The Bear and I managed to wangle a free lunch at Quaglino’s the other day through a very nice website that I use a lot but shall not name.
I first experienced Quaglino’s when I was ten years old, when the whole family decamped there for my mum’s fortieth birthday. That meal has remained in my psyche since. My ten year-old-self was awed by the sweeping marble staircase, the ultra chic black and white décor and the shear glamour of the restaurant. Plus I had the most amazing cod, which had crisps skin that I can still taste.
Quaglino’s had a lot to live up to, what with my childhood memories and that. Initially, everything went very well. We walked through the unassuming glass doors on Bury Street and down the first set of stairs where the Maître d met us. We were led to our table down the staircase to the massive floor below. The restaurant wasn’t even a quarter full, but then it was Wednesday afternoon, so I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. The atmosphere was slightly lacking.
The actual restaurant had retained some of the glamour that stained my memory, but the huge columns that lined the room and surrounded the glass ceiling, were decorated in rather odd, colourful prints, that didn’t add anything at all. I may be being artistically dense, but it didn’t work for me.
The centre of the room was lined with beautiful white vases full to bursting with thick red roses, which suited the black and white tables much better.
We were seated and given the free set menu. There was a choice of three dishes for each course, which was adequate. The service was brisk but pleasant and within five minutes we had ordered our drinks and food.
Whilst waiting for the first course, a rather disagreeable aural sensation started to take hold. After straining our ears to distinguish what on earth it was we could hear, we realised, to our astonishment, that yes, it was lift music. “Please make it stop” ran through my head a few times throughout the course of the meal. Why do restaurants, especially of this calibre, insist on pumping insipid, irritating and totally unnecessary Casio-dribble into the room? Silence is golden. Chatter is charming. Funky jazz is wrong. What a shame.
Our starters came, and I was delighted with my goat’s cheese and caramelised onion tart. The pastry was dense but not too thick, and the portion was very generous. The filling was creamy with a good balance between the two components. The Bear went for the ham hock terrine with sauce gribeche. His words were “It’s nice, like spam”. I think this is a verbal thumbs up, but I can’t be sure.
The main was just as good. I went for a crustade of asparagus, with poached egg and hollandaise sauce. Although it was a little on the cold side, the asparagus was tender, the pastry was full of butter and the sauce was delicate. Very good indeed.
The Bear went for the chicken bourguignon with mashed potato. He was pleased, and the small amount of mash that I sampled was fab. Lots of butter and very creamy.
The food had come thick and fast up until now, so it was a little disappointing to be kept waiting for our desert, but it was worth waiting for.
I went for the lemon tart (god I ate a lot of pastry that day!), which was good. But not as good as the caramelised lemon tart I had at Lindsey House in Eye. Could do better.
The Bear had the Peach Melba. My god, it was a masterpiece. Fresh whipped vanilla cream, homemade ice cream, oozing fresh poached peaches and lots and lots of naughtiness. It worth going to Quaglino’s just for this. If you go, you should get one, it’s on the a la carte menu.
Nicely full, but not bursting, it was time to get the bill. Now, please bear in mind that this was a freebie and therefore does not accurately reflect the actual cost of the food. We paid for three courses, a glass of wine each, a bottle of mineral water and service, £16. What a joke!!
In the real world you can expect to pay at least another £50 on top of that, if you’re being conservative with the booze.
All in all, the food was good, the service was ok, and the décor was ok. I would probably go back. But please oh please, sort out the music. It spoilt an otherwise splendid afternoon.
I first experienced Quaglino’s when I was ten years old, when the whole family decamped there for my mum’s fortieth birthday. That meal has remained in my psyche since. My ten year-old-self was awed by the sweeping marble staircase, the ultra chic black and white décor and the shear glamour of the restaurant. Plus I had the most amazing cod, which had crisps skin that I can still taste.
Quaglino’s had a lot to live up to, what with my childhood memories and that. Initially, everything went very well. We walked through the unassuming glass doors on Bury Street and down the first set of stairs where the Maître d met us. We were led to our table down the staircase to the massive floor below. The restaurant wasn’t even a quarter full, but then it was Wednesday afternoon, so I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. The atmosphere was slightly lacking.
The actual restaurant had retained some of the glamour that stained my memory, but the huge columns that lined the room and surrounded the glass ceiling, were decorated in rather odd, colourful prints, that didn’t add anything at all. I may be being artistically dense, but it didn’t work for me.
The centre of the room was lined with beautiful white vases full to bursting with thick red roses, which suited the black and white tables much better.
We were seated and given the free set menu. There was a choice of three dishes for each course, which was adequate. The service was brisk but pleasant and within five minutes we had ordered our drinks and food.
Whilst waiting for the first course, a rather disagreeable aural sensation started to take hold. After straining our ears to distinguish what on earth it was we could hear, we realised, to our astonishment, that yes, it was lift music. “Please make it stop” ran through my head a few times throughout the course of the meal. Why do restaurants, especially of this calibre, insist on pumping insipid, irritating and totally unnecessary Casio-dribble into the room? Silence is golden. Chatter is charming. Funky jazz is wrong. What a shame.
Our starters came, and I was delighted with my goat’s cheese and caramelised onion tart. The pastry was dense but not too thick, and the portion was very generous. The filling was creamy with a good balance between the two components. The Bear went for the ham hock terrine with sauce gribeche. His words were “It’s nice, like spam”. I think this is a verbal thumbs up, but I can’t be sure.
The main was just as good. I went for a crustade of asparagus, with poached egg and hollandaise sauce. Although it was a little on the cold side, the asparagus was tender, the pastry was full of butter and the sauce was delicate. Very good indeed.
The Bear went for the chicken bourguignon with mashed potato. He was pleased, and the small amount of mash that I sampled was fab. Lots of butter and very creamy.
The food had come thick and fast up until now, so it was a little disappointing to be kept waiting for our desert, but it was worth waiting for.
I went for the lemon tart (god I ate a lot of pastry that day!), which was good. But not as good as the caramelised lemon tart I had at Lindsey House in Eye. Could do better.
The Bear had the Peach Melba. My god, it was a masterpiece. Fresh whipped vanilla cream, homemade ice cream, oozing fresh poached peaches and lots and lots of naughtiness. It worth going to Quaglino’s just for this. If you go, you should get one, it’s on the a la carte menu.
Nicely full, but not bursting, it was time to get the bill. Now, please bear in mind that this was a freebie and therefore does not accurately reflect the actual cost of the food. We paid for three courses, a glass of wine each, a bottle of mineral water and service, £16. What a joke!!
In the real world you can expect to pay at least another £50 on top of that, if you’re being conservative with the booze.
All in all, the food was good, the service was ok, and the décor was ok. I would probably go back. But please oh please, sort out the music. It spoilt an otherwise splendid afternoon.
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