Thumbs up for Schrager's Spoon

This review was first published in June 2000

The Schragerisation of London continues: yesterday St Martin's Lane, today Berners Street. Berners Street? Yes, that's right. And no, before Schrager opened a hotel there, I hadn't heard of it either, but then Schrager seems to have the power to make even the most unassuming area resonate to the vibe. Quite how he does it I just don't know. But the recipe is something like this: take one clapped-out commercial site; get Philippe Starck to fill it with whimsical (to be honest, kitsch) furniture; mix up a few styles (a little brushed steel from the Seventies and a little 17th-century-style Venetian glass); blend in a few drop-dead-good-looking staff; shove one of Sam Gold's quirky boutiques in a corner; season with a few bits of trendy video art; garnish with the celebrities of the day; and serve with lashings of hype. Et voila! Your new Schrager hotel is served.

The Sanderson is all the things I should hate: meretricious, superficial and gaudy, it is little more than gimmicky - everything, from the people to the smoke alarms, seems cheap, impermanent and done in a hurry. The best thing about the look of the place is a John Piper stained-glass window, which could have been a centrepiece but which Schrager has tucked away behind a curtain and a staircase.

To my mind, people who say Philippe Starck is a genius are suffering from a bad case of the emperor's new clothes. I reckon it took him about half an hour on the back of a napkin to come up with a scheme for this place and yet it grows on you. It is so tacky that I kind of love it and this is where Schrager's nightclub training comes in. This isn't creating a lasting hotel like the Savoy or the Ritz, this is just set dressing: welcome to the disposable hotel, Disneyland for adults.

Don't look for cultural depth - you won't find it. But allow yourself to be seduced by the place and you will have a good time. It reminds me of the Seventies TV show Fantasy Island; I half expect Tatou to come scampering out from behind the 'lips' sofa or from under the pool table with silver cabriole legs. And the restaurant is entirely in keeping with the air of unreality. Called 'Spoon', it is Ducasse diffusion dining with a twist. Ducasse, who has about half a dozen Michelin stars for various restaurants in Paris and Monte Carlo, is, I think, the only French chef Americans have heard of. And now Schrager has prevailed upon him to open a branch of his Paris place 'Spoon' in the Sanderson.

Like Starck's design, Spoon is the kind of kitsch concept that only a genius with a sense of humour and balls of steel could pull off - it is that audacious. You hear the name Ducasse, you think fine French dining with lots of napkin etiquette, amuse-gueules, synchronised cloche-lifting of Olympic standards etc. Instead, you turn up at Spoon and wind up dropping serious money on the kind of menu that is more in place in a salad bar. It works on a mix-and-match system: pick your salad, say iceberg, your dressing, say blue cheese (yes, blue cheese) and your topping, say prawns. Apply this principle across the whole menu - for example, roasted chicken wings, with tandoori sauce and wok-saut?ed vegetables - and that is Spoon in a nutshell. Puddings include bubblegum ice-cream and chocolate pizza.

Rather like the d?cor of the Sanderson, this is something you dream up when you have had a few drinks and usually think better of the next morning. But not Monsieur Ducasse. It is the sort of thing that pisses off serious foodies and for that alone I love it. I went on a preview night and it was a fiasco. I was sitting next to noted property tycoon Harry Handelsman when a waiter spilt champagne over him. It was an impressive sight: for several glorious seconds Harry metamorphosed into a one-man champagne fountain.

The food was so delayed that I wandered off to another table and threatened to sing the greatest hits of Texas to my new best friend Sharleen Spiteri, who was sitting at a table of fashionable young people that included Katie Grand and Luella Bartley.

For my second visit I took along a Saudi Arabian friend - and we remained bone-dry throughout an expensive and I have to say highly enjoyable lunch. Sadly Ms Spiteri was not there, but in every other respect the experience was a vast improvement.

While the salads were neither the cheapest nor the most exciting things I have ever eaten, I can recommend a 'Spoon Deluxe' side order of Lobster Bolognese, a deliciously concentrated ragout of lobster, and my seared tuna with satay sauce and l?gumes au wok was good.

What is more, Spoon is already becoming the canteen of the beautiful people. Jade Jagger and Dan Macmillan were sitting at a table in the charming central courtyard garden area, while on the next table were a group including the drinking man's thinker Orlando Campbell and that contemporary riposte to Pauline Borghese, fabled society beauty Lady Cosima Somerset.

We skipped pudding and booze, but the bill still came to a reassuring £122.48. But then that, as my well-travelled Saudi friend assured me, is part of the Schrager 'philosophy', the cornerstone of which is that everything is for sale, if you have the money. So, for instance, if I stayed here and liked the hi-fi, the duvet, the running machine and the cute assistant in Sam Gold's shop, I could have them wrapped and put on the bill (OK, perhaps not the shopgirl).