How California got cool


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The view across Napa Valley. Photograph: Jason Lowe

There’s something going on out west: California is leaving behind its super-charged turbo-strength reputation, with a new generation striving for poise in their wines. Here, Sophie Thorpe traces the state’s exciting evolution

California is unbelievably hip right now. As long as it’s the right California – the New California. In circles of natural-wine nuts, off-beat sommeliers and cult-name creators, there is a small collection of Californian wine producers who represent the modern face of wine. For the wine-lovers who only drink Claret behind closed doors, whose Instagram accounts blend Roulot, Rousseau and Rayas with pét-nat and Overnoy, California has become cool.

And it’s about time. While the vine arrived in California the 18th century, along with Franciscan missionaries, the industry’s progress was soon stopped by Prohibition. Those who had, until 1920, made a living from their vineyards faced bankruptcy, with most switching the vine for a more fruitful crop. Only a few select producers survived, by producing sacramental and medicinal wines, or shipping grapes or concentrate to consumers for home winemaking – the only legal way for alcohol to be consumed. Remarkably, there was a sudden interest in Communion, and it is thanks to such entrepreneurial efforts that – especially in the unfashionable Central Valley – there are still sparse plots of vines that pre-date the Temperance movement.

Although officially made legal again in 1933, it took time for wine to weave its way back into America’s cultural tapestry. Sweet and fortified wines, made in European styles, became fashionable, while the Great Depression drove consumers to stronger, and cheaper, drinks. It wasn’t until Robert Mondavi left his family winery (Charles Krug), to open his own, in 1966, that the Golden State’s wine industry started to take a more familiar shape. Of Italian heritage, raised in Lodi and reared in a winemaking family, Mondavi had visited Bordeaux, and it was this – a more restrained, classical style of Cabernet – that he sought to create.

Soon California had its first qualitative pioneers: Stag’s Leap, Château Montelena, Ridge Vineyards, Clos du Val and Chalone featured alongside Mondavi. At the same time, UC Davis was at the forefront of research in viticulture and vinification, providing a breeding ground for winemaking talent – a new generation who understood the importance of work in the vineyard, despite knowing the manipulative power of the winery. With the pivotal 1976 Judgement of Paris, California was now playing at the grown-ups’ table.

Photograph: Jason Lowe

But Spurrier’s tasting wasn’t a home run. With the 1980s, the need for an appellation system was acknowledged and so the American Viticultural Area (AVA) was born. But, while intended to echo Europe’s appellations, all too often AVAs were drawn along political, not terroir-driven, lines – neat and tidy divisions that represented little of what went on underground.

The state suffered with the rise of ripeness, micro-oxygenation, over-extraction and higher alcohol levels – the rise, in short, of Robert Parker Jr. All too many producers tailored their winemaking to please the critic’s pointed palate. Meanwhile, at the other end of the spectrum, Gallo forged a reputation for sickly-sweet, supermarket plonk: the blush Zinfandel boom. The UC Davis know-how had, in some cases, become a curse, enabling a whole generation to acidify, de-acidify, add and remove alcohol, adjust their fruit’s flavour with cultured yeasts – recipe winemaking that created a characterless product.

California seemed lost. But California is the golden girl in the land of opportunity, and a new generation was seizing the reins. Enter those In Pursuit of Balance, the Seven Percenters – a new, worldly set of winemakers seeking sustainability, turning its back on the state’s overblown reputation.

Rajat Parr, super-somm-turned-winemaker (Sandhi and Domaine de la Côte), and Jasmine Hirsch, of Hirsch Vineyards, created In Pursuit of Balance in 2011. While 2004’s hit film Sideways had swayed consumers towards the state’s Pinot Noir (and put the nail in Merlot’s coffin), the styles being made were big. Giant, in fact: monolithic Pinot that bore little resemblance to the fine, elegant – almost nervy – grape we know from the Côte d’Or. IPOB was about reclaiming Pinot Noir and Chardonnay’s poise, proving that California could be subtle. The 36 member wineries (including Au Bon Climat) were committed to using Burgundy’s grapes as “profound vehicles for the expression of terroir”. For many of the wineries, the concept wasn’t new – having it championed by the broader industry was.

But as Pinot became fashionable, so other grapes fell from favour. Old plots of unsavoury grapes, lacking the star-factor, were grubbed up by producers jumping on the Oscar-bedazzled bandwagon. In a bid to prevent further euthanasia, a small group – including Jancis Robinson, David Gates of Ridge Vineyards and top viticulturalist Tegan Passalacqua – established the Historic Vine Society, a non-profit organisation designed to save California’s old vines. Founded in 2010, it has a growing register of plots planted before 1960; today there are 229 vineyards recorded, dating back as far as the 1870s, including Ridge’s Monte Bello and Birichino’s Bechtold site.

Meanwhile, another group of winemakers had started hunting down these forgotten sites, searching for grapes that didn’t fit California’s standard matrix. Dubbed the “Seven Percenters”, these were the winemakers cursing Cab and seeking a new identity for California, while reclaiming the remarkable variety that immigrants had brought with them over the years. Trousseau Gris, Gamay, Refosco, Ribolla Gialla, Malvasia, Chenin Blanc, Barbera, Muscat Canelli: old or new, they worked with any grape besides the eight that made up 93 percent of California’s vineyard area (Cabernet, Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Syrah, Merlot, Sauvignon Blanc, Zinfandel and Petite Sirah).

John Williams, of Frog’s Leap, at home behind the barbecue. Photograph: Jason Lowe

This rediscovery of a viticultural heritage – from funky grapes, to old vines and elegance – is not unique. It’s the same thrilling trend that has transformed South Africa into one of the most exciting wine-producing nations around. It’s the upside of globalisation: a new generation which has been able to drink Europe’s best bottles and train with the world’s best vignerons. Returning home with knowledge of the wine world that was, they’re creating the wine world that will be, unconstrained by strict AOCs. While they may have been inspired by the wines of France, Italy and Spain, they aren’t churning out pale imitations of Chassagne, Barolo and Rioja.

The resulting wines are – in many cases – Old World inspired, elegant and restrained, but with a distinct New World ripeness. They are – most importantly – drinkable, gluggably delicious, enchantingly moreish, while not losing an ounce of complexity. Perhaps it’s an all-American charm, but while these are serious wines, there is an accessibility to them – a determined down-to-earthness that swipes away the pretension that scars so much of the wine world.

And what’s behind it, what’s their philosophy? For me it comes down to respect: for the soil, for the vine, for the region’s history. It translates into attention in the vineyards and a light touch in the winery, a naturalistic (not natural) approach, with the ultimate aim of expressing a particular grape from a particular site in a particular vintage. It’s a celebration of the diversity one region can offer; a reaction against homogeneity.

The whole trend was captured by Jon Bonné in The New California Wine, published in 2013. Did he push the movement further, uniting producers to create a cause? Or did he perfectly ride the crest of the movement’s wave, publishing at just the right moment to capture consumers’ imaginations? That depends on who you talk to. No matter which you believe, he certainly raised California’s profile. Suddenly the state had a middle-market offering – something that slotted somewhere between the uber-collectible Screaming Eagles and Two-Buck Chuck.

There are some who will question whether this is really new. Producers such as Ridge Vineyards, Frog’s Leap and Au Bon Climat have been quietly producing restrained, fresh styles of wine for decades, even when it wasn’t good for sales. While they may have been the original pioneers, it’s encouraging to see others join their ranks.

Today, IPOB has been disbanded, the crusade over, with Parr and Hirsch feeling the debate is well underway. California may still be known for certain styles, but finding 15-percent Pinot and over-oaked Chardonnay is increasingly rare. Site-specific wines, old-vine cuvées and unusual grapes are becoming the norm – but most importantly, in all the best examples, old or new, there is a coolness. It is this refreshing elegance that has cut through the market, guaranteeing them spots on the world’s best wine lists, including ours.

Six to try:

2014 Birichino Malvasia Bianca, Monterey (£19.95): Birichino (biri-kino) was founded by a mischievous duo of Bonny Doon alumni. They work with a range of intriguing sites around the state, creating, in winemaker John Locke’s words, “drinking wines”. Their Malvasia is hauntingly aromatic, layered with candied fruit and flowers with an illusion of sweetness, while the palate is stunningly dry. Thrilling, lean and mineral, it’s enchanting.

2016 Frog’s Leap Rutherford Sauvignon Blanc, Napa Valley (£26.00): Frog’s Leap has been producing utterly delicious wines since 1981. Founder John Williams is an old-school California winemaker who knows how important work in the vineyard is to their end-product. Determinedly organic and dry-farmed, they may be based in Napa – but they produce anything but jammy, over-sized, over-oaked wines. This Sauvignon Blanc is a case in point: zesty and fresh, it’s layered with grass, citrus and mineral notes that linger on the palate. A refreshing change from Kiwi exoticism.

2013 Ramey Chardonnay, Sonoma Coast (£44.00): “Forty-four pounds,” I hear you cry, “the price of good Burgundy?!” Yes, Ramey doesn’t do cheap. But their wines are worth every penny. This, their entry-level Chardonnay, comes from cooler Sonoma, offering a leaner style in comparison to their other cuvées. Bright acidity is balanced by a generous intensity of apple, pear and citrus fruit. With a flinty edge, this is perfectly poised between New World richness and Old World elegance.

2013 Uvaggio Antichi Viti Grenache, Santa Clara Valley (£18.95): Uvaggio produces some of the best-value Californian wines around. It was founded by Jim Moore (ex Mondavi) and Mel Knox (California’s best-known barrel broker) in 1997, with the idea of championing Mediterranean varietals grown in the sun-drenched climate. They produce food-friendly, fruit-driven styles of Vermentino, Barbera, Primitivo, Moscato and Grenache. The fruit for this comes from the Besson vineyard, a gnarly 100-year-old plot in the Santa Clara Valley, with a splash (5 percent) of Cinsault from Bechtold vineyard in Lodi (both of which are used by Birichino for their wines). The resulting liquid is dense with juicy fruit – Morello cherry and strawberry, perfumed and moreish with a subtle hint of sweet-spice.

2013 Au Bon Climat Sandford & Benedict Pinot Noir, Santa Ynez Valley (£47.95): ABC, as it is known, needs little introduction: Jim Clendenen, the “wild boy” of Californian wine, is the stuff of legend. He’s been knocking it out of the park with restrained styles of Pinot Noir and Chardonnay since 1982. Sanford & Benedict is one of Santa Barbara’s best and most famous vineyards; unsurprisingly, Jim’s wine is a serene, smoky, savoury, red-and-black-berried beauty of a wine. Enjoy its evolution over the next few years.

2013 Ridge Monte Bello, Santa Cruz Mountains (£115.00): The granddaddy of the “new” California. From an extraordinary vineyard, perched 2,400 feet above Silicon Valley – where the sun is bright and the breezes cool – Monte Bello is Ridge’s flagship wine. A complex Cabernet blend that is effortlessly powerful, richly concentrated and eminently age-worthy (the ’92 in half still has years ahead of it), it also has a juicy drinkability – a line of acidity that makes it almost approachable now. Don’t be tempted: tuck this away for 20 years.

Browse a selection of the New California wines here.

Category: New World

The Martini


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Stylish, simple, sophisticated and very, very strong – Emily Miles explores why no other drink can match the Martini

The gleam of glassware; the clatter of ice in shaker; the careful placement of pristine, starched napkin squares and taut-skinned olives: there is an exquisite theatre that surrounds a perfectly executed, perfectly presented cocktail. And no drink better represents the genre’s credentials than a crisp, clean, classic Martini.

The Martini is a real cocktail; a finely tuned, sleek, lean, F1 race-car of a concoction – as far from sticky, saccharine, flamingo-and-umbrella-topped good-time drinks as it is possible to be. In its basic form, a Martini is a beguilingly simple combination of gin (sorry, Mr Bond, vodka really doesn’t cut it), vermouth and a garnish such as a sliver of lemon zest. Some argue the case for a dash of bitters. Many argue over the presence of brine, an olive or twist. Even more argue about the precise quantity of vermouth required or the method by which ice is combined into the liquid. But the essential fact of the drink is a requirement for very cold, virtually unadulterated hard liquor.

Martinis are unashamedly potent. Pour one into a diminutive, V-shaped glass – amidst the smoke and mirrors of a smart cocktail bar – and it appears civilised, lent an air of sophistication by its pedigree, its famous fans and its place in popular culture. The reality, though, is a roaring jolt of a drink, best consumed “quickly, while it is still laughing at you” (or so advised The Savoy Bar’s legendary bartender Harry Craddock).

That such a drink – one that can sink any person foolish enough to consume it in triplicate – should be so mythologised is a curiosity, but part of its allure lies in its mysterious origins. To date, even the most determined cocktail historians (why yes, such an occupation does exist) have failed to successfully uncover and credit the Martini’s inventor.

One of the most popular theories is that the cocktail is a descendant of the Martinez, a short drink which was based on Dutch Genever combined with Maraschino liqueur and bitters, purportedly created by bartending impresario Jerry Thomas in the late 19th century. Other historians have speculated that the Martini was first shaken up by barman Martini di Arma di Taggia in New York City’s Knickerbocker Hotel.

A more probable (though less evocative) notion is that its name came from the prevalence of Italian vermouth producer Martini & Rossi, which introduced its Extra Dry formulation on 1st January 1900 to cater to the increasing demand for dry drinks. Its adverts used the strapline, “It’s not a Martini unless you use Martini”.

Of one thing we are certain: by the end of the 19th century, the first recipe for the drink had been committed to print (it appeared in Harry Johnson’s Bartender Manual of 1888); its place in the classic cocktail canon was assured – and its timing couldn’t have been better.

The fin de siècle heralded a new beginning: the dawn of the golden age of the cocktail, a craze which only accelerated in the UK following the First World War. The new fashion for American-style “mixed drinks” raced across Europe, accompanied by a soundtrack of Jazz. American Bars began to open in London’s large and fashionable hotels – respectable enough for society ladies to be seen in alongside their male counterparts – and were considered to be the most stylish place to begin or end an evening.

As this tide of enthusiasm rose in London, Prohibition was being enacted in the United States; the day after its enforcement, bartender Harry Craddock packed up his shaker and headed for London, bringing with him a penchant for self-publicity and, it is said, the recipe for the Dry Martini. In 1930, he recorded his preferred formulation in The Savoy Cocktail Book, which has been a touchstone of British bartending ever since.

Today, the ability to mix a good Martini in your own home, or to order one with confidence –knowing your preference for its constituent parts – is one of those life-enhancing skills; a barometer of taste. Purists will doubtless lean towards the method of Martini maestro Alessandro Palazzi, who presides over the world-famous Dukes Bar. Palazzi advocates swirling just a few drops of vermouth in the glass before adding gin which has come straight from the freezer; this gives the drink a silky, almost viscous mouth-feel (for details of his method, see below).

Those with less robust constitutions may prefer a modicum of dilution; this is achieved by shaking or stirring the liquor with high-quality ice. Alternatively, should you have an eye on the latest cocktail trends, then experiment with drink-of-the-moment vermouth, which calls for a wetter ratio and has the advantage of more complex flavours.

Though the nuances of how to make a Martini may change, its status as the pre-eminent cocktail remains constant. Wet, dry, shaken or stirred: a Martini is truly more than the sum of its parts.

The most perfect drink in the world

“This,” says Alessandro Palazzi, “is the enemy of the Martini.” He’s pointing with visible disgust at the water that has just been poured from a cocktail shaker. One might not expect international expertise from the demure bar that is hidden in Dukes hotel. But Alessandro is a master of the Martini, creator of the hotel’s legendary drinks and international lecturer on the art of mixing them.

The secret, Alessandro believes, is in the chill-factor – having an ice-frosted glass, perfectly chilled gin (with the signature viscosity that comes only with a spirit over 40 percent ABV) and decent ice. The team here makes between 300 and 350 a night, each one prepared from the fabled trolley of cocktail dreams, ice-cold and lethal.

On a Friday afternoon, the post-lunch crowd is embracing the weekend, with the all-Italian bar team providing sustenance with suitably strong pours. And, while other drinks are offered, Martinis are the only drink in sight. Regulars arrive and the softly spoken Alessandro jests with each and every one, receiving them all like old friends. It’s not just the drinks that make Dukes special, it’s an old-world service that seems oh-so-very St James’s.

So how does one craft the perfect Martini? The ingredients are key: strong gin, from the freezer, pure in flavour and London Dry in style; good vermouth that tastes of something; and organic, unwaxed lemon (Dukes imports theirs from Amalfi). The lemon is oft forgot, but it’s the essential oils from the citrus fruit that float on top of the spirit, providing a punch of flavour on the nose. Most important of all is for everything to be cold, not shaken, not stirred, not diluted in the least: the Martini is and should always be pure alcohol.

“The way we do it at Dukes, the Martini is very cold, it’s very strong,” Alessandro says. “You take your time. The Martini is a cocktail you drink and talk to your friend. You converse. It’s not a shot. As your glass gets warmer, the oils [from the lemon] go down and change. It’s the ingredients that help. From something very simple, you get something magical.” The way he does it, it really is.

The perfect Martini

  • No.3 London Dry Gin (from the freezer)
  • Sacred Vermouth
  • Amalfi lemon (unwaxed)
  • An iced Martini glass

Step 1: Shake a dash of vermouth into the glass. Roll it round the glass.

Step 2: Add the gin. Right to the top.

Step 3: Peel one strip of lemon. Hold it over the glass and fold it lengthways to release the essential oils, then drop in the glass.

Category: Miscellaneous,Spirits

Notes from the vineyard: riddle me this


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As we continue to follow life at Nyetimber, we leave the vines behind for the winery this month, as Brad Greatrix examines two important stages in sparkling wine production – riddling and disgorgement – and their impact on the wine’s flavour

Nyetimber, like all the best sparkling wine-producers in the world, uses the “traditional method” to achieve effervescence in our wines. The traditional method involves a fermentation inside the bottle, but also removal of the yeast from that same bottle so that a clear sparkling wine remains. To achieve that clarification, all traditional method sparkling wines go through the processes of riddling and disgorging. Heading into the summer months, these are our main activities in the winery, as we prepare our wines for autumn and winter release.

The practical goal of riddling is to slowly rotate and tilt the bottle in a way that yeast will slide down into the neck of the bottle. This can be done either manually or on automated machines called gyropallettes. At Nyetimber we have always used gyropallettes because there isn’t any quality advantage between the two techniques, but automating the process provides additional reliability and reassurance that all bottles will be handled identically. Besides the practical aspect of accumulating the yeast in the neck of the bottle, riddling also significantly reduces the surface area of exchange between the yeast and wine inside the bottle. It’s not hard to imagine how that change in yeast surface area can affect the development of a sparkling wine. For that reason, the date of riddling is an important stylistic consideration, and for several years now Nyetimber has been making riddling dates available for each and every bottle that we produce (more on that below).

Disgorging is the process whereby the yeast is fully removed from the bottle. This is accomplished by freezing the neck of the bottle, so that when it is opened a frozen plug of wine is expelled under pressure, and takes with it the riddled yeast. The clear wine remaining inside the bottle then has dosage added (a wine-sugar mixture), is topped back to 750ml and then a cork is inserted.

Choosing the dosage for a wine is an important consideration, and is often a highly-guarded secret by sparkling wine producers. Winemakers have many options available to them for producing dosage if they want to make an adjustment to the style of their wine. For example, dosage could be made from oaked wines, separate reserve wines or other cuvées – even Brandy and Cognac are permitted. However, because Nyetimber wines are produced exclusively from our estate-owned vineyards, we want our vines to shine through in our wines. Therefore, our dosage is almost always produced from the same wine as that being disgorged (for example Blanc de Blancs 2010 receives a dosage from Blanc de Blancs ‘10). We believe that if there are balance or flavour issues to be corrected at disgorgement, then you haven’t done your job correctly at blending, or out in the vineyard.

A bottle being disgorged. Photograph: Jason Lowe

Yeast removal and dosage addition are the headline parts of disgorgement, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention oxygen as well. When the wine is disgorged, it’s inevitable that some oxygen will enter the headspace of the bottle. If left there, this can accelerate the ageing of the wine after disgorging. And if the amount of oxygen varies between bottles, then so too does the rate of ageing. To remove the oxygen, and thus regularise post-disgorgement ageing, Nyetimber was an early adopter of a technique called jetting. This simple and elegant technique involves injecting a tiny drop of water (just a few microlitres) into the wine just before corking. The drop is injected at a high velocity, which provokes the wine foam slightly, and the rising foam pushes air out of the bottle. It’s hard to judge the extent to which jetting extends the life of a sparkling wine after disgorgement, but there is no question of its significant effect on consistency.

After disgorging, the wine enters a new phase of ageing, whereby the dosage starts to integrate into the wine, and complexity increases further. Most notably, Maillard flavours develop thanks to the dosage, and – as time passes – the wine takes on a roundness and fullness. All Nyetimber wines receive at least three months of post-disgorgement ageing before release, to enable these flavour and texture characteristics to arrive, but these positive flavour changes continue far beyond three months, and our wines will continue to improve and build complexity for many years after disgorgement.

It’s becoming more common and/or fashionable for producers to release disgorgement dates, and some are also making bottling dates available. However, we feel it is important to release bottling, riddling and disgorgement dates. With an understanding of the flavour implications of the various stages of traditional method winemaking, you can see why the riddling date is such an important part of this trio. That is the moment that the wine moves from a horizontal position with a large surface area to a vertical position with limited yeast contact, thereby virtually halting the yeast’s contribution to flavour and texture. The interval between bottling and riddling is therefore significant to note, and also between disgorgement and when you are drinking the bottle of wine. With experience, you can start to understand how a wine has developed its specific series of flavours and characteristics.

You can find out the bottling, riddling and disgorging dates for any bottle of Nyetimber on their website: just enter the lot code on your bottle here. If you have any thoughts or questions on riddling or disgorgement, please leave a comment below.

Category: Miscellaneous

On the table: Elystan Street


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Philip Howard needs little introduction. The Square has been a staple of London’s fine-dining scene since it first opened in 1991. His new solo restaurant, Elystan Street, opened late last year: we sent Olivia Bodle (O) and Thomas Van de Pette (T) to see whether it lives up to the rave reviews

O: I have always been embarrassingly punctual; early is best, on time is merely acceptable. If I am running late, my knees quiver and my hands tremble, my eyes dart from my watch to those of strangers around me, desperate to confirm the correct time. As soon as I stepped through Elystan Street’s door (15 minutes early), I received a flurry of texts from Tom who was still at London Bridge, an “unidentified object” causing delays.

But, as soon as I was greeted by Alan, the charming half-South African head waiter, I felt completely at ease. He took the time to talk me through the wine list and menu and, after he noticed I was still waiting for Tom after a few minutes, brought over a newspaper which was a lovely touch.

I ordered a bottle of Tissot’s 2015 Patchwork Chardonnay: this small biodynamic producer from the Jura has been a victim of its own success, with demand far outstripping supply in London. I am a shameless lover of a blousy Chardonnay and this wine is clean yet rich, with honeysuckle finesse.

T: As soon as I (finally) arrived, we jumped into the menu. We both started with the burrata, elegantly paired with stone fruit and blanched almonds whose piquancy and texture complemented the richness of the creamy cheese.

This was followed with the duck for me, perfectly pink, just with trimmed crispy skin, it was served with a pistachio spring roll, beautifully turned turnips, and a life-altering cherry purée that had me weak at the knees. The kitchen rustled up an entirely original, vegetarian dish for Olivia: hand-cut strozzapreti pasta with morels and a hastily whipped-up pesto. It was so heavenly, and fortunately it will be making its way onto the official menu soon.

O: To match Tom’s duck we chose the exquisite 2012 St Joseph, L’Amarybelle from Yves Cuilleron. Made with 20 percent stems, the wine was peppery and fresh with a structure only an engineer (Cuilleron’s original vocation) could create. As we pondered the pudding menu, we chose the 2011 Ch. Rieussec, of which a half-bottle was hardly enough: the body, the perfume, the luscious texture! We were in raptures. Dried apricots and honey lingered on the palate longer than the bottle lasted.

T: Dessert – as always for me – was a case of Sophie’s Choice. Seeing our predicament, we were treated to three. The pavlova was an orgy of delights: a dome of perfect meringue hiding a mound of sinfully sweet cream and summer berries. The lemon tart was crisp and sweet with an acid bite, served with a quenelle of simply beautiful strawberry sorbet. The final indulgence was a decadently rich chocolate torte with popping candy and ice cream, a true delight for both our inner children.

The service at Elystan Street is, in a word, flawless; attentive with just the right level of humour and wit, we were won over by all the staff without exception. As for the food, we were presented with all the finesse and style of Phillip Howard’s cuisine from 20 years at The Square – but with the (perhaps unnecessary) frills removed, paring it back to truly exceptional cuisine that, as he said, people actually want to eat.

Elystan Street and Kitchen W8 (another Philip Howard restaurant) are offering Berry Bros. & Rudd customers free corkage from 4th July until 13th August; to take advantage of this offer, please quote your account number when booking, or show a receipt upon arrival. Please note that this offer is limited to one (75cl) bottle per head. Please email or to make your booking.

Category: Food & Wine