St John Hotel serves some typically fantastic food - but at eye-watering prices

Soldiering on: Fergus Henderson
10 April 2012

With the opening of the long-delayed St John Hotel, Fergus Henderson's "nose-to-tail eating" has become "from table to bed" (his words).

Apparently Fergus and his partners discussed opening a hotel in Beirut but then Manzi's fish restaurant off Leicester Square came up for sale and along with it history, nostalgia and, usefully, bedrooms.

The Leicester Street façade still carries the original appetite-arousing signs on the first, second and third floors announcing "Moules", "Huîtres", "Langoustes", but the redesign has moved the entrance to Lisle Street. Now rubbish bins line up under a plaque supplied by The Soho Society alerting passers-by that Johann Strauss I lodged at this address in 1838.

From seafood to portholes and details that would have looked at home on a Sally Line ferry is, I suppose, defensible design thinking but the result is awkward, cramped, constipated. Up a narrow curving staircase with acrylic carpet is the bar, where we started our evening. Like places in Sweden or Norway where drinking is actively discouraged by high prices and grim surroundings, the bar had a bleakness that "signature" Negronis in "signature" small, squat glasses at £10.40 plus service did nothing to dispel.

The ground-floor dining room follows St John precepts - white walls, open kitchen, Shaker-style coat pegs, refectory lighting, unforgiving wooden chairs - but here in Soho space is in short supply and the ceiling is low.

The menu also adheres strictly to the gospel - chef Tom Harris was formerly sous-chef at St John - which is, of course, absolutely as it should be. Descriptions are characteristically muscular and terse but prices, both for food and wine, are a stab to yer vitals.

With such a wide gap between the plan to open and the actual launch there must be considerable financial ground to be made up, but contributing to it by eating bacon (fatty offcuts) and beans served for two at £28 or ordering a bottle of St John Blanc (the cheapest white) at £26 when their own HG Wines website sells it retail for £6.85 feels, how shall we say, annoying.

Some dishes, however, were anything but. Mussels on toast with leeks and parsley were rapturously received -especially after the long wait that preceded the arrival of the first courses. Pig's head, rabbit and radishes comprised slices of a well-made brawn interweaving sonsily dressed leaves and pale, crunchy roots. Chicken broth and dumplings had the disconcerting inclusion of ham bones. They strengthened the flavour but wrong-footed the concept.

Another seemingly interminable, numb-bottomed wait finally ushered in the main courses - some restaurants have "soft" opening periods to overcome such problems. Those beans with fatty bacon were sauced in an undeniably spirited manner but the question of the actual food pricing didn't go away and no salad or anything green was included to lighten their impact. A side dish of watercress salad is another £5.50.

At St John in Smithfield it is possible to order a whole suckling pig (£360) ahead of time for a party of a dozen or more. Here it is served at £25 - with watercress and potato - for one or more, the cut depending on how many want it. Ribs of the little piggy for one were excellent although the broccoli substituted for potato as a carb-swerver was weirdly, literally stringy.

Roasted pigeon served rare with pigeony bits mashed on toast - bread so fine it is a noble ingredient in its own right - turnips and anchovy is the sort of dish that makes us confuse St John with St Fergus. Desserts of chocolate terrine with Armagnac ice cream and blood orange jelly with shortbread and clotted cream were further evidence for canonisation.

Publicity for the hotel had mentioned typically saintly treats such as Breakfast Buns, Elevenses, a Little Bun Moment (fillings of bitter chocolate, prune or anchovy) in the afternoons and - so important in theatre- and clubland - a Late Night Menu served until 1.45am. Breakfast Buns had apparently been a long time in gestation. I went to try them and other breakfast aspects.

Daylight and sunshine softens the dining room and there is a chance to talk to the affable staff. When my friend Joe said that the anchovy toasts with boiled eggs were too floppy, one of them agreed that "yes, they should have more rigour".

The glazed buxom Buns in three incarnations, butter (similar to croissant), spice (cinnamon) and fruit (sultanas marinated in Earl Grey tea) were served with farmhouse butter, exquisite homemade golden raspberry preserve and Seville marmalade and Regent's Park honey. Ham, eggs and fried bread had faultless component parts. I can only apologise that I wasn't man enough to try devilled kidneys on toast.

St John Hotel
1 Leicester Street, WC2

Create a FREE account to continue reading

eros

Registration is a free and easy way to support our journalism.

Join our community where you can: comment on stories; sign up to newsletters; enter competitions and access content on our app.

Your email address

Must be at least 6 characters, include an upper and lower case character and a number

You must be at least 18 years old to create an account

* Required fields

Already have an account? SIGN IN

By clicking Create Account you confirm that your data has been entered correctly and you have read and agree to our Terms of use , Cookie policy and Privacy policy .

This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged in