The Gilbert Scott

On Monday 4th November, I invited three business colleagues to dinner at the Gilbert Scott because, a few years ago I had a great dinner there.

This time we were disapointed with the service, the food was average and the price of the meal excessive.

On our arrival we were taken to our table by a very pleasant female but it all went down from there; I had to ask three times for the drinks list,  the champagne that I ordered took ages to arrive, which was embarrasing, the young waiter had not been taught how to serve champagne!.  Two of my guests ordered steaks and these were just plonked on the plates without any form of arrangemet or garnish, looked awful.  Three of the items on the menu were not available on the night. 

If what we experienced was indicative of the service The Gilbert and Scott provide at a considerable price today,

do not go there!! 

I loved Gilbert Scott at the beginning. The grandeur of the setting and the interesting British-based menu were appealing but with each returning visit I have been left with the sense that someone is cutting corners to bloat the margin. Our most recent visit was not helped by having a table close to the entrance. Perhaps it's because it's Christmas but the menu has been drastically reduced in size and the food, while pleasant enough really struggled to warrant the price tag. The bar on the other hand, while small offers great service and an interesting selection of cocktails. Our server (Frankie) was extremely helpful and attentive.

I'm afraid the service is still not up to scratch. Very poor last night. What a shame.

What could have been a decent, if over-priced and under-served, meal was transformed into a truly memorable but utterly inexcusable fiasco – their flagship main course Rib of Beef (£66) was off! Yes, the meat had gone off, not just rancid, gone bad, the accompanying rib bone actually stank of rotten meat and while the centre parts of the beef were edible (eaten by my wife), both ends and all the fat (the best part for me) were wretch-inducing and inedible. Just as unbelievably, not once were we asked how the meal was, though I now suspect this was more than coincidence. I tried, and failed, to catch the eye of a waiter through the whole main course, but since my wife and I were entertaining my best client (who, fortunately had pheasant, which apparently was fine) so sticking my arm up and making a scene was out of the question. At the end of the meal, with half the meal going back uneaten, I explained the problem to the waiter and invited him to smell the meat. Perhaps thought I was joking, but he certainly refused and then returned from the kitchen saying the meat had been delivered today and must have been fine. Unbelievable! This remained the party line when I spoke to the Maitre D. while my guests were getting their coats and in a subsequent email exchange. What worries me is that the chef should have known the meat was off when he took it out of the fridge, he must have know when he cooked it. The waiter would have known when he brought it to the table. I suspected the moment it arrived, and knew as soon as I started eating. To be disbelieved and contradicted is just a personal insult, albeit made worse by the £30 service charge that I had paid, but in a wider context, what does it say about a restaurant that claims not to know that the meat it is serving is off and worse still, refuses to acknowledge it when it is pointed out. It's just a good thing it was beef and not pork or I might be writing this from a hospital bed with a drip in my arm…

Good food, welcoming and friendly service, relaxed environment with life piano music. I particularly liked the choice of desserts, including fruit and nut chocolates. Good choice of English sparkling wine, which we could taste first before deciding which to drink. We will be back!

I recognise not everyone’s charmed by King’s Cross since its rebirth. Parts of St Pancras terminal are sterile, while upstairs the Betjeman is joyless and haunted in the way only station pubs can be. But head to the end where The Grand brasserie reigns, and the place gains a very different complexion. The architectural aping of a bygone era really starts to work. Hop off train; sail through cavernous concourse; arrive at Renaissance’s jaw-dropping approach. Viewed in this light, the Gilbert Scott should have the classic Brief Encounter down pat. Amid echoes of the ‘age of steam’ at each turn, there’s a lightness of touch to this restaurant’s interior that we didn’t expect. The room appears almost luminous in contrast to the sultry shadows of the bar next door, and the atmosphere on a Saturday lunchtime was surprisingly relaxed. How refreshing that a place so firmly steeped in heritage isn’t drunk on self-importance. We found the service to be professional and eager. The sommelier masterfully steered us away from a rough English red by urging us to taste before buying. We did, hence swiftly scrapped the order and move on to a full and spicy Lebanese red. It’s was a welcome intervention; discreet, helpful and ultimately geared towards our pleasure (rather than an upsale). The menu reads like a who’s who of British culinary tradition. Weekend roasts offer decent value but we were lured to a la carte, largely because my fave – sprouting broccoli – was a seasonal starter. It arrived with a good few indigo drops welling beneath its florets, having steamed a fraction too long between kitchen and table. Bit of a howler in truth, but the hollandaise was the best I’ve ever had. I’d happily slather all foods in that rich, nutty emulsion. My date’s starter of crumbed pig’s head went on to soothe my offal phobia, delivering the flavour of a satisfying hash with the delicacy of dill and cockles. Mains weren’t knock out dishes; we were pretty indifferent about the retro barbecue chicken served on little gem leave, in a course straight out of my Mum’s post-war cookbook. My mushroom cobbler was frighteningly meaty, putting the ‘pork’ in ‘porcini’ (and arguably the ‘ill’ in ‘filling’. It proved a cue for a power nap, so avoid on a date). Finally, pud delivered some unexpected Heston-esque trickery in the form of a mercurial ‘snow egg’: a marshmallowy pillow with marmalade ‘yolk’, in a sea of glorious custard. Tricksy to achieve I’m sure, but such fun. More impressive still was the bar; a lavish space that’s definitely worth a gander. It’s cleverly decked out, but this time the elaborate finery stands shoulder to shoulder with sharp, utilitarian styling. Oddball features include a bar created from exposed industrial girders and spectacular bells dangling from the lofty ceiling. Pop in after lunch (like us) and you’ll be treated to table service and heady cocktails at a devilishly early hour. Perhaps unsurprising, given the flamboyant interior. After patchy reports of quality and service (plus valid concerns about value), the Gilbert Scott pleasantly surprised us. Perhaps we lucked out with a late lunch sitting that didn’t over-burden staff, but the food was good overall and we felt very welcome throughout. Both bar and restaurant are magnificent spaces befitting special occasions, without the stuffiness of more established institutions. And while the bill was on the portly side, an amuse bouche and a well-turned petit four will always lessen the blow in my mind. I’d be reluctant to fork out for dinner again until the inconsistencies are ironed out. Judging by that textbook hollandaise and the glorious dessert, one or two chefs might be flirting with brilliance. So, a happy medium; an unintimidating afternoon tea in the bar with the rellies, if only to bask in the surroundings.

Spacious, elegant environment. Nice bar for before and/or after drink. Food was prepared well and service came with an attentive smile. Nice evening.

I had a great time at the Gilbert Scott when I dined there with a group of friends recently. The bar has to be one of the most beautiful in London, or even Britain. The cocktails are really good too – quite creative and very tasty! The staff in both the bar and the restaurant are also very good, they all have a personality which does not seem to be restrained by the establishment. It is friendly and knowledgeable without being at all stuffy. The food in the restaurant is really, really good. So many options on the menu it was difficult to choose! We all had something different and were all really happy with our choices. The rib of beef (to share) is one of the best steaks I have had in a very long time. Save room for pudding too as they are again all very good. I will definitely be back!

Such a disappointment! The food was so average and really overpriced for the quality. My welsh rarebit starter resembled a deep fried mozzarella stick. Stunning dining room, but let down by the food and the very dreary waiting staff who had no rapport with their diners in the slightest.

St. Pancras International station is probably one of my favourite places. William Barlow’s arch spans 240 feet and upon its completion in 1868, became the largest enclosed space in the world. Inside, urbanites travel to-and-fro, couples relax and drink coffee while others wander the famed construction that epitomises the glamorous. The sense of grandeur is still evident today. The Gothic red brick Grade 1 listed façade, sculptures to honour of poets and lovers, and the five-colour rings of the Olympiad welcoming every national and international. Sir George Gilbert Scott designed and built the Midland Grand Hotel after winning a competition run by the Midland Railway Company. The east wing opened in 1873 with completion of the entire building finished in Spring 1876. In 1935 the hotel was closed making way for railway offices, shutting doors again in 1985; vacant, home only to the vermin. Twenty-six years later, the Gilbert Scott restaurant has opened under Marcus Wareing. Wareing holds two Michelin stars and is what you could call a lavish chef. He’s particular, appears punctional and proud, serious about his craft. To take on the kitchen and dining room here requires all of these elements. The task is grandiose and the expectation immense. There’s complimentary popcorn from the bar. It’s smokey (bacon-esc rather than fag ash), which is rather charming. It’s also rather commonplace now however, with the likes of Texture and Spuntino doing the same. I’m also told by a knowledgeable source that Wareing’s own Petrus offers complimentary popcorn. The bar is smaller than I’d imagined given the expanse of the building and the length of the hallway you navigate to get there – which is lined with spectacular antiquarian wardrobes for hats, cloaks and brollies and is, I expect, also a portal to Narnia and other fairytale worlds. The dining wing curves around to the kitchen at the far end. A staff service station separates two dining spaces: the tables at the front – close to the entrance – are oddly scattered while further down, tables appear too close in proximity and it’s an elbow-to-elbow experience. The room could – and should – be vibrant with regulars and travellers. This is, afterall, one of London’s busiest gateways. Sadly, the room is lacking an identity, which given the scope of the space and surrounding history is a grand shame. It’s table and chairs in a corridor. A corridor lacking warmth and welcome, no thanks surely to the oil paintings of bleak winter trees and polar seascapes. When you have strong first impressions of a restaurant and its design, thoughts naturally shift to the food and whether it can live up to the surroundings and your own expectations. My starter of duck egg on sippets was good; a fine sized egg with glowing, runny yolk sat on sippets (just overblown wording for bread) with duck hearts and devilled sauce, while ‘potted shrimp’ was in fact potless and average. Mains are all upwards of £16 and there’s a £55 ‘Lake District rib of beef for two with bone marrow’ that the couple next to us were enjoying. ‘Kentish pigeon in a pot’ is mixed with mushrooms, thyme and prunes. It arrived in a bowl rather than ‘pot’ along with a plate. I assumed this was it and began to transfer the contents from one piece of crockery to another (a waste of a good bowl), before realising what a simple portion this was: pigeon breast and mushrooms for £18. I’m sure this is all deliberate so you’ll jump to the £4.50 accompaniments section, and foolish me, I did, increasing my main from £18 to £22.50 in one cursory swoop. ‘Cauliflower pudding’ was baked with cream and nutmeg and arrived rich and bubbling. ‘Dorset snail and chicken pie’ was another plate that failed to impress. Bereft of even middling presentation the pie was lukewarm containing a mixture of cold garlic and parsley mingled with chicken skin, grey, thick and rubbery. We signalled a waiter bringing this to their attention. “It’s supposed to be in there” he replied. When we questioned this further he took the plate to the kitchen, returning several minutes later, “the chef agrees that the skin is too big and tough.” Then, rightly, withdrew it from our bill. I’ve spent some considerable time since researching chicken pie recipes and speaking with chefs, all of whom suggest ‘discarding the bones and skin.’ Well it seems obvious, doesn’t it? Not at The Gilbert Scott. I had been looking forward to desserts after hearing about ‘Kendal mint cake choc ice’ and ‘orange marmalade Jaffa cake’, so why I choose ‘Mrs Beeton’s Snow eggs’, I don’t know? I think it must have been the phrase ‘Snow eggs’, a mystifying description with imagery of fluffy gooeyness. What it was in fact was softly poached meringue with an Everton toffee core, sprinkled with salted peanuts, resting on ‘burnt honey custard’ or rather, crème anglaise – the highlight of the meal. Wareing has a knack for getting desserts right and here he’s on the money, it’s just a shame that the afore courses fell short, and as popular as I think the desserts here are going to be, they’re not so good as having to wade through two-courses of sheer disappointment in a dining room that doesn’t feel at ease with itself.