Losing the Cipriani name may have done nothing to drive off the opportunist paparazzi that perpetually haunt C London’s entrance, but neither has it improved the cooking – judging by jibes about ‘hideously overpriced’ & ‘plainly ridiculous’ food. However, eating here is almost beside the point: this is a place to be seen in company with ‘football wannabes’ & ‘Eurotrash covered in fur’. Expect to pay top dollar for starters such as baccala mantecato (salt cod) with grilled polenta, an ultra-simple king crab salad or marinated salmon with asparagus, while mains such as ‘rather heavy’ veal cannelloni, pork belly with fennel or a commendable scampi thermidor approach £30. Some solace is to be found in the decor, & in a run of Bellinis that nostalgically ape Harry’s Bar in Venice, but not in the service, which can veer between ‘dismissive’ & offhand.
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