey end of meal delight. Music throughout has been 60s/70s American funk and soul for an upbeat mixture of romantic yearning with Charles Bradley, especially, receiving more than his fair share of the rotation. In the mosaic tiled lift we notice a flyer for Luffa which perfectly sums up the experience as a mixture of ‘comfort, technique and a touch of adventure.’  

Breakfast is more traditional but doesn’t suffer because of this. Music remains the same, as does waitress service. No buffet here; just a small but enticing menu.  Both the Bacon, poached egg and hollandaise sauce croissant and the Smoked salmon labneh and pickles on toast offer light but wholesome ways to start the day and the yoghurt with chocolate granola and blueberries, with its generous chunks of dark chocolate, quickly becomes a favourite. Daylight bounces through the sprightly room for all-around positive vibes. 

Inspired, surely, by Japanese rock gardens, two parts in the back of the hotel are covered with clean, small grey and white stones while shrubs and flowers prettify this calming oasis in an urban context. Surrounded by city architecture, the only building herein is the former soap factory warehouse, turned now, into a Spa which offers everything from Facials to Body Treatments to Signature Massages.

There’s also a Turkish Bath (steam room) in the spa and in the garden, a dainty fresh air pool and jacuzzi, both of which are hidden from cursory inspection by more greenery. In the last week of February, the pool is unheated and measures a cool 13 degrees, so it works perfectly as a plunge pool for the steam room before warming up again in the jacuzzi.  The pool is open from 8 am to 8 pm, but if you ask the staff nicely, they might let you visit earlier or later. They also might bring you a glass of sparkling wine to make your special stay in this special hotel even more special. 

The post Torel Saboaria – Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

Somewhat counter-intuitive in its visual imagery, a blood red and gold Samurai costume cum statuette stands guard at the front door, practically pats down entering diners with its fighting spirit. To its right, the main space is grandiloquent; all super high ceilings and pillars to match. With zig-zag tiled flooring, curved leather chairs, brass handrails and a repetitive series of pendant lights which look like secondary planets orbiting a primary one, Yakuza feels very much like a French art deco spot. Or a New York brasserie imitating a French art deco spot. At the restaurant’s far end a gaudy, bronze sculpture titillates with topless men and women and what might be Neptune brandishing a trident. Next to it stands a DJ desk but tonight, it not quite being the weekend, a sultry playlist unfolds instead. Opposite the entrance, a bright backlit bar shines, but, upon closer inspection, it’s actually a sushi counter. Wearing white headbands (kamikaze bands!?) and white sushi tops, three chefs beaver away in front of samurai swords, bonsai trees and bottles of sake. 

The menu is extensive so we order cocktails to help us on our way. I like the Yakuza Cocktails which include a Shogun, Margarita and Mojito twists but opt for a Japanese Whiskey Sour which includes Nikka whisky from the barrel and yuzu and is topped by a slice of desiccated lime and egg yolk froth. My friend goes for a more straightforward Belsazar Vermouth Red on the rocks. While we nibble on a surefire dish of salted edamame, we return to the menu which includes ‘Novidades Yakuza’, ‘Entradas’ and ‘Especias Yakuza’, and that’s before the ‘MakiSushi’, the ‘Sushi e Sahimi’ the ‘Combinados’ and the ‘Da Cozinha’. Lighting is atmospheric if not dusky; I have to use the light on my phone, and my friend has forgotten his glasses. The cocktails are starting to kick in, so we ask our waiter, Jorge, if he can help out. He doesn’t falter and offers up a mixture of his favourites with the suggestion of leaving the rest to the chef, omakase style. Impressively, he grates an actual wasabi vegetable in front of us for a subtler, less pungent taste than the more common paste. 

Before hitting the sushi, we share a couple of excellent fish and guacamole crispy tacos served with thin strips of seaweed and a sumptuous Yellowtail carpaccio drizzled in truffle ponzu. Our waitress, Lenor, brings us cold Soto Sake. ‘Soto’ means ‘outside’ in Japanese. It’s dry, delicate and smooth, has elegant floral aromas and aims to recreate the balance between the elements. We’re happily agreeing it achieves its goal when an Instagram moment is thrust upon us. A large bowl glistens with ice shavings and a solid block of ice. Ferns and flowers prettify the sashimi offering of salmon, seabass, sea bream and tuna. From a green fish shaped jug, Jorge pours what seems like a pint of dry ice, which, in spite of a lack of breeze, twists and twirls with Gothic dexterity. The sashimi, much like what came before and comes after is first grade melt-in-your-mouth delicious.

A practical tsunami of sushi follows, much of which we’re instructed not to dip into soy sauce or add wasabi to. All is served on a dazzling and dramatic display of ceramic dishes and plates. Roast turbot is chargrilled and meaty but delicate. Eel is also cooked and comes with a bone marrow sauce topped with caviar. Salmon is wrapped in a betel leaf. Turbot is served with lime and ginger and caramelised onion for a crunchy and surprisingly sweet finish. It’s not all fish, though; Wagyu comes rare but warm, is super tender and dressed with granules of salt and a spot of kizami wasabi.

Gabriel, our barman, comes over and offers us another cocktail. We discuss sake ones but in the end take his lead for a Porto version of The Caprice. It seems there’s whiskey as well as Graham’s Tawny and some ruby colouring (Campari!?). It goes down a treat and is not dissimilar to a sweeter Negroni, helps us with the luxury of three gunkuns each, none of them wrapped with anything so pedestrian as seaweed. Scallops are wrapped in tuna and come with a minimum of rice. Foie gras is also wrapped in tuna and topped with stringy leek shavings. Lenor asks if we have room for one more. We probably don’t but of course say we do as her manner of question, her proud smile suggests the chef has left the best till last. Is it the best? Probably. Unforgettable? Absolutely. The height of decadence? Most certainly. Wagyu beef gunken with foie gras and a sprinkling of caramelised onion has to be the sushi to end all sushis. 

We share a Bolo de Banana e Matcha, which is a banana cake with coconut ice cream. Sprinkled with matcha and chocolate caramel soil, Lenor suggests there almost might be a ‘surprise.’ We’re not sure what she’s talking about until we start eating and something starts popping. Literally. It was called Space Dust in my time, a popping candy which now seems to be known as Cosmic Dust. Lenor kindly writes down the names of some more bars to explore but, frankly, nothing’s going to come close to the extravagant and mouth-watering evening we’ve already had.

The post Yakuza by Olivier, Porto – Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

A large glowing sign with the restaurant’s name guides guests down a narrow side alley where a multitude of strategically placed lanterns achieve a pin-prick aesthetic and suggest drama lurks nearby. Part of the Torel Palace Porto, guests avoid the hotel’s formal entrance but, after the alley, pass by a compact and glowing azure hotel pool and a few drinks tables above which two chandeliers hang. An unassuming doorway on the left opens into the monochromatic Blind, which, chequered floor aside, is more black than white. The sight of a horseshoe bar around which no chairs are placed, no punters stand and no drinks are served is surreal, and what appears to be a contemporary art series hanging from the walls offers, in fact, a spelling of ‘sensation’ in Braille. 

There’s no messing around, and we quickly learn from Wagner that not only is he a wine sommelier but a water sommelier and, yes, he has a water menu to prove it. Pellegrini, Evian and Fiji represent more recognisable brands but the choice extends from Australia to Iceland to Scandinavia and much of Europe. We opt for Finland’s still Vellamo, which is ‘like a misty morning cloud by the sea, just before the rainfall’ and Germany’s  sparkling AQA Finelli from the Harderheck Spring – ‘high quality, pure taste and natural composition.’

Diners are asked if they have any allergies but are offered no other choice beyond a ten or twelve course tasting menu. And actually, courses aren’t ‘courses’ or ‘dishes’ or defined by ‘starters’ or ‘mains’ or ‘desserts’ but are all ‘moments’. And the ‘moments’ have names which are sometimes poetic and sometimes humorous. And half the time diners are encouraged to guess the ingredients of each ‘moment’ which leads for plenty of back and forth with our waiter César who, much like Wagner, is a non-stop source of cheery information. 

Three small moments, which make up ‘3 is Never Enough’ arrive simultaneously. The Amberjack tartlet with oscietra caviar is my favourite; it’s multicoloured, crispy and bursts with the caviar’s viscosity. The McBlind chickpea burger with curry mayo seems more of a gimmick than an haute cuisine offering but the specially designed paper and its unwrapping achieves a curiously joyous and childlike frisson. Three balls of liquid cheese from Portugal’s highest mountain are served in a deep and savoury mushroom broth whilst a hazelnut tincture is squeezed from a pipette at the table. A glass of Premier Cru ‘Natura’ champagne by chef Vitor Matos, no less, accompanies a small batch of 160 bottles which was harvested in 2016. The restaurant is down to its final three bottles, and we feel privileged. 

‘Candlelight’ is as it sounds. However, the candle isn’t made of wax but butter with garlic and specks of parsley. The wick burns, the hard butter melts. It’s served with sourdough full of pine nuts and is all so moreish that we go through two candles. ‘A Sin in a Spoon’ is a small bowl of foie gras decorated with star shaped granny smith apple, muscat gel and elderflower gel. Foie Gras errs more towards the soft than the solid so a spoon is definitely in order for a sloppy and extravagant mix. ‘A Clash of temperatures’ consists of raw Algarve prawns, more caviar, grapefruit and orange segments, all of which are covered in a warm leek foam at the table for an exercise in contrasts. 

At some point we notice a dry, red, inverted rose hanging above our table. What does it mean? Some kind of normative subversion, one assumes, which is definitely the case when César brings us not the next dish but two black blindfolds. Yes, we’re to fulfil the name of the restaurant by eating without vision and the evening suddenly becomes a mental exercise, a guessing game. What, actually, are we eating? César refuses to reveal, wants us to tell him. Hmmmm. Well…There’s definitely some mushrooms, not so obvious for their flavour, but their minuscule and slippery shape. And some fish for sure. My companion thinks it’s maybe monkfish. I think maybe prawns. Something in the back of my mind tells me a Michelin-starred chef wouldn’t be so lazy as to serve prawns twice in a row. I ignore my own advice and we opt for prawns. I’m right and I’m wrong; of course, a Michelin star restaurant wouldn’t serve two moments of prawns. We would never have guessed. Hardly knew the things existed: Sea snails! In a garlic and butter sauce with mushrooms! 

Wagner keeps the wine flowing thick and fast. We have Guri by Vinvevinu, we have Lacrau Garrafeira, we have Vinha Paz Reserva. We have a blind tasting session with the wine, too, where we fail miserably to identify what we’re drinking and then we have wine from a bottle which is never opened. Almost like a magic trick, this is made possible by a Coravin device, specifically invented to pour wine without removing the cork, so that the bottle doesn’t go off if you don’t fancy drinking it all. 

We devour ‘Sea Breeze’, which is a tender chunk of cod with plankton powder and seaweed. We devour ‘Feel the Sea’ which is red snapper with sea lettuce, and saffron-infused couscous. We devour ‘Meat Fell in the Ashes’, another one of my favourites. Not only is it the first meat dish, Wagyu, it’s also the closest the meal comes to having an identifiable ‘main’. Dehydrated mushrooms act out the titular ash role and crispy seaweed works with Swiss chard and rice for an all-around richer and heavier dish. Before we know it, three hours have whipped by, and we’re presented with ‘Red Passion’, a seriously colourful and happily bright dessert. With luscious red, Mae West lips, the concoction includes mascarpone (the lips), mini meringues, lychee gel, egg custard and ice cream and resembles a joyous cubist portrait or a child’s pic ’n’ mix presentation.

A final moment called ‘Adam and Eve’ ends the evening. Served on a picture frame and a printed painting, three petit fours make their own statement; food can transcend its functionality and also work as art. After a titillating and lively evening full of surprise and delight, technique and flavour, it’s a tough one to disagree with.

The post Blind Restaurante – Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

A rare oasis of calm in Mayfair, design is unfussy, riding somewhere between art deco, elegant, minimalistic and naked. Colouring is oceanic, mixing grey, turquoise and green depending on where you look and at what angle. Lighting is bright, tablecloths are white, and a grey carpet adds a soft and bouncy touch to proceedings. Some wall based tables double as makeshift booths with heavy hanging curtains for extra privacy. We start with house champagne and are almost immediately presented with five slices of bread and three types of fluffy, mousse-like butter. It feels like an unofficial test, a mix and match quandary and we hope no one’s eavesdropping. Does the olive sourdough work best with onion or mushroom butter? Should we even contemplate tomato butter on the sundried tomato focaccia? What about the seeded flatbread? Surely, no butter at all? 

It’s a fun way to kick the taste buds into action and the creative juices into analytical mode, both of which are further tested and treated with some spectacular starters, the descriptions of which do not do them justice. The Seared Orkney Isles Hand-Dived Scallops demand visual investigation before tasting. The three scallops are partially hidden with nduja sausage and parsley and interrupted by two cubes of pork belly. There’s a mussel here, a mussel there, and some funky Romanesco broccoli, the lively pale green colouring of which lifts the plate’s otherwise more dour colouring. Tasting contradicts already high expectations with the unexpected; nduja provides the scallops with a meatier prompt whilst a coconut and lemongrass flavour, erring towards tom yum soup, provides the meat with a a spicier but refreshing prompt. It’s a taste bud ping pong finessed to perfection.

The Cromer Crab resembles a shimmering eccentric underwater broach. The brown crab is whipped to smithereens, smooth as silk but is mainly hidden by jellified haddock consommé. The colour palate is lifted by green leaves and bright red apple blossom and its consumption seems to go on for ever, is pure decadence.  

Mains mainly include grilled surf and turf with lobster and monkfish as well as wagyu and aged rib-eye. Gianni, our waiter, advised us on starters so we return to him and there’s absolutely no hesitation. The Roast Saddle of Venison for two is pure gastronomic theatre. Served on a trolley, cut at the table, it takes three to deliver to our plates. It’s super dark on the outside and perfectly crimson in its middle.

Swimming in red wine and juniper berry jus on one side of the plate, a phalanx of winter root vegetables curve around the opposite. At times it’s a guessing game with outlandish and exotic stabs – plum, baby carrots, beetroot of different colours, maybe a radish or something close to pickled watermelon, dollops of carrot and aniseed purée. For extra idiosyncrasy and a personal touch, small pots of creamed girolle mushrooms, hazelnut powder and berry sauce tempt. As do, two semmelknödel – bread dumplings. With so much else to consider the Venison could become secondary but is so perfect that it refocuses the wandering attention on what is an opulent and supremely varied dish, simultaneously rustic and old-fashioned in its roots but urban and veering towards daring in its contemporaneity.  

Although other members of staff engage with and serve us, Gianni is our constant. He seems to be a man who loves his job and one possessed of many talents. Raconteur, historian, adviser, Maitre D’, sommelier, even chef at one point. He decants our recommended Casa Silva Carmenere from Chile which he describes as full-bodied but delicate. He’s a cheery presence who elevates our evening and contextualises all that’s on offer. As we dissect the dessert list, he explains the history of one of the items – Crêpe Suzette – something to do with a mistake which caused sugar to caramelise, chef Henri Charpentier, the future King Edward VII and a guest companion who was actually called Suzanne. 

Of course, we chose the Crêpe Suzette, which Gianni prepares in front of us with more theatre. Our receptionist joins for good measure, as does another waitress. The dish is prepared on a tall, antique silver stove with some pouring, some flourishing and a metre and a half blue flash flame which delights all concerned. Pancakes swim in orange butter sauce, chunks of orange lounge and a Tahitian Vanilla bean ice cream melts from the dish’s middle. My friend says it’s better than her mum’s which must be the biggest compliment a diner can make – just don’t tell the mum.

My mum never experimented with White Chocolate Mousse but I think she’d have struggled to match this one. The plate has a largely golden, orange palette wherein a quenelle of mango sorbet is flanked by two quenelles of white mousse as mango salsa, a thin and surprise layer of meringue, a smattering of white chocolate soil all add to the bravura. It’s a fantastic way to end an exceptional evening where a calm but intimate atmosphere is compounded with charismatic service and thrilling cooking. 

The post The Lansdowne Club – Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

Cocktails are mainly twists on classics, though the Basilica, less so. Gin, spiced pear, basil and lemon offer a refreshing sup with the basil revved up in a deceptive purple. My Fichi is, essentially, a fig infused negroni. It packs a heavy and pleasing punch with a lingering aniseed kick. A blood orange red in appearance, along with the Basilica, softer rouge with pink shade, the two look like they’re making a concerted effort to brighten the capital’s winter blues.

Starters are for sharing and three is the recommended portion for two. The Beef Tataki is a sight for sore eyes with taste and texture to match relevant organs. Seared on the outside, the steak is raw within and melts in the mouth. Chargrill adds character to the sourdough and a grapefruit does the same to a small but sprightly salad. Nestled in a large dollop of Greek yoghurt, the Tuna Tartar is less pure than many Mediterranean variations. Served with two za’atar crackers, it’s more of a dipping dish with pickled onions and chives offering an unexpected crunch. The Shrimp Falafel is visually the most playful, is literal in presentation with a crunchy fried prawn, tail and all, stuffed through a falafel; it looks like a crustacean on its way to an avant garde fancy dress party. Green and red dips add vibrancy and colour to the costume. My friend is allergic to shellfish but I happily consume both falafels. 

Ron, our sommelier, takes us expertly through the wine list and guides us towards a Christian Rouchier Syrah Aintraigue. It has a dark berry complexity and reminds of us those distant Christmas nights. The longer it decants, Ron explains, the better it tastes and each glass will be superior to the previous one. He’s not wrong and as he’s explaining all this, sous-chef Gal rushes from the kitchen to tell us he’s added a couple of tasting dishes to our mains. Along with Pantelis, the restaurant manager, who adds an infectiously happy presence, the three staff make for a perfect team brimming with enthusiasm, knowledge and affability. 

The Steak Bavette is warmer than our Beef Tataki but otherwise similar. We have no-one to blame except ourselves though, and, actually, no-one’s complaining. The steak is a sumptuous medium rare and blends with celeriac purée. The Turbot Steak is delicate and firm and swims amongst seasonal vegetables in a ras el hanout butter sauce. Of our side dishes, the Okra is a rich and exotic and could well be promoted to a main dish. With slow cooked tomatoes which verge towards ratatouille, a paprika aftertaste, a generous portion of creamy labneh and grated cheese, it’s a filling showstopper. A crispy leafed salad is crunchy and fresh; its beguiling pink leaves make it resemble a prototype for a Marc Quinn photograph or a Willy Wonka invention after Willy moved on from his chocolate factory. There’s also an unexotic baked potato which is well done and is spread with a smattering of garlic and dill butter. If nothing else, it wins our sympathy vote, sitting as it does, slightly lonely if not redundant on the side of our side dishes.  

My friend has to unzip her belt buckle a notch or two but doesn’t shy away from dessert or the Oremus late harvest Tokaji that Ron chooses for us. I usually opt for chocolate or caramel desserts but on this occasion am drawn to Malabi, a Middle Eastern rose flavoured milk pudding. It’s the right decision, is delicate and fragrant and reminds of a viscous Turkish delight.

What looks like fried plantain on its top is a swathe of crispy cinnamon. Pistachios, black berries, strawberries and candied nuts add to a refreshing and surprisingly light finale, something that can also be said, unexpectedly, about the date cake. Final preparations take place in front of us and it’s served on a black Swiss chalet type metal dish. There’s whiskey caramel, pecan crumble and a healthy dollop of coconut ice cream. Possessed of an intoxicating lightness, it has the comfort of a sticky toffee pudding with none of the density and works as perfect fuel for us to head back into the drippy February night.  

The post Claro London – Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.

Inside, the oblong restaurant is very much open and welcomes with an affectionate metaphorical embrace. All dark woods and curved, leather-bound chairs, it’s a cosy affair with dusky and atmospheric lighting, a mixture of pinpricks at the far end and diffused and hazy clusterings in the middle. Three arches behind the bar on the right show off an array of colourful bottles which lift the space’s otherwise monochromatic aesthetic. A clubby backbeat is present but sufficiently low-key to make it unobtrusive.

A lengthy table to our right looks like an office celebration that misjudged Christmas but, nonetheless, behaves itself admirably. Otherwise, tables are round and full of couples and friends keeping their counsel quietly and calmly. The cocktail list is extensive, mixing classics with signatures but the ‘Mixmaster 2024 Winners’ is perhaps the most tempting. A ‘Tyreece’ vies for attention with an ‘Angelos’ but both are outshone by a ‘Rebecca’ which has an ingredient this reviewer has never encountered in a cocktail before; Neck Oil Session IPA. Mixed with Tanqueray gin, camomile, cinnamon, honey, ginger and lemon it’s a curious and tempting prospect but my guest and I bottle it for bubbly alternatives. I hit the Joseph Perrier, Cuvée Royale from Chalons-en-Champagne and my companion mixes it up with a domestic Nyetimber Classic Cuvée from East Sussex. The former is dense, the latter light and frisky and needless to say both hit their exact mark. 

Wagtail doesn’t offer a specific remit regarding its cuisine, but newly appointed Executive Chef, Henrik Ritzen, who gained a Michelin Star after taking over the now defunct Aquavit, seems to offer a Danish approach to British fare. With Smoked beef tartare, Crab salad, Spatcock quail, starters isn’t an easy decision. The baked scallops are sold individually, but our waitress recommends two. Each is served in its own shell and is covered in a hearty garlic butter and parsley sauce, which could equally work with a bunch of snails. The scallops are sublime, soft and succulent, but don’t forget to order sourdough to dip into the garlic sauce once they’re gone.

The Crudo sea trout might be otherwise known as ceviche in summer months but slices are chunkier and more generous in portion. Served with criss-crossings of horseradish yoghurt, it might resemble a Japanese okonomiyaki but, naturally, tastes nothing like one. The sliced fennel adds one kind of crunchy texture, whilst caraway seeds add another. 

Strozzapreti with Winter truffle is a tough one to turn down for mains, but we do remain in a hearty, seasonal realm, especially with the Fallow Deer. Cut into slices and served with gravy and celeriac purée, it’s the flourish of cooked blackberries, however, which add a unique touch and a pleasing visual drama to the deer’s medium rare flesh. The purée is velvety and couldn’t be smoother and the deer is surprisingly tender for such game, doesn’t over-power, is almost subtle and benefits from an intriguing, close to fruity aftertaste. A British burger with chilli jelly also tempts but I opt for Filet Mignon instead, arguably a burger for the moneyed. It’s a bold, chunky piece of beef as dark as the January night with a slowly melting round portion of garlic and parsley butter on its top. What looks like a giant chip, but is actually a terrine made up of several thin slices of potato, accompanies. A red wine gravy surrounds both and for a good few minutes, our table falls silent as we appreciate our choices. 

The desert menu is short and, not surprisingly, sweet. With only three options beyond the standard cheese board and ice cream/sorbet selection, we still ask the Maître D’ for his advice. We eschew the Cardamon Pannacotta and Yorkshire Rhubarb for a Dark chocolate mousse with Seville orange curd. Sprinkled with chocolate crumbs, the mousse is light and foamy and nothing short of luxurious, whilst the curd is tart and tangy. It is, however, the Spiced pineapple, rum glaze and coconut sorbet which takes the dessert biscuit. Our Maître D’ told us this was special and in spite of its simplicity, he wasn’t wrong. Soaked in alcohol, the pineapple is intoxicating but gentle in its spiciness which tingles almost as an aftereffect. Mango foam adds to the party as do sliced almonds. Pure, subtle, natural, it tastes like a twist on tradition, a holiday in the Caribbean, a sign of times to come, hopefully, of a London summer and distracted nights on the Wagtail terrace.    

The post Wagtail – Restaurant Review appeared first on The Luxury Editor.