Just about all White at Drones

This review was first published in February 2001

Drones, in Belgravia, is one of those places that is a microcosm of much that has happened to London restaurants in the past two decades.

I first came into contact with it when it was still part-owned by Nicky Kerman; it was then a sort of smart, Belgravia burger bar. I hope I do not do it too much of a disservice with such a description, but even those who have the fondest of memories of it from those days would be pushed to call it a 'destination dining-room'. It was more the sort of place you went on a Sunday night when you got back from the country, and found there was nothing in the fridge to eat.

Then it changed hands, and was reopened under the aegis of Antony Worrall Thompson, who was wheeled in to shake Drones out of the Sloaney torpor into which it had slumped. He recreated it as what could be called a pan-Mediterranean brasserie. The d?cor was Daphne's meets The Magic Roundabout with a touch of Swedish sauna - and a tree in the basement.

It then pottered along under Annie Foster Firth, reverting to its Belgravia roots, and adding a deli at the side that became more and more like a convenience store.

Now it has been reborn as another outpost of the Marco Pierre White empire. Marco is a big bloke who scares the living daylights out of me. He is also a uniquely gifted and uniquely temperamental chef, but these days he has demonstrated that he is also a supremely competent restaurateur.

I think that the pressures of being a businessman have turned him into a quieter, mellower human being. Moreover, like all good rockers of a certain age, he is metamorphosing into a country gent - Squire Marco. From the Jagger of the Aga he is becoming the Lord of the Larder. On the Monday lunchtime that I visited Drones he was off shooting.

The current owner not available, I was at least able to go with the son of a previous part-owner, Roger Moore. Geoffrey Moore was my lunch date, and he was able to tell me how the place had changed since he came here for his second birthday party in the Sixties - namely, beyond all recognition.

This was his first Marco Pierre White experience and, as it was, I was not disappointed for him. What arrives in the way of food neither moves one to poetry nor to complain. It is smart, slightly complex, modern yet classically inspired French food of a type that can be found in many London restaurants - most of which belong to Squire Marco.

We both ate off the set-lunch menu that was, for the surroundings, the service and the quality of food, remarkably good value at £14.95 for two courses. The compote of salmon and cauliflower arrived looking a little like a cheeseburger topped with caviar. It was very tasty. The roast skate wing grenobloise was technically faultless, generously proportioned and garnished with a neat pile of leaves.

There is a good deal of regionally specific preparation going down at Drones these days: salade ? la russe, gratin?e normande, blinis ? la moscovite, smoked haddock ? la dieppoise, roast poulet noir ? l'anglaise, grilled calf's liver ? la lyonnaise. And as well as this geographic specificity, there is a sense of precision about the way the food is plated here that shows Marco's vision is ably translated to the table.

Nevertheless, there is the sense that this is a part of a chain - a themed restaurant in the style of Marco Pierre White. There is a formula at work, and it goes something like this. Take the menu that you might find at the Mirabelle or the Belvedere, the customary show-off wine list (Ornellaia, Domaine de la Roman?e-Conti, Cheval Blanc etc), and the David Collins d?cor, with touches like the diamond-patterned, stained-glass windows to evoke The Ivy or Quo Vadis. To complete the picture, add thoroughly competent waiting staff, whom one knows vaguely from other fashionable restaurants around town.