34 MAYFAIR
GROSVENOR SQUARE
LONDON
http://www.34-restaurant.co.uk/
34 Mayfair restaurant looks like it had always been there but it actually opened in November 2011 but now I struggle to remember what the building was ever used for; an office block I think? Certainly nothing as interesting as the restaurant now is.
There seemed to be something slightly absurd about the oversized piece of modern sculpture on the steps leading up to double black and glass doors as it looked humorous.
The mature doorman was from the ‘old school’ charming, friendly, non-judgmental, secure and very London; they don’t make men like this any more.
I walked across to the neat small welcome desk in an empty restaurant with staff busy preparing for service and waited to be noticed.
The room had tones of a Parisian French brasserie, a thirties luxury ship, London club and an art gallery all mixed together so essentially catering for a variety of tastes.
I noticed how Caprice Holdings (the owners) spared no expense or effort in getting every detail right and finding that magic ingredient that shouted ‘timeless’.
While half of restaurant interior designers rip out gorgeous old crafted bars and banquettes, people like Caprice Holdings seem to be installing them at every opportunity. There is ‘banquette war’ being waged in the capitol.
According to legend the Champagne coupe known as the first ‘Bol Sein’ was shaped around Marie Antoinette’s breast so the British artist Jane McAdam has now created a mould from Kate Moss’s left breast for a glass, which 34 Mayfair sell at £340 for two in a satin box. Kate is of slender frame so its hardly the DD cup of todays ample women therefore a very economic way of serving champagne.
Another contemporary twist is the 60 seater private Emin Room, with out the unmade famous Emin bed which always represented to me the deterioration of society and its wanton waste of money.
Richard Caring knows how to rope in the household big named artists but I suppose they do complement each other as a look.
“Thank God someone’s got some taste and isn’t trying to recreate Terminal 5,” I said to the room as I leaned on the desk like a statue trying to merge.
“What’s that? Are you being helped Madam?” said a nice clean black and white uniformed young person.
“Is Harvey Ayliffe here?” I asked and smiled knowing he might not be.
“I have the Italian truffles-perhaps if a sous chef is free please?” I followed him dragging the case ready for another performance on an otherwise empty stage.
“Something smells delicious,” I said sniffing the air and noticing a few staff eating in the corner before the lunch service began. It was a curry.
On the open kitchen counter bar I met a charming young man who was not Harvey but with a sense of authority beyond his years.
He sniffed and examined and inspected carefully and we talked truffle words to each other and we agreed on points.
“I had lunch here when you first opened all alone on that table for four and it was very nice,” I pointed to the corner table that had probably been given to me hoping someone would turn up.
I was very comfortable dining alone and tried to guess what Andrew Neil was discussing, with associates on the table opposite, across starched white tablecloths.
The waiter had recommended some dramatic desert, which I didn’t need and was a huge let down after two perfect first courses; it was my own fault as I should have quit eating while satiated and content. Another lesson learnt laden with unwanted calories.
As I left, the stage was set for the players to arrive, but for now the air was still and sweetened by the scent of a delicious curry, that probably wasn’t even on the menu.
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