Simpson’s-in-the-Strand, London WC2: ‘A rollicking list of cosy British joys’ – restaurant review | Grace Dent on restaurants
The British may not have the most sophisticated palates, but we are adorable in our culinary urgesAs we sit awaiting the beef rib trolley in the Grand Divan dining room at the whoppingly sized Simpson’s-in-the-Strand, we fizz with ideas of how to describe its wildly unfettered quaintness.“It’s all a bit Hogwarts, isn’t it?” I say to my friend Hugh.He’s been four times already, but then, Simpson’s is that kind of place: a handy-as-heck, posh canteen a short stroll from Covent Garden.There’s a twinkly, ye olde cocktail bar upstairs as well as Romano’s with its more European-style menu.But, for now, let’s concentrate on the Grand Divan.
“It’s all very Samuel Pepys’ London,” Hugh says,“Or very ‘I’m a member of the British establishment meeting my former Eton fencing team for claret and rabbit with grain mustard’,” I reply as the dining hall, which has been used in various forms since 1828 (apparently even Dickens popped by at one point), fills to the brim pretty quickly on this Sunday lunchtime,The soundproofing is world class, meaning that, even though the place is as bustling as a room in full swing on Saturday night, conversation is wholly audible,This is a Jeremy King restaurant, and such details always matter in his places,Often, King’s new openings come with some glorious semi-fictitious backstory to set the scene – well, it’s a neat trick – but at the Grand Divan he leaves the menu to do all the storytelling.
It is a rollicking list of cosy British joys: bubble and squeak, bacon chop, dressed Portland crab, Gentleman’s Relish on toast …Behold, too, the “pies and puddings of the day”, where Monday’s beef and ale pie gives way to Wednesday’s ox cheek pie and Thursday’s steak and kidney pudding.Yes, the world may be burning, but at least in this corner of Blighty we can be sure that, of a Friday, there will always be a Simpson’s fish pie served with “vegetables of the day”.And, for that matter, a sturdy bowl of spotted dick with custard for afters.Ah, spotted dick, that stalwart slab of moist, currant-strewn, British mediocrity.I pity those fancy Frenchies across the channel with their flimsy patisserie.
Non! Give me Simpson’s heavy-hitting bowl of sugary suet any day, packed as it is with dried fruit that resembles dead flies, which instantly whisks me back to Sundays in the 1970s, when it came in a tin and was served with on-the-turn Nestlé’ Tip Top; after Jim Bowen’s Bullseye, it was pretty much the best thing all day,All of these memories, and many, many more, were floated during our Simpson’s lunch, because it’s hard not to be wildly sentimental about British food and the bizarreness of the British way when you’re eating in what feels like an ancient Oxbridge feasting hall complete with dark brown panelling, chandeliers and black-waistcoated servers pushing around trolleys of quivering piles of roast rib,That beef, incidentally, is well worth a punt, not least because it’s served erring on the rare and with fiery horseradish from a large, white, communal bowl, and comes with Yorkshire pudding, gravy and a tureen of roasts spuds and root veg,You will not leave hungry,Simpson’s proves that while the British may not have the most sophisticated palates, we are adorable in our culinary urges.
Fancy a glass of sweet house hock to go with your boiled ham and parsley sauce? And how about a whizz around the British cheese trolley, all accompanied by chutney and fruit bread? How good is the food here? It’s better than I expected: wholly sufficient, definitely acceptable and, at times, rather lovely.Take the pretty and generous Grand Divan prawn cocktail featuring three large shelled prawns and an army of small dressed ones in a sweet marie rose sauce.Nothing earth-shattering, true, but nicely staged.I also very much enjoyed my roast loin of cod with wilted greens and lobster bisque sauce, which was pretty wonderful: flaky fish, with a good, rich depth to its glossy sauce.At £16.
75, bubble and squeak felt steeply priced for what is essentially a small portion of fried mash topped with an egg, but it was delightful nevertheless.A mini croquembouche tower for two featured far too much spun sugar and not enough cream to elevate it: a small, dry and perfectly British croquembouche that would make a French person ask: “Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça?”Even so, there’s something about Simpson’s that I really loved: the oldness, the properness, the regalness, the dependability and, even on a casual Sunday, the sheer sense of occasion.It’s a place I will lean on when I simply need to be fed, nurtured and taken care of.As restaurants go, there’s no higher praise than that.Simpson’s-in-the-Strand 100 Strand, London WC2, 020-7836 9112.
Open all week, lunch 11.30am-3pm (5pm Sun), dinner 5-11.30pm (10.30pm Sun).From about £55 a head à la carte, plus drinks and service
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