Greenhouse counts on Collins

This article was first published in December 2001

I am not sure that I ever really got the hang of the Greenhouse. It was, well, a bit Eighties. Not in a Breakfast Club, Frankie Goes to Hollywood sort of way, but more of a pompous merchant banker with blazer buttons the size of CDs sort of way. Not that I have got anything against big blazer buttons.

The Greenhouse is a strange location for a restaurant: it is in the half basement of a block of flats in a Mayfair mews and until the late Seventies it was a club-restaurant for the apartments upstairs. Then it was acquired by the Levin family, Knightsbridge hoteliers and owners of the Capital. The Greenhouse became famous as the place that launched Gary Rhodes, the Nigel Kennedy of the cooker, and if you are old enough to remember Nigel Kennedy you can probably remember when Gary and his spiky hairdo were as chic as Jamie Oliver was last year.

Gary Rhodes has moved on to gastro-stardom of a sort, appearing in advertisements for sugar, and the Greenhouse, too, has moved on, shedding its merchant banker decor and getting a brand spanking new makeover from, yes, you guessed it - Sir David Collins.

Sir David gets grander and grander with each passing month as his name becomes increasingly synonymous with restaurant design in the early 21st century. Everyone from Marco Pierre White to the Savoy Group has been influenced by the work of this man who is a sort of cross between Elton John and Father Ted. However, what is truly impressive about him is that he manages to come up with a different look for each restaurant and bar that he does and yet also sustains an identifiable David Collins signature.

The Greenhouse is no exception: walls are covered with a comfortingly retrospective palm-frond-meets-pampas-grass wallpaper; there are slatted screens accessorised with small reflective disks, smart leather chairs in an interesting shade of eau de nil, a nice bar, a panelled leather floor that has a faintly reptilian feel to it, nice glass door handles and all the other touches for which Sir David is rightly famous. He has done a very nice job, and there is a charming little paved garden area that leads to the entrance of the restaurant, but there is no escaping the fact that the Greenhouse is in a basement in a mews in Mayfair and therefore not the hottest and hippest of destinations.

On the Sunday night I visited, the place was half full almost entirely with Americans; it was pleasantly reminiscent to hear shrill American voices piercing the Mayfair night. And I had forgotten the style vagaries of Americans.

One couple particularly caught my attention: the man looked like an extra from Dallas, while the woman was clad in clothes that did little for her ample frame, but she was brandishing a tartan handbag that was adorned with a pair of green teddy bears. It was worth going just to see that quite remarkable piece of luggage - for all I know, it might have been a special commission from Louis Vuitton.

Sunday night is obviously hotel guest night and there is even a special menu that is served from noon to nine in the evening, a sort of rolling brunch that really is rather good. It offers exactly the sort of competently prepared, undemanding, reassuring food you want on a Sunday. I had a lovely white, flaky, moist chunk of cod in a light, fluffy batter with a truly excellent tangy sauce tartare. My wife toyed elegantly with a dish of pasta quills and cherry vine tomatoes that looked delicious and, as the strapline goes, nutritious. Equally delicious, if not quite so healthy, was a dish ? well, more of a bowl really ? of hot doughnuts, accompanied by strawberry jam (more of a coulis) and almond ice-cream. The doughnuts were the size of golf balls: light, airy, sugary and addictive.

The Greenhouse staff and PR people were at pains to point out that the Sunday menu bears no resemblance to the sort of things served during the week, which I think is a pity as the simplicity, informality and fair pricing of the Sunday menu is a model that many restaurants would do well to follow: we got away with around £50 for two with a glass of wine, teas and so on.

Sure enough, the daily ? la carte menu is full of stuff aimed at the Michelin man: for example, starter of terrine of rabbit and foie gras press?, celeriac and mustard remoulade, apple jelly and hazelnut oil; then a main of breast of guinea fowl with a herb and cornbread stuffing, served with truffled leg of guinea fowl and smoked sausage pie. The prices also match the Michelin aims at around £10 for starters and £20 for mains.

My advice would be to hit the place on a Sunday and settle in for the day with fish'n'chips, a plate of doughnuts and the chance of spotting some of the strangest handbags ever seen in the West End.