Review by Bruce Dear, solicitor, Cameron McKenna for In Brief magazine.
estled behind Sloane Street,
Motcombs (26 Motcomb St, London,
SW1 Tel:0171 235 6382) is at the heart
of Belgravia Village. It is a discreet and
exclusive venue, with that unfussed
homeliness beloved of celebrities. Des
Lynam is a regular. Terry Venables is a
lunchtime habitue. Even David
Beckham might find a welcome here;
but don't let that put you off. Portraits of
bygone socialites smother the walls and
add to the atmosphere of privileged
conviviality.
I took my wife, but should have taken my mum, who will never forgive me. For on the table
next to us was the great unrequited love of her life - James Coburn. In his seventies, about
three times more handsome than your reviewer (my wife's conservative estimate), he was
accompanied by the erstwhile Dracula, Christopher Lee.
Enough of stargazing, and on to what Motcombs does suberbly - the food. The menu is
dominated by seafood and the daily specials were brought to our table in their uncooked
state so we could appreciate their superb quality. These included 'Linford' the lobster, who
seemed less than happy to be a la carte and was trying to escape the basket in a rather
sorrowful slow motion. For carnivores, the entrees included wild boar and steak tartar.
Happily, unlike Linford, these were not brought live to the table.
I began with an incomparable mushroom risotto. It was moist and well flavoured and I was
not surprised to discover that Motcomb's chef is Italian
Katherine's starter, however, had more of a Russian feel. Penne al Vodka and Caviar. The
pasta was perfectly cooked and the sauce creamy and tasty - 'the world's most upmarket
comfort food,' she claimed. Other starters included beef carpaccio and fresh rock oysters.
Left: The proprietors of this Irish owned restaurant.
The wine list is mainly French, but varied and
carefully chosen. We selected a golden coloured
Chablis Grenouilles Grand Cru 1995. Its strong
flavour went well with our food. Mineral water is
served not only with lemon, but also with
strawberry. A nod to Wimbledon perhaps.
My main course was a plain grilled dover sole
expertly taken off the bone by our waiter. It was full
flavoured and substantial, a world away from the
paper-thin and insipid sole of lesser restaurants.
Meanwhile Katherine was staring aghast at her
mixed grilled seafood. It was so beautiful she
wasn't sure whether to eat it or photograph it, for it
had the look of an avant garde Ascot hat. Deciding that her camera might panic the celebs,
she opted for the first choice, although this did involve something of a culinary obstacle
course. The huge platter included every conceivable fish and shellfish, including half a
lobster. Even with my selfless help, she was unable to eat it all. The entrees were
accompanied by crisp expertly cooked vegetables.
My pudding was, quite simply, the best chocolate mousse cake that either I or Katherine,
who was allowed to pinch only a very small spoonful, had ever tasted. I can say no more.
Katharine opted for fresh cleansing wild berries. They would even have been healthy had
Katharine been able to resist a glass of 'nectar-like' Muscat de Baume to accompany them.
I contemplated Motcombs' cosiness over a wonderful glass of port - Bumester Colheita
1978.
On the way out we passed Victor Kiam, he who once, famously, liked the company so
much that he bought it. If he ate at Motcombs that night, he will already have put his bid in.