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Until last week, Punk Royale was easily the strangest restaurant I’ve been to all year. “We’re all wacky here!” cried those Copenhagen punks with pans, as covered in my review here a month or so ago. But they’ve already been usurped by a spot in a repurposed office block less than half a mile away.
The fabulously bizarre Lilibet’s opened her doors with little or no fanfare in mid-September, beckoning us into her world of strange. Behold the antique fireplaces, the floral chairs and wallpaper, the multitude of gilt-framed, 18th-century French paintings, the pretty etched glassware, the monogrammed napkins, the tall dinner candles. Lilibet’s has about it the air of how the palace of Versailles would look if its designers (in Lilibet’s case Russell Sage Studio) had been allowed really to let their hair down. The restaurant, by Ross Shonhan, ex-Nobu executive chef and founder of the Bone Daddies ramen chain, is named after our beloved Queen Elizabeth II, God rest her mortal soul. Apparently, our former monarch was born in this very building on 21 April 1926, when the site was still a Mayfair townhouse.
And what better way to pay tribute to Her Maj than by creating from scratch a multimillion-pound, turbo-chintz, mock-aristocratic dining room serving fire-roasted beef-fat oysters, deluxe seafood platters, anchovy eclairs, trou Normand and a rather regal-sounding fish triptych. “What is a fish triptych?” I hear you cry. Well, this is when the diner selects a fish – gurnard, sea bass or sea bream – and it is then served in three ways: crudo, grilled and as a soup made à la minute from its bones. Is there anything more “trapped at Balmoral for the summer when you’d rather be in the Bahamas” than a fish triptych? Did a fish triptych finally send the Sussexes fleeing to LA? I’m being churlish, of course, because a fish triptych is a fantastically eco-friendly way to eat all the parts of a fish, and is not just – cough – “leftovers”.
Still, from the moment you enter, Lilibet’s throws up many questions. You, the bedazzled diner, will sit on your multi-cushioned boudoir chair in this charming, Las Vegas-style royalist fever dream, head spinning and muttering, “But how does it feel and smell so convincingly ancient when it’s been here for only a matter of weeks?” Where the hell do you buy a room fragrance called “Old Forgotten Chamber in the West Wing of Buckingham Palace circa 1976”? In many ways, Lilibet’s is the world’s sexiest purpose-built National Trust building, because, inarguably, all bank holiday Monday visits to a doily-festooned pile would be improved by having a bit less “here’s a moth-eaten tapestry” and a lot more “here’s a twinkly, pink velour-seated cocktail bar – would you like a plate of Cornish crab tarts and a lemon verbena martini?”
Obviously, all of the above would be extra-hilarious if the food was dire and the atmosphere stiff, but neither of those is true. Lilibet’s is, rather, pure joy. It’s high drama, camp as heck and utterly uncopyable. This is the place to take your out-of-town parents, your lover who feels neglected, and clients you really don’t want to talk to, because they’ll certainly be distracted by the decor as well as by the plates of fritto misto, warm pittas with spiced tomato salsa, chrysanthemum salad with Caesar dressing and, one of the best things I tasted here, the freshly made ricotta agnolotti with sage and lemon sauce, which is really very, very good.
The meal I’ll keep returning for, though, will be the dover sole, expertly filleted tableside and served with Café de Paris butter, with a side of Lilibet’s mash, which of course comes topped with shellfish bisque and lobster meat, and perhaps with the sprouting broccoli topped with colatura vinaigrette, chilli and mint alongside. And if you’re not struck with fish, I’ve also heard great things about Lilibet’s veal holstein escalope and its bone-in ribeye.
The dessert menu, too, will raise an eyebrow, not least because it features a steak sandwich prego, for some reason that remains unclear to me, because I was too busy debating having the crepe suzette, the princess sponge cake with raspberries and almonds, or the pile of choux à la crème that turns up on a glass stand looking like something out of a Tom and Jerry cartoon, only to be covered in an entire jugful of hot chocolate sauce.
Lilibet’s is endlessly lovable. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s my new favourite restaurant. I’m not sure I entirely buy into all the various elements of its royal backstory, but it’s nevertheless a lovely dance through regal Wibbly Wobbly World. It serves mash topped with lobster, too, so I’m more than happy to eat and drink in the fairytale.
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Lilibet’s 17 Bruton Street, London W1, 020-3828 8388. Open lunch Weds-Sat, noon-2.30pm; dinner Tues-Sat, 5.30-11pm. From about £50 a head à la carte. Set lunch £29 for two courses, £34 for three. All plus drinks & service
