London - Le Caprice
Winter 2008
Frank's view 
'Worth a spin'
I’m frankly amazed that I have never been spun through the revolving door of Le Caprice, by the caped gentleman’s gentleman, exuding speed and efficiency as he doffs his bowler hat.
Edwardian style remains outside as I drop into a room which, on first impressions, is reminiscent of a Fifties Manhattan piano bar, but on second look, is more Pizza Express.
Whicker backed chairs sit on a black tiled floor. A long bar stretches one wall whilst opposite, the piano player cuddles up to his upright, squidged between the reception lectern and a table of diners. It’s a pity about the tatty aircon vents, which wrap around the restaurant walls. Fortunately, all eyes are drawn to the collection of Bailey black & white portraits, which mark prime tables.
Apparently pole position is to the left of Malcom Muggeridge. We are seated to the left of Mick Jagger, and are very happy in a corner, with an uninterrupted view of all who enter.
The tables are round, an approach to seating this Camel is particularly fond of. There’s nothing worse than sitting opposite your fellow diner on a tiny square, where one of you is invariably staring at a wall.
A sudden commotion at the next table is handled with extraordinary ease. A waiter breaks a champagne glass and the emergency clean up team sweeps in. The cloth is off the table, followed by a padded nappy. The exposed white marble top confirms my Pizza Express suspicions. As normal service is resumed, all around are un-phased, and I wonder if this is a regular occurrence or a well-rehearsed procedure.
The Camel’s companion orders Le Caprice’s legendary Crispy Duck, which she declares a bit chewy. I try a piece and have to agree. The Ivy and E&O do a better duck salad. I am drawn to the Yellow Tail Carpaccio. It’s thicker cut than I would expect and the jalapeno makes it very fiery! However, the deep fried crispy squid is a good accompaniment.
My Bannockburn rib steak is faultless, as is the Herdwick lamb.
As we celebrate supper, legendary Caprice Maitre ‘d, Jesus Adorno, moves across the tables, greeting guests. We are passed over.
Le Caprice has the feeling of a private club, an exclusive private club, where one should be in with "the in crowd." All the reviews I have read of Le Caprice dropped more names than a Piers Morgan diary.
Le Caprice
Arlington House
Arlington Street
London
W1
020 7629 2239
http://www.le-caprice.co.uk/
Edwardian style remains outside as I drop into a room which, on first impressions, is reminiscent of a Fifties Manhattan piano bar, but on second look, is more Pizza Express.
Whicker backed chairs sit on a black tiled floor. A long bar stretches one wall whilst opposite, the piano player cuddles up to his upright, squidged between the reception lectern and a table of diners. It’s a pity about the tatty aircon vents, which wrap around the restaurant walls. Fortunately, all eyes are drawn to the collection of Bailey black & white portraits, which mark prime tables.
Apparently pole position is to the left of Malcom Muggeridge. We are seated to the left of Mick Jagger, and are very happy in a corner, with an uninterrupted view of all who enter.
The tables are round, an approach to seating this Camel is particularly fond of. There’s nothing worse than sitting opposite your fellow diner on a tiny square, where one of you is invariably staring at a wall.
A sudden commotion at the next table is handled with extraordinary ease. A waiter breaks a champagne glass and the emergency clean up team sweeps in. The cloth is off the table, followed by a padded nappy. The exposed white marble top confirms my Pizza Express suspicions. As normal service is resumed, all around are un-phased, and I wonder if this is a regular occurrence or a well-rehearsed procedure.
The Camel’s companion orders Le Caprice’s legendary Crispy Duck, which she declares a bit chewy. I try a piece and have to agree. The Ivy and E&O do a better duck salad. I am drawn to the Yellow Tail Carpaccio. It’s thicker cut than I would expect and the jalapeno makes it very fiery! However, the deep fried crispy squid is a good accompaniment.
My Bannockburn rib steak is faultless, as is the Herdwick lamb.
As we celebrate supper, legendary Caprice Maitre ‘d, Jesus Adorno, moves across the tables, greeting guests. We are passed over.
Le Caprice has the feeling of a private club, an exclusive private club, where one should be in with "the in crowd." All the reviews I have read of Le Caprice dropped more names than a Piers Morgan diary.
Le Caprice
Arlington House
Arlington Street
London
W1
020 7629 2239
http://www.le-caprice.co.uk/
Be Frank: agree or disagree? What do you think?
