I suppose in the grand scheme of things I should have waited until Luca had spent the money on us both as a wedding present. Maybe the cash for the honeymoon, maybe some vouchers that we’ll debate what to spend on, hold on to until they’ve nearly expired before wasting on pillows, pans, or grills to keep the memory of George Foreman alive, because we don’t actually want for much, anything really, other than a new liver for me. We have a nice life in a lovely street in a nice part of Birmingham. We do nice things together and have nice friends, and nice parents who make the everyday of life that little bit nicer. Plus, the serious question here is what do you get the girl who already has Simon Carlo? The answer is nothing, she’s already won at life. Instead you take Simon on a blow out meal for the two of you to London. It’s what his wife would want.
Row on 5 was my suggestion. I’ve wanted to go since they opened, more so after seeing them win big at The Good Food Guide Awards, then the star from Michelin, then various friends raving about it. I suggested it whilst pissed in Vietnam, went to bed, and Luca had booked it and pre-paid for the meal, taking the A5 wagyu supplement for good measure. A quick stop at Termini, another at The Devonshire, then one more at Sabor and we are there, fighting past a walking tour of Saville Row and down into the basement lounge. A quick guided tour of the private dining room, another of the champagne room, another of the secret VIP room which won’t be so secret when I eat in it soon, and into our seats right in front of Jason Atherton and Spencer Metzger working away at the counter. We have champagne, decide not to open the personalised envelopes which contain our menus and buckle in. As if by chance my forthcoming first dance chimes through the speakers. It reinforces my gut feeling that it is going to be a great lunch.
There were many who expected it to go straight in at two stars and it’s easy to see why. The first snack of oyster and pearls is a nod to The French Laundry classic with oyster bavarois and N25 caviar nestled precisely onto a macaron with a layer of cucumber in between for a big saline hit to whet the palate. After this is a pile-on of various cuts of tuna dressed individually; some in yuzu ponzu, others in yuzu kosho. A big mouthful and a rich one at that, but so tasty, lifted by the gentle heat of the fresh wasabi root. We get the cheese and onion sandwich that shines in a fine dining world of takes on cheese and onion sandwiches, balancing the aged cheese, the onion, and back notes of tamarind and spice like a bonafide genius. The last snack downstairs is a riff on langoustine jelly and trout roe. It’s a good one. We are put in the lift and miraculously greeted by the same chap upstairs. It is that kind of place.
Restaurant counter time. Just cooked langoustine with tomato jelly, calamansi lime, duck egg sabayon, and curry leaf, maybe the dish of the day and one that had me hankering to share with Sophie; this being everything she would look for in a plate of food. Then scallop with XO, cured salmon roe, and a fishy beurre blanc, a bit much for someone like me who struggles with big hits of the sea. We take a supplementary dish that I think Luca paid £45 for each, a glorious bowl of Jersey Royals, beurre noisette, and aged caviar, that was just perfect eating. With this was more champagne because it’s a celebration.
Morel stuffed with chicken and truffle mousse up next, with a fat spear of asparagus, aged truffle sauce, vin jaune foam, all of it appealing to my inner being in a way that very few can, served-up with milk loaf and a miso butter holding a rim of honey. They noticed that we still had bread left and put another puddle of truffle sauce out for us to finish it off. This is not your run-of-the-mill starred restaurant. We get caviar bumps whilst waiting for the turbot, a beautiful dish with more of that caviar, snow peas, and a thick buttery sauce full of intensity and purposeful acidity. A5 wagyu, cooked so that the fat and meat merge into a sort buttery mass, with bordelaise sauce and onion, almost overshadowed by the 1979 Petrus Luca has taken because it’s his birth year. It was around this time that he said – and the man has eaten at three stars across the world – that this is up there with the very best he has ever eaten. I’m inclined to agree. It is obvious that they want three stars and only a fool would bet against them getting that.
The last hour passes in a blur of euphoria. The blue cheese tart with apple cider gel, the alphonso mango sorbet with shaved ice and kaffir lime, the giant bottle of y’quem wheeled around like an old person, and the strawberry dessert with white chocolate that had me giggling like a child. How we went back downstairs to the restaurant for the chocolate dessert that I never took a picture of, and washed it down with an Islay malt. More champagne (I think), and the tea and toast, which is really a selection of petit fours and cakes that came home with me on the train along with an extra cake they made as a present and some engraved chopsticks. The bill? I have no idea. This is Luca’s treat and one that almost certainly went deep into four figures given the lunch and the wine pairing, the champagne, the Petrus, the whisky, the wagyu, and the extra course. I’m booked in to go on our honeymoon with my now wife, the final stop that see’s us boarding a train to Padstow, on to St Ives, back up to Bristol, then to London on the way back. As she works away in the next room I’ve just shouted to her that we are going to some amazing places for some hopefully amazing meals, yet it’s Row On 5 I’m excited for her most to get to. I know she is going to love it as much as I do.
10/10
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