The great outdoors at Hush

This review was first published in May 2001

Why do we do it? Why, as soon as a watery ray of sunshine straggles through the smog, do we fling ourselves at tables hurriedly set up on busy roads, allowing our food to be kippered by exhaust fumes and our ingestion to be gawped at by every passer-by? Restaurateurs rub their hands with glee at the extra revenue and we fall for it every time.

But there are spots here and there whose outside space is not a knee-jerk reaction to global warming, places where the traffic doesn't roar and the gawpers can't gawp. One such is Hush, whose quirky courtyard setting just off Bond Street lends itself perfectly to a balmy evening's dining. We also wanted to check out the performance of recently headhunted chef Henry Harris, former Times columnist and doyen of Harvey Nicks.

The heat meant every table in the courtyard was taken; it seemed that the extra capacity had put a strain on the - very sweet - service. We waited long lonely minutes without a menu or, more importantly, a drink.

But the food, when it came, has certainly perked up under Harris's aegis. Ballotine of foie gras was pinkly perfect, with an under-lying note of what seemed to be saffron; it came with featherlight brioche and a rich onion marmalade. Crab 'louis' - a recherché little number consisting of a collision between excellent flaky crabmeat and a kind of olive-enhanced thousand island dressing - was flanked by melba-toasted poilane bread in a helicopter arrangement. It was fresh, tangy and moreish.

I was a little disappointed in my main course, Mayfair rarebit with smoked haddock; I'd expected something more butch than my sliver of fish atop a mound of grilled cherry tomatoes. Where was my toast? And my cheese? Though weeny, it was delicious, and the mountains of hand-cut chips offered some compensation. Thai-curried mussels tasted fine but were sadly overcooked into chewiness.

Downstairs at Hush is supposed to be cheaper (upstairs is 'fine dining') but by the time we'd necked a couple of cocktails and two bottles of pinot grigio - it was the heat, honest - our bill had reached the ton mark. But the clientele, all of whom brandished that unmistakable veneer of the mon-eyed, didn't seem to mind at all.

Hush
Brook Street, London, W1S 1EY