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Review at a glance: \u2605\u2605\u2605\u2605\u2605<\/p>\n
To whom we turn in moments of gloom and glory can be instructive, a filter of our truest friends. I\u2019ve fallen out with the Ritz<\/a> a couple of times, including once after a visit to the bar which didn\u2019t warrant a review (\u201cBut you said it was lovely!\u201d they said. \u201cYes,\u201d I replied. \u201cBut I also apologised when I was run over. Mum\u2019s a stickler for manners.\u201d) No matter. We could have a stand-up row and the Ritz would forever be the restaurant<\/a> I chose when wanting consolation or celebration. So when my partner Twiggy agreed to marry me, with no obvious signs of head injury, it was here that was booked. <\/p>\n It\u2019s not what you\u2019d call subtle, being a neo-baroque chamber of pink and gilt. I imagine the designers meant to conjure a room Louis XIV might feel at home in, though there\u2019s every chance they were just big into strawberry Angel Delight. I guess we\u2019ll never know. It is cartoonishly grand, what children might picture when first hearing about fine-dining (the truth being blander, greyer, involving more being talked at). In that way a meal here is always an occasion, as though the opulence demands it. <\/p>\n Grande dame: The opulence of the dining room almost demands that every meal feels like an occasion<\/p>\n Courtesy of the Ritz<\/p>\n Happily, they didn\u2019t spunk the budget on cornicing alone. I\u2019ve been in the kitchens. They house a staff of white-coated chefs of such number and order that news of them running a flag up the pole and declaring independence wouldn\u2019t be such a turn-up for the books. What they produce confounds and dumbfounds, boggles minds and gasts flabbers. It is food<\/a> that leaves me fog-headed with pleasure. Vertiginously toqued executive chef John Williams<\/a> has revolutionised the restaurant he joined two decades ago and while much of what he\u2019s put in place suggests a loyalty to French restaurateuring of the oldest school, his sleight of hand is that the place is anything but dated. He has bear-hugged tradition but created a sense of timelessness. Can there be cutting-edge classicism? <\/p>\n I\u2019ve never fully grasped what \u201cmodern British\u201d is meant to encapsulate \u2014 is it pub burrata, Simon Rogan sorcery, both, neither? \u2014 but the Ritz might be an advert for it at its best. There is dedication to this country\u2019s ingredients, clear acknowledgement that we still have seasons (just about), and come on, any restaurant stuffing a crisp pipe of tuile with coronation chicken can\u2019t be that \u00e0 la Fran\u00e7aise, can it? A stunner, that canap\u00e9, thrust aloft on a silver medal stand, accompanied by duck liver parfait sitting under a gingerbread mortarboard, and a sable topped with Parmesan mousse and a brightening jolt of basil. Would it be possible to eat too many of these? I\u2019d at least like to try. <\/p>\n Did human hands do all this? The restaurant specialises in intricacies<\/p>\n Courtest of the Ritz<\/p>\n It is futile to comment on cooking that is perfect, other than to say that it is. Restaurants often pronounce that good meals rely on little more than sourcing the best ingredients, but then down the pub chefs sidle up to me and start muttering about budgets and Scroogeish paymasters. Williams and his team must not have these; every bite seems an endorsement that, yes, they really have uncovered the best of the best. When a slice of lobster as thick as a wrist arrived, sitting among a forest of heritage tomatoes, I could almost taste its final morning swim. Roscoff onions came sweet and sticky with cutlets of pink lamb as soft as hurt feelings, the sauce rich with girolle mushrooms. Red mullet arrived with skin crisped the colour of earth and strands of courgette bound together like pages of a novella. Did human hands really do all this?<\/p>\n Roscoff onions came sweet and sticky with cutlets of pink lamb as soft as hurt feelings<\/p>\n We ate the three-course, lunchtime-only, \u00a386 menu. There is a great opportunity to spend more, to have the duck tableside and delight in Cr\u00eapes Suzette. But almost everything offers a convincer that Michelin is getting this place wrong (one star? Triple it, pronto). Service has remained identical whenever I\u2019ve eaten here: flawless, neither overfamiliar nor frosty. Tailcoated waiters bob as a means to send and receive signals, never calling or waving. All they do is welcome. You do not feel silly for confusing a type of cheese with a mushroom. Wine is translated.<\/p>\n The Ritz is the restaurant I routinely name as London\u2019s best, because it is. Only no one ever believes me, on the grounds it\u2019s too preposterously obvious to possibly be true. But it is. Accept no substitute, not even the afternoon tea.<\/p>\n![](\"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/06\/SEI221396427.jpg\")
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