1837 at Brown's Hotel, The Savoy Grill
IT IS ODD how hotel dining-rooms almost invariably remain hotel dining-rooms, whatever may be done to them. Given any number of make-overs and refurbishments, the impression persists of eating in a resi- dential establishment, with none of the atmosphere and 'buzz' that one expects and generally experiences in a top-class restau- rant. It is possibly linked to the fact that such rooms are rarely full, and that a fair proportion of the tables will be occupied by folk staying in the hotel, rather than out- siders coming in for a meal, which of itself produces a more sedate atmosphere.
With this in mind I decided to visit the recently opened 1837 restaurant at Brown's Hotel in Dover Street, now owned by Raf- fles International of Singapore, to see whether the much publicised refurbishment of the dining-room had made a difference. Eighteen thirty-seven is of course the year when the young Queen Victoria ascended the throne, and also the year when, accord- ing to the PR blurb, Brown's in Mayfair founded the first public dining-room in London. I went to lunch there with my gas- tronomic accomplice, Flora Harvey, choos- ing lunch rather than dinner as being the meal we thought would give the restaurant a better chance of bustling.
In the event, we sat at one of just four occupied tables in the large room through- out our meal, and the atmosphere remained as dead as a dodo. This was not merely because of the emptiness. Rich- mond International's design has produced decor that one would have expected in a four-star hotel in the Midlands — say Coventry, or Leicester — but did little for Mayfair. A hectically patterned carpet — presumably to hide stains — heavy curtains and luridly coloured seating strewn with cushions in yet another pattern made for an unstylish ambience and, combined with the room's emptiness, added little to our enjoy- ment.
A pleasant touch was the magnum of champagne reposing in a large, circular ice- bucket at the entrance, and we duly ordered two glasses of Henriot (at a steep £7.50 a glass) while we studied the menu. The a la carte was seriously expensive, and though the set lunch at £27 for three cours- es and coffee was hardly bargain basement, it offered better value, so we took it. It was not especially well compiled, offering three alternatives per course, the choice of main course lying between two cuts of roast lamb, or fish. To start Flora went for gravadlax, and I chose terrine de canard au foie gras, and to follow Flora opted for the roast fillet of lamb from the oven, and I decided to try the roast saddle on the trol- ley — or `chariot' as it was pretentiously described. Flora's gravadlax was a generous portion of well-cured salmon with a large blob of sour cream and chives in its centre: simple and enjoyable. My terrine was inter- esting: a meaty blend with two ample strips of foie gras running through it, surrounded by a pleasingly unctuous sauternes jelly, a dish which showed the young English chef Gregory Nicholson — ex-Ortolan, ex- Gavroche, ex-Marco-Pierre White — at his most dextrous.
Flora's next course maintained this high standard: lovely, pink-roasted noisettes of young lamb, still on the bone, accompanied by a fine, gazpacho-like gami of ratatouille. My lamb was less successful. Leave a joint on a covered trolley and it steams. In this empty room, where the lid was all too rarely raised, it had. Slices of grey, tired meat with an indifferent stuffing were not enjoyable, nor were the greasy boulangere potatoes, even less appetising for having lurked too long beneath the trolley's dome. Haricots verts came separately, but were equally undistinguished. The question 'Did you enjoy it?' from staff as the plates were 'I'm the bouncer.' cleared did little to restore my humour. A good '88 Medoc, fairly priced at £25, gave pleasure, as did the excellent cheese board from which I chose roquefort, livarot and two varieties of goat, all highly enjoyable. Flora was equally happy with her gratin of strawberries with good vanilla ice cream. Lunch may not have been an uplifting experience in this cavernous room, and there were flaws as noted, but the staff tried hard, and the price of £94 all-in, for a top Mayfair hotel, cannot really be criti- cised. I would not, however, hurry back.
In marked contract to 1837, the Savoy Grill buzzes with life, and a sense of being full of London's movers and shakers, though mainly male ones. I invited the edi- tor to join me there for lunch, thinking he might enjoy a change from Simpson's next door. The room was full and the service slightly harassed, though impeccably polite. The Grill's lunch menu is a la carte but offers two dishes from the trolley each day, ours, on Thursday, having roast rib of beef with Yorkshire pudding, or cold poached salmon with watercress mayonnaise, nei- ther of which we chose.
The editor began with lobster cappuccino (9). I told him to expect a light broth with pieces of lobster and a foaming top. I was wrong: an entirely ordinary lobster soup — acceptable but undistinguished — arrived, and the matter of trade descriptions was mulled over. I chose feuillete of asparagus with boiled eggs and truffle sabayon (£13), which might have been delicious had it been served hot but, after a substantial wait, arrived stone cold. The waiter was mortified when this was pointed out to him (surely he should have known?), and, decently, the item did not appear on the bill. We moved on to omelette Arnold Ben- nett in the editor's case, and roast wood pigeon with peas and bacon in mine.
The editor's judgment on his omelette of creamed smoked haddock was succinct. 'Good, perfectly acceptable, but Mirabelle's sets a standard against which all omelettes Arnold Bennett must be com- pared, and this one was deficient.' It cost £3 more than the Mirabelle's, too. My pigeon was distinctly good — nicely pink, plump, on a bed of spinach, with strips of streaky bacon and a dumpling stuffed with mushy peas, surrounded by an intense, gamy sauce. I ended with an undistinguished pineapple dessert from a very ancien regime trolley, and with San Pellegrino, a half-bot- tle of Rully and coffee, the bill, without ser- vice or asparagus, came to just under £80. In the eyes of captains of commerce and industry, even spin doctors and lobbyists, of whom we saw none, I suppose it represents fair value.
1837: Brown's Hotel, Dover Street, London Wl; tel: 0171 518 4121. Closed Saturday lunch and Sunday.
The Savoy Grill: Savoy Hotel, Strand, Lon- don WC2; tel: 0171 836 4343. Closed Satur- day lunch and Sunday.
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