The Sunday Telegraph - Sunday

Resistance is futile, so yes – we are amused

Kathryn Flett is won over by a break from reality in Belgravia’s Hundred Acre Wood

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Iarrived at the threestore­y Belgravia mews house containing Muse (geddit?), in a below-par mood, stomping over the cobbles, grumbling that the said chilly-poshness always makes me feel like a tourist: “You’d only open a restaurant round here if you were interested in it as a Cashment™ area,” I muttered. Far from being excited at the prospect of a fussy six-course lunchtime tasting menu from Tom Aikens (of youngest-ever-Brit-toearn-two-Michelin-stars fame, albeit 25 years ago; there have been career peaks-and-troughs, telly appearance­s, financial scandals and a couple of divorces since), I had been alerted to headlines such as “Is this the most pretentiou­s restaurant ever in the history of the world?” I am rarely in the mood for pretension­s – and never at lunchtime.

“Inspired” by Aikens’ own Norfolk childhood, Muse features a menu high on whimsy – courses titled “Wait and See” and “Conquering ‘the beech tree,’” plus poker-faced descriptio­ns such as “My first memory as a child was a sense of fearlessne­ss; I was always taking risks and looking for challenges... as chefs we must always challenge ourselves” – and low on ingredient­s. On the other hand, a pop-up picture book-cum-menu and a jewel-box room with 25 covers had a come-hither appeal – that and the fact that I’d never had a meal cooked by Aikens that wasn’t a cracker.

Once through the door, we waited for what felt ages (but was probably less than a minute) alone inside a tiny, idiosyncra­tically-decorated (I’m going with “Moroccan-Manga”) hallway, peeking through a drawn curtain at the ground-floor kitchen/ bar area where a couple of other guests were being served drinks, before a convincing Prince-Harry-alike appeared. Did we want a drink? No, we jolly well did not, thanks, I thought to myself, let’s just crack on with the narcissism, smartish. We were shown upstairs – a petite but perfectly-formed room that is half kitchen, with a marble-clad pass behind which two chefs were quietly prepping, and half a quietly glamorous dining-room. Steered to the corner table with its curvaceous wool-upholstere­d banquette, something entirely unexpected happened: I smiled. “God. I think I like this!” I whispered at The Date.

After an amuse (geddit?) of venison tartare served inside a hollowed bone nestling on mossy bark, some fabulously soft, warm, multi-grain bread with a stout-and-treacle crust presented with a chicken butter was a course of its own.

The first course proper was a delicate, fragrant milky ricotta with truffle and honey; the second, “Sea Lavender,” named after Aikens’ father’s boat, was a chunk of mackerel in a broth made from its bones with daikon and kombu. I’m not a huge mackerel fan but it was a winning combinatio­n. I celebrated with a pink non-alco spritz – a perfect, pretty, no-compromise solution for Dry January.

I liked the triple-beetroot “Essence” course with its unexpected cucumber and piny fragrance, and even if I was nonplussed by the nomenclatu­re I really loved “Conquering ‘the beech tree’”: a lone langoustin­e slathered in a piggy jus, wrapped in a translucen­t sliver of lardo di Colonnata, nestled in a puddle of appley consommé. It was a very satisfying feat of cooking.

“Playing with fire” turned out to be a (beautifull­y rare, mature dairy cow) steak-and-singular-chip, accessoris­ed by a mince-and-grain stuffed baked onion. Stunningly good. Finally, the “Wait

Playing with fire: a minimalist steak and chips at Muse and see” pudding was a riff on crunchy nut cornflakes and popcorn, with cream; a textural delight that tasted just like my early Eighties (perhaps that’s when Kellogg’s Crunchy Nut made its debut?). The final dish of childhood sweets given an adult spin included a delicious and intense Laphroaig-infused “wine-gum”.

Aikens delivered most of the dishes to the table himself, explained them, indulged in a bit of small talk, took a few questions and then, afterwards, cleared away the plates. In that respect, it was very un-Belgravia; almost a dinner-party pop-up from the 2000s. And the whole place has an atmosphere of almost meditative­ly yogic calm; I have never seen a smoother, nor more smiley set of cooks. Meanwhile, front-ofhouse balanced profession­alism and warmth with enormous skill. There were nine guests; everyone was smiling.

We left with Aikens’ hand-scribbled note about the source of the pleasing cutlery (studiowill­iam.com) and delighting in the insider nod-and-wink from Prince Harry that Aikens has for many years hoarded the bits-and-bobs – trivets, tiny Toby jugs – that make the space so charming: “Chef has a lock-up in Croydon.”

So, the big question: is Muse pretentiou­s? Hmmm, maybe. Is it self-indulgentl­y divorced from all that is sensibly down-to-earth in 2020? Without any shadow of a doubt. However it’s also the Hundred Acre Wood of restaurant­s, a place Where The Wild Things Are, where ostensibly slight stories are spun to entirely heartwarmi­ng effect. A place, in short, where something just a tiny bit magical happens. And so you leave smiling. In fact, “playful” (albeit at an adult pricepoint) is a more accurate descriptio­n; for a twohour holiday from real life, Muse’s idiosyncra­tic trip is worth every penny.

38 Groom Pl, London SW1X 7BA, museby tomaikens.co.uk

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