Deca-dent dining in Mayfair

This review was first published in July 2002

Anyone who ate at the little-lamented Firebird would have a hard time recognising it now that Nico Ladenis has his mitts on it. Before, it was a comic pastiche of townhouse grandeur: drapes, dim lighting and hilariously fake oil paintings. Now, as Deca, it's a whole new ball game.

The upstairs room (make sure you're not consigned to the far less interesting ground floor) is suffused with urban light from a striking fullwall window half-shielded with a gossamer-fine blind. Furnishings are neutral and comfortable: the inevitable chocolate-leather banquettes - it is, of course, a David Collins makeover - and air of unshowy luxury give it a very grown-up feel.

In fact, it's altogether grown-up: I love places such as these - they make you feel like a naughty schoolgirl out on the razz with Pa's credit card.

Ladenis, although very much the èminence grise nowadays (he's 'retired' from the kitchen to pastures more temperate), has always been a cyclonic force in the food world and, even backstage, he casts a long shadow. The staff at Deca seem rather timid and overeager to please. They lurk over your table, visit often with solicitous inquiries and generally make you wish they'd chill out a little.

The chef, Paul Rhodes - ex-Chez Nico where he was instrumental in garnering three Michelin stars, another one of which he went on to win in his own right - hovered at the entrance as we left, asking for feedback. You get the impression that Ladenis's team lives in fear that the great man, cloak swirling and facial hair akimbo, might spring on them from behind a column, like the silent-movie baddie he so closely resembles.

OK, so early days. Everyone's entitled to be a little twitchy. But, really, they've no need. Deca's quite marvellous with a splendid menu: one of those where you have to send the staff packing because you simply can't make up your mind. As you can imagine, this distressed them somewhat. Starters - from £7 to £14 - included foie gras in terrine (we had an amuse bouche of this set on the thinnest toast triangle; it was perfect) or seared with orange and brioche; an evolved prawn cocktail; scallops; even Parma ham and figs.

Main courses - around the £15 mark - include organic beef two ways: with frites and hollandaise or with a mustard and tarragon sauce. There's duck breast with ginger and peppercorns, lemon sole, fat ribbons of pasta with veal ragout - this is food you really want to eat.

My starter of langoustines - rosily plump, sweet and fresh - encased in pasta was the kind of dish I could embarrass myself over. The pasta was testament to how glorious this mundane staple can be: soft, silky and tender as a baby's bum, but with a deeply seductive bite. Its accompanying lobster sauce demonstrated a depth of flavour only achieved through the reduction of a blinding stock.

An asparagus risotto - which appeared suspiciously quickly - defied our mistrust by being equally impressive: nutty, firm, creamy and a glorious shade of eau de nil. Corn-fed chicken with real taste was given ample support by its accompanying girolles and ravioli of foie gras - this managed to be gutsy, earthy and refined.

Great petit pois a la Franćais (with that authentic, slightly greyish tinge), excellent hollandaise sauce on viridian broccoli and superlative chips; in fact, with the exception of some sterling John Dory that had had the subtlety punched out of it by rather too much overwhelming thyme, this was a meal from a chef of real ability. Slightly conservative, maybe, but I'm turned on by that nowadays. Look to your laurels, Mirabelle: the new kid in Mayfair is likely to provide some seriously stiff competition.

Top Fives: Restaurant makeovers

Deca
23Conduit Street, Mayfair, London, W1S 2XS