‘High-flying high-end dining with prices to match’

Thank God for the lift. A squillion million quid later and The Peninsula London, on Grosvenor Place, with views overlooking Buckingham Palace – the poor royals can’t even hide now in their own garden – has one of the dowdiest hotel lobbies I’ve ever seen.

But we were quickly channelled to the lift. Inside, it’s designed like a hotair balloon, lined to waist height with wicker. Out of it and you’re in a sort of tin-can retro aviation and motor car fantasy. We’re heading for the restaurant, Brooklands, named after the fabled racetrack that opened in 1907 in Surrey, where young men with moustaches, bomber jackets and feckless girlfriends could hurtle round the 2.7mile track, risk their lives and stir their thirsts for a gin rickey.

The design, coupled with prices they would have dismissed as fantasy a century ago, cleverly conveys that spirit of speed, flight and adventure. Further boosted by the wonderful views of London, at night on our trip, the lit city skyline laid out before us, and best viewed from the fabulous bar.

The restaurant itself is a tribute to Concorde, with a silver, white, stark and airy design redolent of the plane’s interior. There’s even a model Concorde pinned to the ceiling.

This is chef Claude Bosi’s new abode. He’s a magnificent Gaul, a man who looks like a Frenchman should – Gérard Depardieu meets Obelix – and whose delicate, enchanting and original takes on classic French food and classic British ingredients have deftly coloured the UK’S culinary scene ever since he fetched up in Ludlow in 1998. Today he has three restaurants in London: his wonderful Bibendum in South Kensington, his slighty less wonderful Socca in Mayfair, and now Brooklands.

The design vision has nothing to do with him, but the Peninsula picked him for his matching ingenuity and originality. Or rather, he picked The Peninsula. Indeed, he was driving round Hyde Park Corner, noticed the hotel going up and sent a message to the Hong Kong owners suggesting he do a restaurant there. It’s good to see an accomplished chef do a hustle like that.

The food sums up his talents and British journey. Eschewing the tasting menus, we went à la carte, knowing the kitchen wouldn’t resist lobbing other dishes at us, left right and centre. Which they did. Which is a nightmare for a critic having to focus as complicated little twists and turns on gastronomy arrive as fast as those Bentley Blowers once whizzed round Brooklands. Sharp triangles of tartlet filled with burnt leek mayo; coronation chicken mousse with chicken-liver ice cream; tomato tacos with fermented plum; a custard of smoked kipper… all prepared and presented with absolute precision, and fascinatingly fabulous.

Then the actual dishes: chopped-up snails with a duo of sauces, one garlic and parsley, the other a cumin-spiced devilled sauce. It worked, like a duel between two heroes that ends, unusually, in a happy draw. A dish of Exmoor caviar followed, which was duck jelly with a whipped cream of smoked sturgeon – a little too heavy and sweet for us – before skate with a red-pepper miso and a sort-of risotto called a nosotto of celeriac. Most of the dishes leant towards a surprising arc of tartness, more bitter than sweet. Which I like and admire.

We dodged the idea of fussy puds and ended with madeleines, with softy centres and ice cream with specks of vanilla.

Arch, adventure, innovation and fun. And the price? Well, like an aeroengined Napier-railton, if you’re asking, you can’t afford it…

Dishes are prepared and presented with absolute precision, and are fascinatingly fabulous