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Evening Standard
Evening Standard
National
Jimi Famurewa

Jimi Famurewa reviews Bacchanalia: Marble-carved middle finger to restraint is a fantasy land of operatic escapism

Jaw-dropping: the extraordinary interiors at Baccahanalia

(Picture: Johnny Stephens/Caprice Holdings)

The first thing to say about Bacchanalia, Richard Caring’s all-new, marble-carved middle finger to restraint and propriety, is that it is not the tacky, high-profile calamity that many detractors might be anticipating. There will, I’m afraid, be no feast here for schadenfreude fans. If your chief interest in this place — with its 2,000-year-old pieces of art, quintet of bespoke, neo-classical Damien Hirst sculptures and tittering pre-launch job ads for in-house grape-feeders — is the promise of gawping at an extravagant binfire then, well, you are mostly out of luck.

Yes, there are misfires among its sprawling repertoire of big-ticket Greco-Roman sharing platters. Yes, the waitstaff have to wear lightly demeaning swishy, servants’ togas like attendees at a billionaire’s I, Claudius-themed sex party. But from the moment that you step, utterly agog, into its colonnaded hall of rippling stone, triple-height frescoed ceilings, and serpentine wall sconces in glittering alcoves, this place is a study in richly textured, operatic escapism.

You may justifiably find the idea of an opening this gleefully lavish and exorbitant to be morally reprehensible at the moment (though I would note it isn’t priced quite as disdainfully as, say, Nusr-Et). Even so, Bacchanalia is executed with such ruthless, expensive efficiency — and occasional, surprisingly unrefined deliciousness — that I’d say it is difficult to fully resist its bludgeoning, highly unsubtle charms.

And, again, it really does start with an interior that may be one of the most jaw-dropping I’ve ever experienced. Perched on the edge of Berkeley Square (near Annabel’s and Sexy Fish, Richard Caring’s other critic-proof money pits) and heralded by doormen bundled up in burgundy and gold, the Martin Brudnizki-designed main room channels a kind of straight-faced, architectural melodrama. Armies of toga-clad staff scurry to packed, guffawing tables. Instagram husbands snap photos of their partners by trickling basement fountains. The men’s loos — in an oddly perfect jab at male bathroom etiquette — are intricately modelled on Hades.

Milky tender: the grilled octopus with blistered, blackened suckers (Daniel Hambury/Stella Pictures)

The Greek-Italian, luxurycore menu is vast, maximal and majors on the kind of theatrical tableside preparations that are politely recorded on an iPhone and never looked at again. However, despite this clear play for a Mykonos beach club crowd, Bacchanalia’s better culinary moments have a pronounced ruggedness and simplicity to them. Grilled octopus, milky tender within but with blistered, blackened suckers, came beside ospriada: an oddly beguiling salad of pert, caper-flecked mixed beans and lentils. Loukaniko-style Greek sausage brought a merguez-ish, robustly charred number, served with softened aubergine and chopped up griddled toast for a surging triple hit of smoke. A shareable saucepan of linguine vongole, meanwhile, had a gorgeous thwack of brine, lemony brightness and a smouldering backbeat of chilli.

The men’s loos — in an oddly perfect jab at male bathroom etiquette — are intricately modelled on Hades

Of course, the problem with such a humble approach is that the, ahem, boldness of the pricing leaves little room for error. A £36 ‘nduja beef tartare, pounded and mixed in front of us, cried out for heat and texture. £38 strip loin tagliata was well-seasoned but very slightly overcooked. That the soupy, forgettable Greek salad also costs £20 feels like a fact deserving of a special Crimestoppers-style hotline.

Still, these were the rookie errors of someone aiming for maximum menu coverage. The portions here are generally enormous, the staff’s consummate upselling can be negotiated with a firm resolve, and though bottles of wine rocket upwards from £60, there are a number of glasses hovering at around a tenner.

But, of course, part of what makes this one-off fantasia so effective is the fact it is not really an environment that especially encourages frugality or financial level-headedness.

(Johnny Stephens/Caprice Holdings)

We polished off a drab tiramisu and made our way out past a crowd of bodies vying to join the 300 or so already in there. Bacchanalia is, as its on-the-nose name suggests, opulent silliness incarnate; a project that sails close to the blazing sun of its own ridiculousness and yet somehow lives to tell the tale. It may, fittingly enough, leave you feeling a little grubby. But, by the beard of Zeus, it is anything but boring.

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