Muriel Spark wrote a novel, A Far Cry From Kensington, in 1988, which focuses on the disparate assortment of eccentrics and oddballs who are all inhabiting a low-end South Kensington hotel. It could not be further away – or indeed a far cry – from the Kensington Hotel, one of SW7’s most calmly salubrious establishments. Larry and I popped in earlier in the year to sample the delights of the K Bar, which certainly left its mark, and so when the opportunity came to visit the restaurant proper – fittingly known only as ‘Town House at the Kensington’ – it was too tempting a chance to pass up.
The lovely thing about the Town House, situated at the end of the ever-busy Queen’s Gate, is that it has a tranquillity and peace to it that allows the diner to think they’ve stepped into an elegant south-west London townhouse for a few hours. The staff glide around unobtrusively, alive to the diners’ every whim and desire; the menu is elegantly put together, with a finely judged mixture of heavier and lighter options.
My chum Fergus, who is both a clergyman and a trencherman, opts for a special of celeriac soup, whereas I, who am made of less elevated stuff, plump for a starter of burrata with heritage tomatoes. Accompanied by an excellent English wine, the Bacchus London Cru Urban Winery – which proves that even London is capable of greatness – this is the stuff of assured, decidedly contemporary cooking.
We’re well into the depths of autumn when we visit, and so it’s obligatory to have suitably warming and hearty mains. Fergus opts for an excellent duck breast, complete with a mighty-looking dauphinoise potato, whereas I am in the mood for steak and ask earnestly whether I should opt for the rib-eye, rump or sirloin option.
The former is recommended and I’m glad it was; it’s got a marvellous depth of flavour, helped by an unctuous bearnaise sauce and unusually virtuous sides of buttered spinach and roast carrots. However the meal is not purely an ascetic one, and the addition of the Moulin Rouge claret to the table makes for both jollity and good cheer.
Town House is the kind of place you want to linger, but unfortunately both my guest and I are busy men with busy lives, and so there’s just time for a swift pudding – an excellent crème brulee for me, a fine pistachio and chocolate parfait for Fergus – and then the obligatory espresso martini sends us both out the door, hugely impressed by the experience. Muriel Spark may have presented Kensington as a frowsy place, but on this evidence, one of London’s fanciest spots is alive, kicking and enormous fun. Long may it last.
Town House at The Kensington, 109-113 Queen’s Gate, South Kensington, London, SW7 5LP. For more information, and for bookings, please visit www.doylecollection.com.