No flair means empty chairs

It's hard to get any info out of the staff at Joseph about who owns the place, making it all rather mysterious and a little irritating. Have the owners of the previous establishment just given it a makeover?

This weird end of the capital's retail heaven doesn't get a whole lot of passing trade, so you've got to offer something pretty stellar to lure the punters along the road. Not here. Two glum men - the bosses? - lounge on sofas in an otherwise deserted room. As the food arrives, we understand the lack of trade.

Bouillabaisse, a thin fish soup traducing that noble title, arrives without the billed croutons and rouille. I point this out, the waitress returns with two slices of bread, toasted on one side, dripping with mayo spiked with industrial quantities of hilariously inappropriate dill. French onion soup is underpowered, anaemic. Overcooked pasta arrives in a sauce with the xanthan-gum thickened quality of supermarket bottled jobs. And 'eggs Benedict' with smoked salmon brought scrambled eggs, clumsy slabs of fish, no muffin and, uh, spinach. What the...?

Never mind a lick of paint, it's the kitchen here that's in dire need of a makeover. And smartish.

Joseph
28 Knightsbridge, SW1X 7JN