Boisdale's

Boisdale of Belgravia

15 Eccleston Street
Belgravia
SW1W 9LX

T. 020 7730 6922
www.boisdale.co.uk/belgravia 

Welcome / first impressions: A slightly narrow room, where you pass the band before being seated, with a bar at the back.  Decorated with ample tartan and Pall Mall cartoons.

Menu / style of food: British, with the contemporary tilt towards sourced ingredients, but perhaps a more traditional take to starters and puddings.

Ambience / other diners: Long known for a later licence and a jazz band most evenings.

Delivery – service and cooking: Food is precisely cooked and reliable.

Exit and value for money: Slightly expensive as a pure restaurant, but better value if you view it as a broader experience.

Does Boisdale’s live up to its past?

In our lives we all have places charged with history and memories, including restaurants.  Indeed the most famous, such as Boisdale’s, manage it for a whole generation.  The genius of the establishment was to repackage Ronnie Scott’s Soho bonhomie into a Sloane friendly setting, replete with haggis, steak and savouries, in a decor echoing the Highland shooting lodges of their youth.

Personally the memories segue from a tentative young man being shown the lairs of a previous generation by a benevolent aunt, to the rituals of aristocratic Scottish luncheon clubs.  As the career progresses, the venue becomes a choice for those confident and probably braying team nights out.  Did the whole restaurant really sing the late Gottfried van Bismarck happy birthday?  How did the poor staff tolerate us at all?

As we walked in, I overheard someone say they hadn’t been there for ten years.  As a business, Boisdale’s has moved on, with further outlets in the City and Canary Wharf.  But had the atmosphere?  In aspect it was the same, but yet…..As we walked to our table for 2 on a Saturday night, we found ourselves perched behind a stag party of 12, many kilted, with the groom in a See You Jimmy Hat.  I begged the maitre d’ for another table, but no luck.  But the strangest thing happened.  No wild toasts, banging of glasses, or embarrassing tales.  An appreciated steak, a handful sneaked upstairs to the open air cigar bar, while others changed out of their kilts and drifted quietly, nonchalantly, away.  Opposite them a hen party of 20 ambled in at past 10.30, out of the drenching rain.  All looked bedraggled, only a few looked dressed up, and between them they couldn’t summon the noise to counter the band, let alone create their own bubble of conviviality.

Did we enjoy our meal?  My instinct was that the food was executed with precision, a little unimaginative, and a touch overpriced.  I also chose too cheap a bottle of wine, and payed a rather harsh price.  My date was more conciliatory, and we had no faults with the service.  But no sign of the maitre d’ to see if we had survived the kilted hordes, even though I was really only interested in reminiscing.  But London these days is a professional, polyglot, but colder and less clubby place, and Boisdale’s has moved with it.