Now Peyton Mash-es up Mayfair

This review was first published in January 2001

Of all of Oliver Peyton's restaurants, I would probably have to say that Coast was my favourite - which probably accounts for it having been shut down. I was disappointed, but in a curious way rather flattered. Rather like the writing of Umberto Eco or the music of Stockhausen, Coast was 'difficult' and obviously I was one of the rare elite who understood it.

Or at least that is the way I like to think of it. Another more prosaic reason is that it was perhaps too expensive and too pretentious to last for long. Even for a man of Oliver Peyton's near-limitless personal wealth, it proved too considerable a cash haemorrhage and this year he turned it into a branch of his microbrew-fuelled, ultra-contemporary brasserie chain, Mash.

Indeed, this year has been one of rationalisation for Peyton. As well as changing Coast, he closed his Manchester branch of Mash after some atrocious, but highly expensive, piece of contemporary artwork was stolen off the wall and his safe got ransacked.

Cheaper, less complicated and more accessible, Mash Mayfair on Albemarle Street looks as though it is more successful than its predecessor - it is certainly fuller than Coast ever was.

Mash is young and groovy to the point of self-consciousness. Entrance is gained through a fully carpeted tunnel (walls, ceiling and floor) that seems completely otiose. In the main street-level dining area, strands of orange plastic spaghetti dangle from the ceiling. Downstairs, the wanton use of carpet is continued with a vigour that leads me to believe that there was a special offer on mid-pile black carpets at Peyton's local branch of Floor-Coverings-R-US or Carpetworld.

It is slightly strange to see the good burghers of Mayfair and Bond Street borders chowing down in somewhere so deliberately modern. But then that is the way in England these days. Everyone, even bald middle-aged men in nondescript suits and Herm?s ties, wants to be ruthlessly modern and forever young.

As a contrapuntal gesture, I decided to take as my dining partner the most ruthlessly old-fashioned, least-modern, least-English person I could lay my hands on at short notice: Yann Debelle de Monthby, a man known as the Ambassador. The Ambassador speaks English in a way that makes Maurice Chevalier sound like Vinnie Jones, and affects the kind of facial hair more often found between the covers of a Dumas novel.

The Ambassador runs Berluti, the swanky shoe shop on Conduit Street. I use the term 'runs' in the loosest sense. The Ambassador will occasionally swing by to have a 'leetle lie down', in the bordello-like surroundings of his office above the shop, or get one of his minions to polish his shoes with vintage Dom P?rignon.

Anyway, the Ambassador had had a tough day - forced, I think, to endure breakfast at Claridge's, followed by lunch at the Connaught. The poor lamb was completely tuckered out. I found him restoring himself with a leetle massage and a large cigar at Adam's, the single-sex hair salon superintended by that trichological Tiepolo, Brent Pankhurst.

It was with some difficulty that I transferred him to a corner banquette of Mash, whereupon he started to complain. He felt that his red wine, a rather nice antipodean Shiraz, was too warm. I tried to tell him to calm down. I also tried to convince our charming and rather pretty young waitress to ignore him, explaining that he was being French. But the Ambassador was not having any of it. I asked the waitress to deal with him - and she did so with such grace and aplomb that I was highly impressed.

Next it was my turn to complain. I ordered a warm salad of Mediterranean vegetables, rocket leaves, parmesan shavings, and could not see any parmesan shavings. I hailed the ma?tre d' and brought this to his attention. Once again, the issue was handled with considerable tact. He suggested that if I looked under the warm vegetables, I might find some parmesan. He was right. Moreover, he was right in such a way as not to get my back up (difficult to achieve). It also showed an intimate knowledge of the dishes on offer.