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|Address:||20 Mount Street, London W1K 2HE|
|Tel:||020 7495 7309|
|Price: £64.00||Wine: £26.00||Champagne: £63.50|
|Opening Hours:||Mon-Sun 12N-10.30pm (Sun -10pm)|
3 of 4 people found this review helpful.
Like most of us, I hate to admit when I am wrong. However, as the exam-board found with too many of the answers on my A level maths paper, I was, it seems, possibly not as correct as I could have been about Scott’s.
I'd wanted to go for ages; the glamour, the elvers, the top-hatted doorman, the possibility of a real celebrity. Instead, when I went a few years back, I hated it. All braying hedge fund managers, bragging about the size of their tigs, with their x-ray wives face-lifted to with in an inch of their lives, grins frozen to their perma tanned visgogs by botox. Now I don't know if the recession has found its way to Mayfair yet (nearly 30 notes for a slice of turbot suggests maybe not), but this time, they'd all gone, to be replaced by Russians. Lots of Russians.
Yes, there was still a sufficiently loud amount of braying going on; this time from the peroxide crew, presumably fuelling themselves for a busy night ahead, but the atmosphere had changed dramatically in the intervening recession.
The room reminds me of the Ivy: heavy wood panelling, that air of money, lots of uncles out with their nieces. Service too has the comically inept level that the Ivy has perfected so well. Not bad in the rude sense, just not good for a place charging the aforementioned 30 notes for a slice of fish. Sides extra. How can you end up with two knives and no fork when the food arrives? How can all the waiting staff suddenly disappear from view when you realise what has happened?
To finish the analogy with the Ivy, the food is never going to be the main point here: it is perfectly fine, but, with few honourable exceptions, never really rises above this.
The menu is split into caviar, crustacean, starters, fish and meat. Oh, and sides, as the mains come with nothing other than the fish or meat mentioned. I always like to try something new, so started with cod tongues. The tongue is a misused part of any animal, seemingly regarded as a nothing cut. Whilst of course I realise that a cod has a tongue, I have never seen one on a menu. Cheeks yes, but they are so last year. You can probably get them in M&S now.
It, or rather they, for the cod’s is small, were delicious, the standout dish, although the oysters (the West Mercia native no.2, as recommended by the waiter) were fine examples of the bivalve.
Then the real test: something so absurdly sounding on the menu that I was drawn to it irresistibly, like a moth to a flame. How could “shrimp burger” be any good at all? Well, it wasn’t, but I just had to try it. Potted shrimp is one of the most glorious British dishes; peeled brown shrimp, mace, nutmeg, maybe some anchovy sauce and butter. Chopping up prawns, turning them into a burger (complete with a slice of pickle) is just so, so wrong. I should have gone with the slip sole recommendation of my companion, who seemed far more to enjoy his than I mine.
To finish, a classic sticky toffee pudding, swimming in extra toffee and floating on some pretty good custard.
The wine list is fine and, for where we are, prices not at all bad, with many by the glass and few hitting the stratospheric heights of other local restaurants, which is odd, given how expensive the food is.
So certainly not as bad as I recall, and a fun evening, but don’t go here for the food; go to be seen, go to view how the other half live, go to meet blond Russian girls. Just take a credit card with a high limit.