The Peacock is disappointed by the sloppy service at Quaglino's.
Quaglino's is, and has always been, a spectacle. Walking in through the enormous glass doors, the handles forming a large letter ‘Q’, the entrance lobby always seems deserted. Then one is swept around the corner into the mezzanine bar area, the room opens up, and the full visual feast is revealed. The famous sweeping staircase, the clever ‘skylight’ running the full length of the dining room, lit with artificial daylight and thereby concealing the fact that the restaurant is, in fact, in a basement, the shellfish counter at the far end of the room, piled high with ice, oysters and lobsters. For dedicated star-spotters, it’s not usually necessary to look too hard for minor celebrities – I don’t think I’ve ever been there and not seen at least one member of the cast of Hollyoaks. There are waiters scurrying around all over the place and the ubiquitous Cigarette Girl (presumably to be out of a job shortly, when the smoking ban comes in) floats serenely around the room. Last night she was particularly tightly laced into her corset and was causing all manner of accidents to happen, mainly of the dislocated jaw variety, and not just amongst the males in the restaurant. I don’t think I’ve seen such an impressive frontage outside of the architectural field – the phrase ‘cantilevers and cantaloupes’ was uttered by one particularly smitten member of our party.
So that’s the good points of the restaurant. Sadly, it is always let down by various factors. For me, the tables are far too closely packed, especially when there is no dedicated smoking section. The bar service is invariably lackadaisical (although I cannot fault the actual cocktails – I have drunk many an excellent martini there over the years) and, last night, reached a whole new low. There was a private party who, apparently, had sole access to the bar and anyone who wasn’t part of the party was first ignored for 15 minutes and then told brusquely to go and sit down at the draughty end of the bar by the coat-check counter, where they would receive table service. The table service did materialise, but it would have been helpful if this had been made clear from the off. To the casual observer, it appeared that only half the bar area was roped off, and the remainder open, but apparently this was not the case. The bar staff were then unable to find our tab each time a new member of our party arrived, which, as there were 5 of us, was annoying to say the least. Yes, the name was double-barrelled, but looking for the second half of the barrel, rather than the first, on the list would seem, even to a birdbrain like me, to be the height of stupidity.
When we reached our table things continued to niggle. Despite the fact that the table was laid for 5, there were only 4 chairs. Then, when we ordered a glass of wine each, only 4 glasses arrived. As the 5th member of the party, I was beginning to feel a little invisible, unusual for a peacock!
Happily, with the arrival of the food, things began to run rather more smoothly. I had a delicious chicken liver and bacon salad to start, the livers being beautifully creamy in texture and quite literally melting in the mouth. Other members of the party had sea trout with a mustard and honey sabayon, which they also pronounced to be wonderful. For the main course, the majority of our party went for braised onglet in a shallot jus. Onglet, for the record, would appear to be beef pot-roast. Quaglino’s does have a fondness for using obscure cookery terms, which is generally quite entertaining, and always an education. I like to think, being a greedy so-and-so, that I’m pretty knowledgeable about food, but there is always at least one item on any given Quag’s menu that foxes me. However, I digress. The onglet was reasonable, if a little dry and not as hot as it could have been. I suspect that my dish had been waiting too long to come out, as it arrived along with a dish of mushroom and spinach lasagne, which was apparently too hot to eat at first, and the remainder of the party were very happy with their beef. All was forgiven when it transpired that the onglet was served with mashed potato – something that Quag’s do exceptionally well. I’d happily go there for the mashed potato alone, in fact!
For pudding, we plumped for either crème caramel, served with crepes dantelle, or chocolate mousse. After attempting three times to order pudding wine: the first time our request for a menu being ignored/forgotten, the second time the wrong menu being brought, the third time finally getting the right menu; we decided on a Sauternes and an Italian Vin Santo, both of which were excellent and did, thankfully, arrive before we had finished our puddings, always a bonus. The puddings themselves were also very good, so we were feeling happily replete.
Unfortunately, just as we thought we were going to get out of the restaurant with nothing else untoward happening, our bill was wrong, to the tune of £56 more than it should have been. Now, if we’d actually drunk those two bottles of Chablis, I wouldn’t have been complaining, but we didn’t get a sniff of them, so I’m not sure how they ended up on our bill! It took 2 attempts to get the bill right, but eventually it happened. The service charge, considering all the mistakes that had been made in the evening, was pretty steep at 12 ½ %, but we’re English, chicken, and had already complained too much, so paid it while grumbling into our beards.
Overall, a lovely evening was had – the food and drinks were never less than good and were, in many cases, exceptional. The surroundings were, as ever, wonderful and the company convivial. It’s just a shame that, not for the first time in Quag’s, the service let the experience down.
