Walking in, you’ll notice the lighting is dim enough to hide the fact you’re about to spend £80 on a piece of protein. The décor is all dark wood, leather booths, and an open kitchen that looks like a beef cathedral. I half-expected a priest to come out and bless the ribeye.
One reviewer described it as “aggressively masculine,” which is polite for “you’ll probably hear a man explain the proper way to chew at the next table.” But honestly? It works. The vibe is luxurious without being stuffy—like a steakhouse designed by a Bond villain who really loves Bordeaux.
The Wine: A Dangerous Hobby
Now, the wine list. Oh boy. It’s a leather-bound encyclopedia thicker than War and Peace. The sommelier will glide over, looking like he just stepped out of a cologne ad, and ask, “What are you feeling tonight?” Do not say “red.” That’s like asking a T-Rex if it wants “a snack.”
Surprising fact: they actually have a wine preservation system that costs more than my first car. They claim it keeps opened bottles fresh for weeks. (I tested this theory. I was not given a second bottle. Apparently, “for science” is not a valid excuse.) But hey, if you’re brave, try the South African Chenin Blanc—it tastes like sunshine and apology letters to your bank account.
I tried a new London meat and wine restaurant and it's my favourite in
