At the beginning of the third Blair administration I wrote a restaurant review column with Gary Barlow. “Table for Two” appeared in the sort of property magazine shoved through your door if you live somewhere smart — in this case, Notting Hill and Kensington, where Gary had recently moved from Cheshire. Before dining à deux for the first time, Gary’s people told me that the one topic that was absolutely off the table for two was Robbie Williams. Invariably, however, someone would stumble over during our suppers and slur “how’s Robbie?” Well, mostly. The only place no one asked after Williams’ well-being was Julie’s in Holland Park.
Why? Because Julie’s is the sort of restaurant where no one bothers you if you’re famous. Not least because, here among the most expensive residential streets in London, everyone looks sort-of famous anyway, whether the women showing off their glitziest party frocks with a flash of underboob, or the men hiding under baseball caps.
Julie’s — where Tina Turner danced on the tables and Kate Moss once threw a birthday bash — recently reopened under the new ownership of former venture capitalist, Cordon Bleu chef and Holland Park resident Tara MacBain. Follow the exclamations of “Hi! I’m Tara the owner” to locate W11’s hostess with the mostess — though like the rest of the Notting Hillbillies all on first name terms with each other packing out the dining room, she seems to need no introduction to locals. French is being spoken loudly, a German shouts into his mobile that “Ja! Julie’s is totally happening.” It’s all absolutely fabulous.
Julie’s is the sort of restaurant where no one bothers you if you’re famous. Not least because in Notting Hill everyone looks sort-of famous anyway
Half-a-dozen stools line the short bar, where hooks hang underneath for handbags and dog leads (MacBain, like all of Holland Park, is an enthusiastic animal lover). A roaming Martini trolley suggests the house speciality. The Sauternes version turns sweet wine into a dry-as-a-bone pre-dinner snifter while the Foxglove Martini (gin, Lillet Rosé, green Chartreuse and plum and cherry blossom) is a boozy garden party in a glass. Bar snacks include a pea and Gouda panisse, like a cheesy sponge cake, and something billed as “spider crab toast” that turns out to be a cornetto-shaped canapé.
But no one is really here to pay too much attention to what they’re eating and drinking. The point is to absorb the sceney energy of the dining room behind and indulge in the supreme pleasure of people watching, either from on high at the bar or on the suntrap terrace out front. Who is that famous-looking beardy chap with the stubby ponytail, asking which dishes have garlic in them? Hi, Mick Fleetwood! Three cocktails down and my urge to inquire after Lindsey Buckingham is almost too great to resist. Would that be a bit Gary and Robbie? I can’t decide. But the rumours are true: Julie’s still rocks.
