LONDON
The Lansdowne Club cont...
Executive head chef Henry Brosi has crafted a menu that showcases seasonal British ingredients with considerable skill, and there’ s a pleasing emphasis on the sort of tableside theatre that feels increasingly rare. This isn’ t food as performance for its own sake, but rather a return to the kind of service that treats dining as an occasion worth marking.
We began with starters with a nod to land and sea. The potato and leek soup was everything this sort of soup should be: velvety and deeply flavoured, with the sweetness of leek perfectly balanced against the earthy comfort of potato. Charred and creamed leeks added textural interest, while a dollop of crème fraîche provided gentle acidity. It arrived with a warm cheese puff- a gougère, no less- which was perfect for a sly dunk. The seared hand-dived Orkney scallops were impeccable. Sweet, yielding flesh with that perfect caramelised crust that only properly hot pans and quality produce can achieve. The crispy pork belly provided a gutsy, savoury counterpoint, while the romanesco- that beautiful brassica- added a gentle bitterness and remarkable visual appeal. The mussel broth, meanwhile, tied everything together with a deep, marine richness that tasted of Scottish shores.
But, it was the Foreman’ s smoked salmon and home-cured dill gravadlax, served from the trolley with appropriate ceremony, that truly captured the spirit of the place. The trolley itself, wheeled to the table by staff who clearly take pride in the ritual, boasted a heaving plump salmon that was then expertly sliced to translucent perfection before being arranged in generous layers. Accompaniments were classic and correct: capers, shallots, bread, lemon. Sometimes the old ways endure because they’ re simply the best way.
For mains, the roast rib of Herefordshire beef- also carved tableside from a gleaming silver trolley, was magnificent. Properly aged, roasted to blushing medium-rare with all the proper trimmings- Yorkshire pudding, crisp roast potatoes, honey-glazed carrots and parsnips treated with just enough care to bring out their natural sweetness, buttered cabbage still possessing some bite- and, of course, the right amount of gravy, by which I mean copious. Unapologetically my‘ deathrow’ dinner, it was reassuring to see it dominating the menu here, reminding others why British cooking, when done with skill and respect, needs no apology.
Continuing the beef theme, Adam’ s wagyu was impeccable. Gloriously pink, tender and flavoursome, the rich peppercorn sauce and crisp fries were almost forgotten. Then there was the roast pork belly and smoked tenderloin, so alluring it tempted two of the party, both of whom declared it wonderful. A study in contrasts, the belly was all crispy crackling and yielding fat, while the tenderloin was lean and subtly smoky. An anise carrot purée brought unexpected sophistication, its gentle liquorice notes playing beautifully against the richness of the pork, while the roasted shallots and balsamic-glazed carrots added both sweetness and acidity. It was thoughtful cooking, the kind that understands how to build a plate with balance and intent.
Dessert began with a chocolate and salted caramel mousse that was unapologetically rich- dark chocolate intensity offset by that particular pleasure of salted caramel, with coffee ice cream and hazelnut crunch providing textural punctuation and a welcome bitterness to cut through the sweetness. The white chocolate mousse was altogether lighter and more playful: tropical brightness from mango sorbet, gentle heat from the chilli-laced mango salsa, passionfruit providing its characteristic tang, and chocolate soil adding an earthy, slightly bitter finish.
But the evening’ s crescendo- and I do mean crescendo- was the crêpes Suzette, flambéed tableside with the sort of theatrical flourish that had neighbouring tables turning to watch. Our server worked with practiced confidence that belied the fact it was his first turn making the signature dessert, the smell of Grand Marnier and caramelised sugar filling our corner of the room as flames leapt briefly skyward. The crêpes themselves- lacy, delicate, soaked in that glorious orangescented butter sauce- were served with Tahitian vanilla ice cream that melted slowly into the warm folds. A perfect end to a fabulous meal.
What strikes you most about The Lansdowne isn’ t any single element but rather the cumulative effect of all of it: the weight of history, the quality of service that begins with the effortless concierge of Vlad and permeates throughout, and the sense that standards are maintained not for show but because they matter. It’ s a rare thing, in any age of calculated informality, to encounter somewhere that takes formality seriously without stuffiness and that honours tradition without being trapped by it.
We left through the same discreet entrance from which we arrived, back out into Berkeley Square, feeling as though we’ d been granted a glimpse behind a particularly elegant curtain. The world outside continued exactly as it had before, but for a few hours, we’ d inhabited a different London entirely- one of polished trolleys and flambés, and rooms where treaties were once signed and parties reigned supreme. It is a rather lovely place indeed.
The Lansdowne Club operates strictly on a members-only basis. For those interested in experiencing this particular slice of Mayfair heritage, membership enquiries can be directed to the club directly. Various categories exist- including a Country option for those that live 50 miles + away, each with different access levels and annual subscriptions including options for couples.
lansdowneclub. com thelansdowneclubmayfair
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