Review at a glance: ★★★★☆
Attention is a light that sometimes burns. Understanding this is something the chef Tom Brown and the Capital hotel might recognise in each other.
From the Capital’s kitchens men have emerged with their names made — Brian Turner, Gary Rhodes, Éric Chavot — but since Nathan Outlaw left seven years ago, all anyone asks of the restaurant is if it’s still there. Brown’s reputation has similarly crested and fallen: once he was on telly all the time, but a stormy marriage years ago — and consequent online inferno — saw Twitter snipes up in arms any time he dared peek out and fry an egg. He stayed off the box, kept quiet, and last year, his restaurant Cornerstone closed. It’s not all bad: he’s currently odds-on favourite to beat Thomas Straker in an online chef-off.
His move to the Capital has other, tidier reasons. Brown was Outlaw’s protégé, four years in Cornwall, just shy of two here. His return gets him in with the flush Knightsbridge set. They will appreciate the room, especially its exclusivity — it admits just 28. Still, a strange crowd in SW3. A couple behind me declined Champagne in favour of warm water in pots. The wellness industry has a lot to answer for.
But diners with deep pockets and a willingness to loot them buy any chef freedom. Brown has various lunch offerings from £50-a-head, while supper is 10 courses for £125. Of these, only one — bass rolled in leeks with a stuffing of roast chicken — is a main course. The others are neat demonstrations of culinary aptitude. Showing off? Sure. The thing with Brown is, showing off suits him, he’s good at it. His creativity is commercially attuned: ideas he pioneered, like crumpets topped with seafood, are now on menus across the country, and at least three supermarkets have ripped off his fish Kyiv idea. There are kids growing up thinking it’s a classic.
He is, then, a bloody good cook and, though not to look at, a bit of a nerd. Dishes are built as sculptures, not slapped on a plate. Expect tales of technique, of oysters cooked at precisely 67 degrees; of leftover fish cured and spiced until it becomes pastrami, or the precise blend of two types of tuna, of legs and claws from the same crab cooked separately. Poaching, blending, baking. Our Tom does it all.
Not everything here is new, and none needs to be. After sweet sake is offered to soften the palate, things start in the kitchen — naked intentions; they’re reading from the Michelin playbook — with a glorious mousse of a mussel purple from beetroot dust and port jelly. Instead of crumpets, those 67C oysters arrive on toast and under shining folds of brown seaweed, pure saline comfort. That “pastrami” — familiar from Cornerstone — is plated with three similar illusions; a cod mortadella, salmon bresaola and trout ham, but it is the lobster butter and crab oil with balsamic that bring on the purring.
A perfectly cooked scallop was ruined by a cracked tile of hazelnut. Who wants shellfish that tastes of Ferrero Rocher?
“Cuttlefish, ricotta, pecorino” is a shy selling of what arrives. It is tortelloni of a kind. Cuttlefish head has been blended for the shawl of “pasta”, the tentacles braised in cream and white wine, and chopped finely into a filling held together with ricotta. This braise becomes a sauce, with more ricotta, pecorino, and a shake of olive oil. It is a phenomenal show of prowess. It is also a salt bomb. You can feel it in your nose.
Here it is, then: Brown is operating at a level rarely witnessed, but skill and enthusiasm are virtues best sharpened by restraint. A perfectly cooked scallop, as soft and thrilling as a longed-for kiss, was ruined by a cracked tile of hazelnut. Who wants shellfish that tastes of Ferrero Rocher? Crab custard with more layers than an Agatha Christie was close to stirring, but only once pointless frozen flecks of grapefruit were nudged aside. And Brown needs to experience his restaurant as diners do: cutlery is often too heavy for its crockery, tipping it over. Beautiful, fresh from the earth asparagus cannot be approached with a fish knife. Opening nerves, perhaps, though service suffered no jitters.
Am I picking? Without a doubt — but only because I believe in Brown. He can go further, do better. There is a five-star restaurant here: I’m coming back, I’m going to find it. This was a three. I’ve cut it down the middle. Attention is a light that sometimes burns.
Meal for two about £380. 22-24 Basil Street, SW3 1AT; tombrownatthecapital.com
