Tom's Kitchen, Chelsea
I have to admit that these days it doesn't take much to raise my hackles and sure enough, the experience of Tom's Kitchen came through in spades. I arrived about ten minutes early and was asked if I wanted to be seated or wait in the bar upstairs; I opted for the bar and told them to let my fellow diners know when they arrived.
The bar is a room furnished in the modern urban style, low sofa, low tables. low lighting; in fact the only thing that isn't low is the price of a drink. How is it possible to get a dry white wine spritzer wrong? Tonight I found out; you serve the wine and the water in separate glasses.
Twenty minutes passed and no word from downstairs so I decided to see if my cousins had arrived, left a message or possibly that the restaurant had closed. Lo and behold, there they were seated at a table oblivious, courtesy of the manager that I was upstairs.
So, before we've even tasted a morsel there's No.1 poor communication, No.2 can't serve a drink, No.3 lighting too low to read the paper whilst waiting, and oh yes, the music in the bar was loud reggae cum ska... karma points dropping already.
Cousin and husband have just spent two weeks in France on holiday with good food and some good wine.
He to me: "This Cote du Rhone on the list looks nice. What grape would that be?"
Me to him: "I'd guess either Grenache or Gamay, but let's ask the wine waiter, yes?"
The wine waiter has no idea... just produces the bottle.
We're beginning to get the measure of the place; fashionably hyped, overpriced and testing to say the least. Fortunately our conversation and exchange of views and news is more stimulating than the service and surroundings... specially that child in the corner who is starting to play up and whine. Cousin's husband proclaims rather too loudly that the child should be taken out and shot. At this point I forgive him mentioning his company Blackberry
The food... when it arrives is passable. Celeriac soup, good but too much cream. My Sea Bream is ok but the bed of spinach is a tad slimey. Cousin's Lemon Sole proves difficult to remove from the bone and husband meanwhile is being typically American picking his way though a Caesar salad and a Risotto. Frankly we can't be bothered with puddings and go straight for coffees.
I didn't see the bill but I'd estimate that somewhere in the region of ?150 was deftly swiped from an American Express card. Cousin and husband are probably recovering from jetlag at home in LA and I imagine later this week they'll be emailing the magazine whose article recommended Tom's Kitchen and telling them to leave it out.
The cab ride home by contrast, really brightened up the evening.
"'Ere, I had that Rick Stein in the cab the other day. You're not related are you? Same sort of look, same mannerisms and voice... ? He was bangin' on about some restaurant too. I quite like 'is stuff"
As for Tom's... well, a load of Tom Tit if you ask me.
