Lunch at Scott's in Mayfair

Barely a day seems to go by when some form of celebrity is not pictured leaving Scott’s of Mayfair. The gimlet eyed Peter Stringfellow is regularly found inside, slurping Moules Provencale or suchlike whilst sizing up his latest victim. It won Bazaar’s coolest place to Eat Out in 2008 and even Tom Cruise thought it was delicious (Valkyrie is the worst film I’ve ever seen).



Square meal gushes that the interior manages to recreate “Bond-esque glamour in the 1960’s” and in truth, Scott’s probably does pull this off. The sleek dining room is designed by Martin Brudnizki and is festooned with emins and Hirsts. The onyx bar, finished in stingray skin is ridiculously and, I think, deliberately ostentatious. As a result of all this, the clientele, my group obviously excluded, were intimidatingly glamorous. Therein lies the problem. From the moment we walked in and were marked down as Morlocks by the immaculate staff, we were treated very much as the pale, apelike, underground thugs of H.G Wells’s classic.



Admittedly none of our behaviour forced them to reappraise their initial impression. There was an early and somewhat unseemly tug of war over a bottle of St Veran, Domaine des Deux 2007, between a thirsty associate and the sommelier. My friend lost poorly, maintaining a mutinous look for the rest of the meal and ordering deliberately badly. Another made the mistake of ordering an Irish coffee; a request which was met with a look that would have frozen hell and all its inmates.



However, the kitchen didn’t see any of this and so had no excuse for sending out such low quality fare. I ordered very conservatively; Six Mercia Oysters, Dover Sole meuniere with steamed spinach and a pear tarte tatin to finish. The oysters were fine, though the shallot vinaigrette didn’t have enough shallot, and the pear tatin was solid if unspectacular. However the Dover sole had been inexcusably murdered. It’s not especially hard to cook anyway, so overcooking it, particularly when charging £38.50 is unacceptable. One of my friends ordered the Fillet of Cod with padron peppers and chorizo, which he described as a “debacle”. Rubbery old cod for which we were asked to pay £19.50. Matters were redeemed a little by the puddings, of which the apple pie ordered by one friend was certainly the highlight; soft, flaky pastry with sweet chunks of textured apple.



It’s hard not to feel one’s expectations soaring as one walks into Scott’s, particularly given its well heeled setting and impressive reputation. The meal that I ordered was not one requiring particular technical expertise, just good ingredients and a little care. I suppose the most likely explanation is an off day in the kitchens, which certainly happens. Only, when the bill resembles an international phone number, you can imagine that this is much harder to swallow.