Lunch / ££££ / 9/10

The Northerner kept mentioning The Devonshire, he had been served a couple of video reviews online and was enamoured by the menu. We looked to book and realised the place was in demand. They only release reservations 4-6 weeks in advance and get booked up quickly. As we already had a day planned in London we added a reminder to the diary and logged on when the reservations opened to secure a table at our desired time. 20 minutes later there were only tables left in dining no mans land (15.30-17.00). Expectations soared.

When we arrived the Northerner nipped to the loo while I was shown our table. The waitress fumbled as she realised there was already a jacket on one of the seats. I clocked the loud and oblivious city boys in the next table and my eyelid twitched. The waitress was clearly flustered and asked if I could sit on the next (identical) table along. I squeezed between the tables, The Devonshire pack in as many covers as possible to the detriment of personal space. Finally a waiter came over and asked if they would ‘mind at all moving their jacket and he’d be happy to hang it up for them or they could have it on the back of their chair’ and they obliged. I sat and reflected on the complete lack of awareness and entitlement as they wanged on about golf handicaps (I wish I had made this bit up as it was too predictable, but alas no).

I snapped out my fug and took in the dining room and menu. Annoyance melted slowly away as I saw the lovely couple with a baby, the working lunch who were all chatting between taking calls, the wood fired grill being managed full time by a member of staff and the simple menu. Before I knew it I had a glass of sparkling wine and the waiter had convinced The Northerner to ‘try’ a Riesling that he had a further 3 glasses of. We ordered starters and asked the waitress for recommendations for mains. She effused about the flavour of the meat from the grill so The Northerner went for the steak and chips while I (still in cast and unable to use a knife and fork properly) decided to go for the Turbot.

The scallops come in shell with bacon and malt vinegar and looked a little disappointing. All dishes were presented as simply as possible and we quickly realised why. The scallops were perfectly cooked, the bacon added salt and the vinegar added a bite that was like crisps on seafood. It sounds awful but they were the best scallops we’d ever eaten (we rarely agree on these things). The salmon was lightly smoked and flaked in the mouth, there was no hint of slime or meanness on the serving size. The pickled cucumber still had the freshness you want. The Northerner mentioned he’s pretty sure as a nation we got to 2005 before anyone decided to pickle things again after the crimes of the pickled egg at the chip shop. He has a point. The soda bread was soft and dense all at the same time but didn’t tempt me away from the homemade buttery rolls served when we arrived.

The main courses came quickly after and The Northerners Ribeye was served alone on a white plate, chips seperately and peppercorn sauce in a small jug on the side. I wasn’t joking when I said they serve simply – wait till you see my Turbot. None of the food looked like it was going to be the best thing you’d ever eaten but the simplicity is part of the confidence in the kitchen. The steak was so delicious, caramelised from the heat of the grill, a slight smokiness from the coals. The chips were exactly as stated ‘Duck fat chips’ – I feel like I am just reading the menu but during the meal it felt like someone was whispering in my ear the whole time ‘Isn’t this GOOD?’

‘Yes, yes very good’ I replied as I ate my fish. I now know why people love Turbot, I have had it before dressed/grilled/sous vide and always thought it was nice but couldn’t work out why it garnered so much praise. With a squeeze of lemon The Devonshire elevated it to a thing of pure beauty. I am glad I ordered a salad as well though or I might have felt a little hard done by.

By this point the dining room was full with people having a lovely time, tables were conversing with each other about the food, how they’d met each other while away for a gap year. Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t a ‘love in’ but the proximity of the seating did create a more communal feel, perhaps I was a bit rash with my earlier judgement.

We decided to share a chocolate mousse with cherries for pudding and the theme continued. I am not sure why it surprised me, I think it is because normally pastry is done by another chef in the kitchen so can veer away from any theme without a strong team feel. It was on brief though – you ordered chocolate mousse and cherries, that’s what you get. No alarms and no surprises please.

The Northerner let me have 2 of the 3 cherries so he is a gentlemen and made my day. The chocolate was rich, decadent and had a boozy roundness as you ate it. Remember those chocolate liquers they used to have in the 80’s? They were absolutely nothing like those – thank fuck.

When it was time to leave I felt a twinge of sadness then immediate panic as I realised I would be knocking over the next tables glasses with my arse. I turned to the 2 ladies at the table and pleaded ‘I don’t know if I can get through without knocking over something’ and they smiled and moved the table slightly so I could do the same and spare the mortification of lap dancing on their table top. Those ladies are my people.

FAMILY – There was a couple there with a newborn who slept through the whole meal but lets face it an expensive pub in soho is no place for kids.