Making a meal of it at Innecto

This review was published in October 2001

Stepping inside the giant woven dome that fills Innecto felt a little like walking into an upended version of chicken in the basket - that 1970s staple of every self-respecting bar menu. According to our waitress, the name means 'to weave' in Italian, hence the MDF basket effect.

Nothing as unpretentious as chicken is served in this joint, however, where Parmesan sauce comes billed as 'parmigiano-reggiano custard' and broccoli is rejected for the more glamorous 'sauteed rapini'. The choice is yours whether to keep quiet and feel stupid or ask one of the chaotic staff to translate.

We decided to work it out for ourselves; after all, we could hardly hear each other above the booming bass beat ricocheting off the wooden weave and the conversations of our uncomfortably close neighbours, let alone anyone else.

To start, I chose a quail terrine, which was unexpectedly light and fresh, a carefully layered and well-textured mix with oven-dried tomatoes, mushrooms and a pepper sauce. My friend David was less fortunate - his angel hair pasta with spinach and lobster oil was bland, while the sauteed scampi on top were small and tough. Bread - nasty, white and woolly - was only offered when the starters had arrived.

My next course was just as poor - the sauteed scallops had been cooked for too long on too low a heat, while the 'crabmeat brik' was so unmemorable I simply have no recollection of it at all. David enjoyed his pheasant breast with a pork knuckle filling, which, though salty, came in a well-made hazelnut sauce. The sauteed rapini was off so, to accompany the food, we ordered a delicious potato gratin, some dreadfully over-done rostis - which came with frazzled pancetta - and a dull rocket salad.

After such rich food, the dessert menu offered no cheese or palate-clearing respite. We tried a Valrhona chocolate cake and plum bavarois, both of which promised more than they delivered.

With two espressos, a bottle of Gavi Di Gavi, water and one G&T in the dingy downstairs bar, the bill came to almost £130, a shocking amount for the quality of the meal. We also spotted mistakes - one starter had been charged as a main course and an unordered Coke had crept on to the list.

After much head scratching, the manager decided the Coke was actually the wrongly labelled tonic for the G&T (you might have thought £4.20 for a shot of gin was steep enough to cover a smidgen of tonic). When we hesitated in blank amazement he lunged at the bill, rudely suggesting that if we had that much of a problem he'd scrub it. By now too dispirited to ask why the first bottle of mineral water had been charged at £1.90 and the second (identical) one at £2.95, we just paid up. Deciding the £14 already charged for service was quite adequate, we ignored the blank line on the credit card slip prefixed with the word TIP in a huge font and, with growing relief, fled into the cold Baker Street air.

Innecto
66 Baker Street, W1