Hush: something to shout about

This review was published in May 2001

The first time I visited Hush I was not impressed.

The look of the place was sleek, sexy and entirely unlike the staff uniforms, which were allegedly from Versace yet made the staff look like janitors in an American airport.

As far as I remember they even ran out of rocket and Parmesan salad, a high-margin item of which you can sell bucket-loads in and around Bond Street. I daresay I was also a little chippy about the fact that one of the partners in the restaurant was Geoffrey Moore, a man I took to be a dilettante rich kid.

Two things have made me change my mind: first, Geoffrey and I share a hairdresser, a tonsorial artist of the first order, Brent Pankhurst at Adam's. And from time to time as we bumped into each other at the grooming salon, Geoffrey was unfailingly polite, charming even. It was disarming.

The other powerful force to alter my opinion was the intervention of Simon and Nicky, the Dish Duo, the Butch and Sundance, the Crockett and Tubbs, the Woodward and Bernstein of the London party scene.

Simon kept telling me what a great guy Geoffrey was and how all three of us shared a fondness for the outrageous shirts of Signor Galasso of Interno 8. Moreover, he kept bombarding me with unrealistic stories of nights out at Hush with Lady V, Andy W, Dylan J and, ever one for the contrapuntal name-drop, Hammer Horror hall-of-famer Christopher Lee.

I took Simon at his word and am glad that I did, because Geoffrey is a super guy and shortly before Christmas he asked me to dinner at which the guest of honour was, yes, the mighty Haslam.

The quondam Chelsea decorator turned London-wide-celebrity and all-round cultural icon regaled the table with anecdotes concerning his early years in Hollywood, and all of us, including Geoffrey's dad, 007, and the great Johnny Gold creator of Tramp, sat in rapt admiration at his skills as a wit and raconteur.

It was like having dinner with someone who had the conversational dexterity of Wilde, the wit of Sheridan, the oratorical skills of the lead of one of Shakespeare's history plays and the dress sense of Sid Vicious with a hangover. I even think that Giorgio Armani, who was entertaining on the next table, which had become free after Puff Daddy had to cancel, rather benefited from overhearing some of Nicky's aper?us.

An unexpected bonus was the presence of Henry Harris in the kitchen. He had just joined from the Harvey Nichols restaurant group and went out of his way to impress with a multi-course banquet that left all around the table stunned.

It was about time that Hush got itself a good chef and although in the past I have seemed to think that Harris's food has been a little offal-heavy for my liking, his food seems to have mellowed out - or I have.