The approach to Jamie Oliver’s new restaurant in London’s Covent Garden has some magic about it, not least because it’s next to the theatre where Disney’s Frozen is running. Beside Theatre Royal’s columned entrance and underneath a shining backlit poster of Queen Elsa letting it go, the restaurant, Jamie Oliver Catherine St, welcomes guests with a Christmas tree, twinkly lights and a menu promising “elevated British classics”.
Like Disney and Christmas itself, Oliver is a feel-good proposition: lovable and familiar. This is his first UK restaurant opening since the collapse of his empire of 22 Jamie’s Italian outlets in 2019, and it feels like no accident that it has opened just as the festive season begins, when spirits are at their highest.
And there’s lots to be high spirited about: it is a delicious concept from a man who knows, and cares deeply about, good food. Oliver has said most of the menu is inspired by the food he grew up with at his parents’ pub – his dad Trevor’s chicken, for example, a “tender breast stuffed with wild mushrooms and wrapped in puff pastry” or scampi and chips, which he’s re-imagined with langoustine and “outrageous pickle ketchup”. But there is more than a nod to the time he spent at the River Café too – where he was famously scouted by a TV crew in the 90s – with a fresh pasta section and their decadent chocolate nemesis cake.
Also back are some of the most-loved dishes from his old restaurants, such as Fifteen’s salad with burrata, clementine and winter leaves. It is, in essence, Oliver’s greatest hits album, scored by excellent sourcing of ingredients. This is a big thing at Jamie Oliver Catherine St, where they shout loudly about where things have come from, mostly in the British Isles.
It is a relatively neat menu which tries to offer something for everybody. Several key dishes had sold out by 7pm (maybe a gaggle of polyester-clad post-matinee mini Elsas are responsible for the absence of the fettuccine I’d been eyeing up). We kicked off with croquettes, delicious spheres of pureed potato, leek and lancashire cheese, with a glass of fizz. I was intrigued by the vegan “tarama” of cold-smoked silken tofu accompanied by pretty breakfast radishes, and the gravlax, beetroot and vodka cured Loch Duart salmon was thick-cut and lovely, arranged to encircle a splat of horseradish cream. The portions are generous, like my richly flavoured pappardelle with mushroom sauce, or the charred Kashmiri-spiced tofu skewer, which needed some oomph, but the bed of smoky tahini aubergine and harissa yoghurt helped out.
Many of these dishes are billed as Oliver family favourites – and I believe it. Of the roast chicken stroganoff with shoestring fries (£19pp to share) he has said: “This is the food I want to eat with Jools”, whose image is one of several on the walls. The space is warm and welcoming, as you would expect from Oliver – sleek and comfortable banquettes and tea lights, raw linen lamp shades and boughs of dried flowers, a glowing bar and a soundtrack that alienates no one. Maybe this is what they need to watch out for: blandness at a not insignificant price point. The restaurant estimates £42 a head but this is very conservative – between two, we spent £150 on three courses and one drink each.
Oliver has been humble about getting “a second chance” in hospitality. Like Elsa, like Christmas, Oliver always brings a bit of magic, but with an ambitious restaurant – even one like this, with no ambitions to become a chain – Oliver himself can’t be the only reason to believe in it. I will go back, probably accompanied by a small person wearing a tiara. Maybe then I’ll get a plate of that fettuccine.
