Black out at the Electric

This review was published in July 2002

I had hoped I would like the Electric Brasserie. I know one of the principal shareholders. However, things did not get off to a great start. I turned up having booked a table for what I thought was 8pm but what the Electric thought was 7.30. I sat grumpily at the bar while the sweet young ma?tresse d' went to consult her manager to see if we could occupy a table intended for four.

Unlike the man from Del Monte, the manager said no, doubtless hoping to maximise his profit by seating four people at some stage. So we wound up sitting in the bar, on a tin-topped table the size of a dartboard, tantalisingly close to the restaurant, which for the duration of our wait had several empty tables.

The place looks like a cross between the D?me and Eyre Brothers in Clerkenwell, a case of posh trying hard not to be. The menu owes a fair bit to Sir Terence Conran. It was doubtless homage ? Sir Terence that the menu boasted a section entitled 'seafood' with the usual crustacean offerings, from which my wife chose six langoustines, only five of which arrived.

Missing langoustine aside, the food was good. There were no complaints about a dish of smoked eel, a duck cottage pie (cassoulet with a mashed-potato lid) and a roast peppered skate that really did taste gratifyingly peppery. Doubtless out of deference to the number of ex-public-school trustafarians who have settled in Notting Hill, the list of puddings included Eton Mess, which I eschewed in favour of 'rice pudding cr?me br?l?e'.

This would be more accurately described as 'rice pudding topped with a chewy layer of caramelised sugar' and on those terms I quite liked it.

As I left, I saw a lobster twitching on the crushed ice of the crustacea counter and was overcome by pity that it should end its days surrounded by a crowd of trendies listening to music that sounded like it had been compiled by a heroin addict.

As well as the brasserie, there is a cinema and a private members' club, which I think ought to be called Notting Hill House. The Electric Brasserie is not for me; however, I am sure it will do extremely well. I would rather be an investor than a customer.

The Electric Brasserie
Portobello Road, London, W11 2ED