Launceston Place
Above: Launceston Place: where the main courses are delicious but tiny
I know I will receive (and deserve) precious little sympathy for this, but the tyranny of the tasting menu is starting to annoy me. Six or more exquisitely dainty little dishes, each paired with a small glass of wine, and spread over several hours. My inner trencherman recoils at such elegance.
Which is why, when I visited the newly-revamped Launceston Place, I ordered à la carte. It made little difference, but more of that later.
Launceston Place was in need of a makeover – its succession of rather countrified rooms had become dowdier as the years rolled by – and it has certainly received one: no floral swagging is left. Walls are now ‘bitter chocolate’, apparently, although in the modishly dim lighting they could be black, and the windows are bare. The Princess of Wales, who would frequently visit from Kensington Palace, would find her old seat a little draughty as a result, as my companion discovered.
The chef is Tristan Welch, formerly of Pétrus, and he is very talented. The problem is that he seems overly anxious to prove the point.
My starter of quail was flamboyantly flamed in brandy at the table: since it had already been cooked, sous-vide, before its combustion, the pyrotechnics seemed a little gratuitous. A starter of smoked salmon arrived in a smoke-filled glass dome, to fine effect: both starters demonstrated a harmony of flavours and a precision of cooking which were deeply impressive.
Our main courses, however, were tiny: delicious, but Lilliputian in scale. Exquisite little slices of meat (sirloin of Longhorn beef for me, roast milk-fed lamb for her), smudges of intense purées… very clever. But not enough. I mentioned this to the waiter. He replied that, since they serve several other little dishes (frothy cauliflower soup, herb-flavoured chocolates, et al), the kitchen deliberately restricts the size of the main courses. This, I felt, turned an à la carte meal into a tasting menu, which is what I had tried to avoid.
Cheeses – not the largest selection, but well kept – made up for some of my mourned calories, and the wines were excellent, but I think a little more laissez-faire might be tolerated by the kitchen. It is, I think, possible to win a Michelin star without telling one’s diners what they should eat. Some people – Heaven forfend – may not even like cauliflower soup.
Lunch or dinner for two, including wine, around £120.
Bill Knott