Crafty Daphne's turns to Jesus

This review was first published in January 2002

I am old enough to have witnessed the birth of the Mogens Tholstrup phenomenon. I remember when he was a Scandinavian playboy who had dabbled in furniture design and photography before opening a small restaurant in Soho. Then, in the early Nineties, he made-over an old Chelsea trat called Daphne's and effectively launched the It-Girl thing.

Tholstrup split up with his wife and went out with Tara P-T then Lady V; flogged his restaurants to the Belgo group; embarked on some internet venture or other and has now taken well-deserved early retirement from public life. Good luck to him.

The only thing is that this left Daphne's stuck in a bit of a time warp. Like Tholstrup, most of the early-Nineties crowd have gone into rehab or retirement. So Belgo took a radical step and called in Jesus, ma?tre d' at Le Caprice and, for my money, the best front-of-house man in Central London.

Jesus is Le Caprice, but can he be Daphne's as well? I greeted the news with dismay. Le Caprice is my Central London canteen - consistent, cost-effective and comfortable. Spread Jesus too thin and... well, we'll have to wait and see.

Maybe Belgo is pinning its hopes on Daphne's to give the share price a bit of a lift. As well as drafting in Jesus to sharpen up the operation at Daphne's, there is a Daphne's in Barbados that has been eccentrically attached to Tamarind Cove, not exactly the most glamorous hotel on the Platinum Coast. I wonder where it will lead: Daphne's Dubai? Daphne's Moscow?

But back to Chelsea. Although the restaurant still looks pretty much as it did in Tara P-T's day - umber walls, a bit of exposed brickwork, internal olive tree, and outside-inside garden room at the back - there is that extra, indefinable Jesus touch. He manages to bring about a sense of calm, charming efficiency and it was only slightly marred by the fact that the two glasses of champagne ordered were corked.

I am not saying that the champagne is never corked at Le Caprice; I am just saying that I have never been served any. And the success of The Ivy and Le Caprice resides in the detail. My friend was unable to get any salt out of the grinder. Not in itself a big thing and the sort of event that would pass unremarked in any other restaurant. However, when the man who runs Le Caprice is involved, one has high expectations.

But when it came to the food these were met. A spaghetti dish of prawns and herbs was the sort of starter you hoover up greedily before anyone else has a chance to try it. My salad of calamari, rocket and basil was almost as good. Other dishes of San Daniele ham and pickled (almost caramelised) onions and mozzarella salad were the sort of acid-test starters that have to be done well or not at all. Happily, they were good.

The only main course that disappointed was the pheasant; it was no more than adequate. However, the fritto di mare, a deluxe fried-fish platter including a battered and deep-fried half lobster, was delicious, served with a quite brilliant sauce that had the piquancy of sauce tartare, but the pigmentation of sauce Marie Rose.

Also there were deep-fried strips of zucchini, a welcome side order that was a valiant attempt to match the quality of those served at Harry's Bar. Other acid-test mains were the spaghetti pomodoro - correctly coarse in its consistency - and sea bass that was nudging £20 a plate but did not leave you wanting your money back.

I was relieved that my oenologically demanding friend was surprisingly pleased by a £32 bottle of Chianti - he is never really happy unless he has spent £50 on a bottle in a restaurant. I ordered a small bread and butter pudding made with panettone that had Le Caprice written all over it.