Gordon Ramsay at Claridge's

Jonesy (30s, Male, London)

I last dined at this stalwart of central London haute cuisine a few years ago for a rather hushed but memorable evening meal, and I was very much looking forward to the return visit. This time it was to be a busy Friday luncheon with the chaps from the Olde Arbuturian Social Committee.

Walking through the entrance on Davies Street and into the sumptuous corridor, I gripped the door-pull to the dining room like shaking the hand of an old friend, only to find the door locked. A lady had followed me through the entrance and now stood behind me feeling as confused and embarrassed as I must have looked. “Oh, they’ve moved the door,” I mumbled, and skulked off towards the grand foyer trying to find some way into the restaurant. It turns out that you now have to walk through the tea rooms, take a right at the end by the big mirror and then funnel yourself through a cramped waiting area to the new restaurant entrance. A compass and GPS are advised.

I was the first to arrive and elected to sit at the table, taking in the plush art-deco surroundings and evaluating my fellow diners. To my right was a table of businessmen, one with a huge walrus moustache that looked particularly out of place alongside his conservative grey suit. To my left, most probably another business lunch, and in front of me, a young couple enjoying a special meal. Everyone looked well-healed, well-fed and generally unencumbered by the global credit crisis.

Mr. S was the next to arrive, dressed in a 1950s Rat-Pack suit and Ronnie Kray style half-rimmed glasses. He was followed shortly afterwards by Danny Boy, sporting two-days of stubble and a pink tie; the Friday-afternoon-media-look, apparently. And I, wearing a black Prada suit, a tie from Ozwald Boateng that I had bought two years ago but never worn, and a shirt from Armani which had the words “Made in China” printed rather sheepishly on the label, much to my chagrin. Thus, our dining experience began.

Service was predictably smooth, courteous and attentive. Some breadsticks were placed on the table, reminding me of a local Italian restaurant, along with two dips; a kind of aioli with truffle, and something delicious with salmon. Amuse bouche arrived as an intense little parsnip soup, again with truffle – a most delightful and warming start. The bread was a… More