Medlar restaurant

If you’re eating 24-month-aged Gruyère de Garde within earshot of a man in a monocle gently berating his wife (Chanel jacket, string of pearls, Princess Michael of Kent bone structure) over her lack of support during a fox-hunting dilemma, you can only be in Chelsea.

Medlar is a tiny gem in World’s End, within yards of Vivienne Westwood (if, like me, your London map ‘knowledge’ relies on shops and pubs as landmarks). Medlar is one to keep in mind if you’ve got some traditional, spendy friends who’ll want one of those calm, chic, sensitively lit dining experiences that every other restaurateur is pulling away from. It’s a little stiff, but sometimes a little bit of stiffness is what being British is all about. I can do stiff (oh, be quiet at the back).

Medlar’s menu is imaginative without causing puzzlement: foie gras ballotine salad with hazelnuts, tuna tartare with harissa, red-wine braised octopus. Take your parents, beg the manager for a green banquette cubby section at the back, make Dad bring his credit card, order him a large glass of Pinot Noir and an under-blade fillet with bone marrow and béarnaise. This may be the first non-disappointing thing you’ve done in their eyes for decades.Every dish appears perfectly executed, seasoned and portion-controlled to leave you jonesing for your next course. My starter of crab raviolo with samphire, brown shrimp, leeks and bisque sauce was so blissfully good I could have licked the bowl and worn it as a hat until my guinea fowl arrived. This was also a plate of hap-piness: perfect potato gnocchi, Jerusalem artichoke, a delicate sauce of Reblochon.

Whatever you choose at Medlar, leave room for pudding. The vanilla cheesecake with rhubarb and hazelnut crumble is next-level knicker-elastic-stretching fun. ‘And you didn’t even come to check if I was fine!’ Tweed Jacket Man was still whining at his wife. ‘She was probably checking her life insurance payout,’ I muttered. You know your Sipsmith gin and blood orange sorbet has a kick when you’ve begun heckling the other tables.

If you can’t manage Medlar’s complimentary truffles at the end, they wrap them for you, with a completely straight face, then deliver them back with a little bow. When I opened them the next day they’d put in a few extras. This manner of service befits Gracie. I’ll be back.

* Medlar, 438 King’s Road, SW10 (020 7349 1900)