9/10/2023 0 Comments Menu sketch london![]() The cakes were quite sickly because of the overwhelming chocolate focus. The petits gateaux looked impressive but on the whole were not the best cakes I have ever eaten. There was too much focus on chocolate and I am not a huge fan of fruit and chocolate together, which was a combination a number of these items used. The vegan coronation sandwich was also a little underwhelming and had a chutney gel piped onto the top of the sandwich which made it quite difficult to eat and had a slightly unpleasant gelatinous texture. However, the chickpea blini was quite dry and the cucumber and margarine sandwich was bland and served on a dark rye bread which was too heavy for the light filling. Of the finger sandwiches, the sweet potato, spinach and mushroom samosas were the stand out item they had a crispy outer and a delicious filling. We were then presented with the main cake stand which served the finger sandwiches and petits gateaux. It was a lovely light green tea and was a nice palate cleanser. We then had a short break before the next course and I tried a pot of the Japanese Sencha tea. About £60 a head for three courses, plus drinks and service.Cauliflower caviar and truffled vegan egg And hey, it’s art.ĭavid Shrigley at Sketch The Gallery, 9 Conduit Street, London W1, 020-7659 4500. Me? Well, darlings, I think it’s faahbulous. The bill comes in a sandpaper envelope it might as well just say, “Ouch!” You’d probably hate it. This might be the most absurd restaurant in the UK, a Barbie-on-MDMA fantasy serving unintelligible food at prices to make your eyes water into matching pinkness. Every now and then, a tiny person dressed as a French maid pops up, her sole role apparently to sweep the floors – a truly sisyphean task. Jeff Koons?Įven the staff uniforms are artful: boys in matelot stripes straight from a Jean Paul Gaultier homoerotic ad, or wet-dream mechanics in boiler suits. Nominally, the legend that is Pierre Gagnaire is in charge of Sketch’s food, but I’ve no idea who’s actually cooking this stuff. The actual fish and chips arrive separately in a pail: breaded pollock like a midweek kids’ tea and fried abstracts of swirly potato tendril. Maddest of all is what’s described as fish and chips: a plate draped in a shroud of rice pancake, as though it conceals Naples’ Veiled Christ rather than some salad, peach – peach! – and blobs of tartare sauce. “It’s like a Yorkshire pudding,” says its recipient helpfully. There’s a dish featuring crab, tête de veau, a savoury profiterole and “cucumber and green apple water” that manages to taste of none of these things. And 27 quid, ta – and that’s for a starter. ![]() There’s bisque made from its shells and salty kelp, too. Who knew?) Two small, woolly langoustine tails are decanted on to thinly sliced brassicas from a bamboo steamer that hiccups copious amounts of smoke. (It turns out to be “red cabbage and Xeres”. ![]() Tuna sashimi, creamy avocado with Peruvian chilli and lime, melon and liqueur vinegar, black olive gelée and mozzarella foam.” On the evidence of this lysergic dish – blobs and pools of strident oddness, especially the mozzarella-topped gelée that tastes like the stuff left at the bottom of olive tins topped with organic foaming facewash – Shrigley’s better off sticking to the art.Ī bijou burger comes laced with foie gras and accessorised with a large cube of faintly farty blood-coloured jelly. Here’s one item verbatim: “Homage to David Shrigley. It’s a wanton holler of bollocks-to-austerity decadence. I’ve never wanted to filch restaurant fittings so badly. Place settings are designed by Shrigley, too, including a cruet set that looks like shrunken Moomins’ Hattifatteners announcing “dust”, “dirt” and “nothing”. More than 230 of Shrigley’s whimsical black-and-white drawings (we covet Cruiseship Vulgarity and Stick Your Synthetic Burger Up Your Arse) are soaked in reflected pinkness. Scalloped, pink velvet booths (impossible to shimmy into if you’re more than a size 6), metallic pink woodwork, a glittering copper bar-back. Designed by India Mahdavi, it’s pink: powdery, Turkish Delight pink. If Mae West and Barbara Cartland set up a restaurant consultancy, they couldn’t come up with anything more camply outre. Because here it is once more, ripped up and started again, this time in collaboration with David Shrigley. It was less restaurant and more art installation, a notion Momo is clearly taken with. Latterly, it was handed over to Turner prize-winning artist Martin Creed, who cooked up a setting of such dreamlike randomness, it was like taking a wrong turn at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. The Gallery is the most protean of the Sketch stable, initially an operating theatre-white backdrop to early millennial excess. Mazouz’s latest wheeze is not simply to open new restaurants, but to open new restaurants in his existing restaurant.
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