An haute-cuisine bistro (plus fine dining room) on the Smithfield site which was formerly Vic Naylor’s (RIP), where chef/patron Bjorn van der Horst’s largely classic Gallic cuisine is realised to a very high standard; whether the ‘formula’ is quite right, however, we’re not so sure.
Bjorn van der Horst is just the sort of chef/patron we need more of. His reputation may have taken a bit of a knock when he was chef of Gordon Ramsay’s short-lived La Noisette, but his previous stint at Mayfair’s Greenhouse had made clear he was a classical chef of note. And now, having spent the last year preparing for the launch of Eastside Inn, he’s shown himself one of the too few top toques brave enough to launch out on his own.
The strengths and weaknesses suggested by a day-one visit to the bistro – there is also a rather conventional-looking fine dining area – are rather what, given the background, you might expect. You can see the brigade at work in the open kitchen, and they’re clearly quietly passionate about what they do. The result is cooking which – even in the ‘cheap seats’, where we sat – is almost invariably very good.
Bread (home-made) and butter made an absolutely cracking first impression, and a starter of baby squid and peppers did nothing to dispel it. Nicely balanced main courses of monkfish bourride (beautiful, if not generous), and a cocotte of spring vegetables, similarly showed high levels of skill. Our guest raved about the crème brûlée we shared – we thought it a touch sickly. The biscuit which came with the (decent) espresso was, however, back to exceptional.
So high, indeed, was the quality of the essentially Gallic cooking served in the bistro that we have little doubt that the ‘fine dining’ fare would punch at the weight required when menus start off at the £40 mark.
So where’s the rub? In short, it’s all about the formula. We liked the bistro. It’s a sparse and elegant space, in a style that rather made us think of downtown NYC. But the establishment’s whole style of presentation verges on ascetic, and prices are high for an establishment launching itself as a ‘bistro’, on the edge – it is still the edge – of a financial district where times are, it is said, not the best.
The food here is, in our view, good value, but that’s no good if you don’t have the punters, and we appeared to be the only bistro customers for the first lunch sitting.
When our guest – one of those impoverished Mayfair types – was chatting to the waiter, he pointed out as charmingly as he could that restaurants in his neck of the woods tended to offer bargain set lunches to get in the punters. His well-meant comment was met with something approaching (well-mannered) disdain. We assume the waiter knew well enough what the boss is about. If so, we should note that the passion of a chef/patron for his art can indeed be a very dangerous thing.
