It is impossible to talk about this meal without referencing the first time I ate at 670 Grams. I had a mixed meal: there was some stuff I thought should never have been served to me and some stuff that I really enjoyed. I wrote about it and gave it a favourable eight which, reading it back now, seems generous. And then, well, it quickly got nasty. Insults were exchanged, screenshots were shared online, and accounts were blocked. It was, in total honesty, pathetic, so much so that a number of people online thought it was staged. Trust me; it wasn’t. Being told I dress like a shit Liam Gallagher is going to haunt me forever, if only because I really don’t like Liam Gallagher. 
It took nine months to get back into the restaurant. Kray had extended an olive branch in the new year and I suggested that I went alone to eat. With the snipers in position from the roof opposite, I entered through the doors, up the stairs and sat at the chef’s counter. We exchanged niceties and made up by recreating the scene from the bathroom downstairs. For absolute clarity, and because I really am done arguing with just about everyone, the last bit is a lie but I think him and I are going to be okray. 
It’s clear from the last meal I ate here that the cooking has gone up a level, or two, or three. There is less dick swinging (Kray’s words, not mine), and the whole meal feels more focused. It’s flavour over theatre, though the latter is there; Kray Treadwell’s cooking is still very visual. I start with pineapple, marinated and then barbecued, served a little pot of something hot and sour to drink with it. It’s clean, punchy Thai flavours, so good it brings expletives from this potty mouth. What follows is maybe the best course of the night; tartare of langoustine, barely cooked slices of scallop, caviar, and something I have in my phone notes as ‘spicy coriander thing’. It is the kind of dish that Michelin go crazy for; as one star as you are likely to see. An almost falafel-like rice bhaji swings the spicing towards India without pushing the agenda too far. It’s a very, very good start. 
There are dishes I don’t think you’d have seen in the early days of the restaurant. Turbot, as delicate as a social media influencer’s ego, is lightly cooked and shows a deft touch. The bisque it sits in is light and speaks of prawn shells and head juices, with more caviar to drive through the salinity. It’s restrained and all the better for it. Then the lobster bread; problematic on the first visit, this time rife with flavour. I am finally seeing what others have talked about. It makes the cabbage course with mussel sauce a little flat in comparison. It’s a good dish that feels too mild-mannered in it’s surroundings. Far more interesting is celeriac cooked in beef fat, truffle puree, raw mushrooms, pickled cabbage and a healthy dusting of truffle to finish. Earthy, grounded flavours; the beef fat bolsters the umami in a very clever way. 
A jet black croustade contains raw wagyu beef, mustard, (i think) pickled gherkin and (I think) caviar. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t paying too much attention to its contents given that’s it’s one of the best singular mouthfuls I have had in a while. Knockout good, I could have fifty of these. We finish the savoury on a much improved version of the braised lamb neck I had on the last visit, before an intermediary pastry with white chocolate, cayenne, blackberries and foie gras which actually works extremely well due to the fruit’s acidity piercing through the fatty qualities of the chocolate and liver. 
Maybe a testimony to how much it has improved is the first dessert. Last time round the ‘pickle Kray’ was the standout dish. This time, under a new name, it’s still as good but now maybe the fourth or fifth best course. It is fresh and clean and doesn’t need the pun to be able to tell it’s a homage to the stuff you get with the poppadoms at your local curry house. A dessert with chocolate ganache, honey and pork scratching’s has no right to work, yet somehow does. The pork adds a seasoning and lardy quality that lifts everything. The last course is a tribute to the spiced pumpkin latte, complete with name tag on the serving vessel. It’s fun and extremely complex; the pumpkin smack-bang central with a spiced coffee syrup that’s heavy on the salt in a good way. It’s a serious dessert, I just wished they had spelt my name incorrectly for the full Starbucks effect. 
I wasn’t going to mention the ‘M’ word but given that everyone else obsesses over the idea of 670 Grams being ‘robbed’ by them, I’ll finish up with it. Everyone seems to think that 670 Grams was nailed on for a star, but on this occasion I think Michelin have got it right. A year back I sat in a car after the meal there discussing what we ate. If the guide ate a similar meal then it’s not at a star level. This on the other hand is a different scenario. Tight, direct cooking, that could well be rewarded by Michelin next year. After saying that I would never step through the door again, I am really very glad I did. From start to finish it was excellent.