It's probably more than 20 years since i have been and eaten somewhere so up itself. At lunch today it was heaving with poor sad souls who clearly need to be needed. I had booked a table 3 weeks ago and when I called to book I had asked for a table at 12.30-12.45, the French woman on the phone, so full of hauteur it wasnt true, offered me noon or 1.30. Finally after much negotiation and me saying for goodness sake its three weeks away you cant be full offered me 12.45 (original request). I should have cancelled then and there as this experience had left me with a sense of foreboding. Today on arrival, my guest already there had been seated in Siberia (aka side room adjacent to main room) which was like a yuppies creche so full was it of screeching children belonging to residents of the hotel rooms above. Do you need a password on booking to be given a seat in the main dining room? They clearly even three weeks advance of booking try and keep the 12.30-1.30 slot for their chums. But here is the thing that sums up the whole place (and I could indeed write an essay on this pretentious gaff) I asked the waitress if they had a sommelier. Is that red or white she said? I repeated the question slowly since her English was very poor and i thought she might have misheard, to which she then said did i want a sweet or dry white wine? In god's name what poor excuse of a joke is this place? It's a club for Soho ingratiates. As someone who eats out regularly for both professional reasons and for pleasure and count a number of leading chefs as friends I dont think I have ever come across such a shambolic mess. Salt beef was as tough as old boots.