When they began playing a lovely, lilting chill-out cover of Love Desire Tear Us Apart by Joy Division in the dining room, I began to lose my will to live. We had previously been treated to Madonna cover versions of her classics. Now, the DJ at Il Borro was treating us to an awful, distorted rendition of Manchester’s finest.
I couldn’t decide which was worse: the depressing music or the £46 seafood spaghetti with only one langoustine, one shrimp, three clams, and three mussels. I was certain. The music was awful. The mediocre pasta was simply terrible.
Il Borro debuted last November in a vast two-story marble and blonde-wood site near London’s Berkeley Square. It is a spin-off of the upscale Italian Il Borro winery near Arezzo, which is owned by Salvatore Ferragamo.
In Mayfair, the preceding sentence functions as a prelude. On its website, the restaurant states that it wishes to introduce us to the “Tuscan Way of Life.” This Tuscan way of life includes enough bland furnishings to make a White Company buyer horny, dreadful tartan suits for the head waiters, plus a menu priced to separate bored wealthy individuals from their cash.
So why go? Two factors. First, this individual cannot subsist solely on small meals and “selected” lists of natural wines served in disused warehouses. Light and shadow, humans. Light and dark In addition, the words “Tuscan Bistro” are displayed over the entrance of Il Borro.
It is noteworthy that London received one of these barely two months before its opening. In Clerkenwell, Russell Norman’s Brutto is an elbows-on-the-table restaurant that serves Panzanella for £8.40 and penne for ten pounds. The fundamental proposition is identical; the pricing and strategy, however, vary considerably. Il Borro must cover Mayfair rentals, laundry expenses, and a DJ with exceedingly questionable taste. However, even allowing for this, I wanted to discover if more money buys better cuisine.
No. It is not so. It grants you entrance to a strange, raucous alternate reality, where tables of open-collared guys stare at their phones, their faces bathed in a blue glow, or yell at one another about the newest best bargains from HSBC Global. Waiters carrying carafes of outrageously priced reds hover around, their spouts so performatively long and thin that you’re unsure whether they’re going to refill customers’ glasses or catheterize them. I may have been daydreaming there.
In keeping with the winery’s great devotion to sustainability, a jubilant speech is given about how all the components are organic and how much of it is delivered from the wine farm itself. One of the dishes has “Tuscan baby chicken.” Given the current state of air transport, I ask the waiter whether this means the chicken is literally from Tuscany, which would be an impressive feat.
He contacts the kitchen. Yes, he affirms with enthusiasm, it is a Tuscan chicken. Because crappy British chicken is unacceptable. Although the chickens have traveled, none of the white wines from the winery have. Not included on the list. Different things are. The lowest-priced bottle here costs £50. I locate a lovely Villa Sparina Gavi for £80, which retails for £16.45 per bottle. Thus, the markup would only be a factor of four. Just be quiet and sip your wine.
Regardless, we’re here for dinner, so let’s get started. Occasionally, when an event deteriorates from mediocre to “I want my mother,” I worry that complimenting a fantastic dish will interrupt the flow of my ranting. I must act fairly.
At Il Borro, this is never the case. It begins with a mediocre assortment of poorly prepared bread, including focaccia with the dense, moist texture of a soggy Tena pad. It is odd. London is filled with excellent focaccia. Also, Tuscany is beautiful. How could they consider this clump of draught excluder acceptable?
The starters take an eternity to arrive, with waiters providing unasked-for updates. They do finally arrive, however. Calamaretti and gamberi fritti appear limp, as though their performance has been affected by their surroundings. The topping of thinly sliced fried courgette has acquired a distinct fishiness, indicating that they had been sitting on the pass for some time.
Then there’s the £46 seafood pasta that’s lacking in flavor. When counting the shells and only reaching three, something is amiss. The only substantial element of the dish is the little portion of al dente pasta; the sauce is bland and sweet. This well-traveled chicken is labeled as hot on the menu. What is delivered is bland and lifeless.
The journey was in vain. The most unique dish is the peposo, famous Tuscan meat and peppercorn stew. At Brutto, the winter stew is rich, warming, and full of tangled meat and exploding spices. The price is £15.80. At Il Borro, the cooked meat is served in large, tongue-drying pieces. The cost is $41. These days, eating like a rustic Italian is expensive.
The purpose is served atop bronzed, hard-cornered bricks of fried polenta, similar to Jenga blocks but not nearly as entertaining. A simple Italian ingredient has been engineered to within an inch of its life to become more of a fashion accessory than a cuisine. Utilize it as a brooch. As a consolation prize, we order a side of their rosemary-salted triple-cooked chips for £9. Likewise, they are lukewarm, mushy, and, for what it’s worth, devoid of rosemary.
I do not typically complain about subpar dishes for fear of letting others know that all is not well. I am concerned that they would not cooperate when we request to send a photographer. These are so absurdly terrible that I cannot resist eating them. I request that the waiter sample them. Why should I endure the pain alone? They are removed from the bill. From an underwhelming dessert menu that includes cheesecake and panna cotta, we split a £12 tiramisu that thumps.
The bill is an expected £334. Depressing is the lack of ambition in a city filled with excellent Italian eateries. Even more discouraging is the fact that it is thriving. It is packed with individuals eating mediocre food without regard for the prices. However, the most discouraging aspect, at least for me, is that nothing I say will make the tiniest difference. There was only one option available. To cheer me up, I went home and listened to some Joy Division.
One of the founders of London’s Toklas, which was reviewed favorably on this website a few weeks ago, will start a new business in Margate the following month. The Fort Road Hotel, situated within one of the city’s historic structures, touts itself as an “art and culinary destination” due to the collaboration of Frieze magazine creator Matthew Slotover of Toklas and artist Tom Gidley.
There will be works by artists such as Tracey Emin, who was born in Margate, and cuisine featuring pork terrine with pickled cherries, clay-baked sea fish, and wild blackberry pancakes. On the website fortroadhotel.com.
Robbie Lorraine, who was most recently observed preparing a little bizarre but completely enticing meal at his restaurant Only Food and Courses in Brixton, will be the head chef at Boys Hall, a new hotel also launching in September in Kent. On the menu will be lobster doughnuts, braised pork belly with bacon jam, black pudding, and pork “quavers.” Check out boys-hall.com.
Crowdfunding is typically utilized to help open eateries. Perhaps it is a sign of the times that chef Damian Wawrzyniak has created a website to assist him to close his restaurant. Wawrzyniak has decided that his modern Polish restaurant House of Feasts in Peterborough would close on August 21 due to mounting costs on all fronts. In a creative endeavor that may not be well welcomed, he is now attempting to raise £50,000 to pay off his employees and suppliers. Afterward, he plans to locate a new location.
