Footman worth a punt

I met Barnaby, owner of The Only Running Footman, and his wife Penelope in a harbour-front restaurant in Portofino; we bonded over the delicacy of the ravioli and the loveliness of my Marni bag. And if that little opener doesn’t make you want to punch my lights out, you’re a better person than I am.

If it’s any consolation, I proceeded to get so almightily hammered on local rosé that I ended up doing my finest impression of chav Brit abroad, platforms akimbo, comatose outside a picturesque waterside enoteca.

Why am I telling you this anyway? In the spirit of full disclosure, I suppose: I never usually have anything to do with restaurateurs on the grounds that it might cause me at least a dose of unfortunate karma, at worst a bloody nose. I liked Barnaby, I liked Penelope, and I’m a fan
of their existing outfits, Islington’s The House and (to a lesser degree) The Bull in Highgate.

But I don’t want anyone to think that their generosity with the old rosato might in any way influence my opinion of this, The Meredith Group’s latest and most ambitious offering. Apart from anything else – and for some strange reason - I haven’t seen them since.

Mayfair is currently in the throes of a major culinary moment: the arrival of the estimable Wild Honey; Michelin-starred Hibiscus is about to arrive from Shropshire; Parisian superstar Alain Ducasse is on his way to The Dorchester. There are rumours that fellow Parisian mega-chef Alain Passard of triple-starred Arpège might be landing in Angela Hartnett’s recently vacated perch in The Connaught.

While I’m not suggesting that the Footman is in the same league, it’s definitely an asset to an area not overburdened with accessible, nonchainey, reasonably priced places to eat. The compact inside of this lovelylooking building goes up and up. There’s a pub – with decent pub grub such as omelette Arnold Bennett and beer-battered fish with chips and ‘proper mushy peas’ on the ground floor; a small dining room done out in deliciously restrained style on the first; private dining and ‘events’ on the third.

The top floor will be used as a cookery school and chef’s kitchen, which might sound a touch hubristic until you realise that in-house chef Jeremy Hollingsworth has already been twinkled by Michelin during his stint at Quo Vadis. Though Hollingsworth may have turned his back on such stellar intentions (his menus are admirably straightforward), it’s clear that he’s no slouch.

The menu offers an inviting mix of robustness and sophistication: so you get mixed grill with everything from Woburn Estate bacon to Elwy Valley lamb kidneys on the one hand and scallop and-crab sausage with spinach and champagne sauce on the other.

It’s all about attention to detail. Tagliatelle in a rich dish of langoustines with sauce cardinal (a lobstery béchamel) and 'nut brown butter' – aka beurre noisette – was splendid, toothsome stuff.

The shyly titled sweet wine jelly that surrounded a terrine of foie gras with green peppercorns tasted as though it had been made with a first rate sticky dessert wine, maybe Sauternes. A deceptively simple salad featured great cheese (Dorset Blue), pear, crisp, clean endive and a light, nutty dressing.