All in the stars at Twelfth House

This review was published in May 2001

'Good evening, ladies,' said our waiter, 'and what are your star signs?' Welcome to the cosmic world of Notting Hill's Twelfth House, a restaurant dedicated to all things celestial. Not only do you get a little card telling you all about yourself (as usual, the first thing on my Taurus one was 'food'; how well they know me) but on the menu, after the puddings, are such delicacies as 'Tarot card reading' and 'Astrological birth chart'.

It's a delightfully pretty spot, its golden hallway hung with a myriad mirrors, bronze gauze drapes the windows and there's an intriguing automated clock in the downstairs bar. With all the quirkiness, you might expect the food to come a poor second to the cosmos. In fact, it's mostly rather good. We ate upstairs, in the 'fine dining' bit, and thoroughly enjoyed starters of caramelised onion and goats' cheese tart - actually, toffeefied would've been more accurate - and marinated mackerel.

Slow-roasted duck with red cabbage was terrific, as was a staggeringly huge rhubarb crumble. The only duff note was provided by a curiously flavourless and overcooked rib-eye steak with jumbo chips, arranged jenga-style, and a worrying dollop of what appeared to be watercress-flavoured plasticine whose shape retained the imprint of the chef's palm.

Sadly, we didn't know that nobody would be available to do a reading for us on the night we visited, nor that the restaurant was non-smoking, nor that last orders for drinks - even though we'd eaten - were at 11 o'clock. Should've checked the crystal ball.

Twelfth House
35 Pembridge Road, W11