“I’m not sure. Maybe some kind of stew?” I say, reaching for my phone for the fifth time in as many minutes to look up yet another unfamiliar dish on the Galvin La Chapelle menu. I consider myself to be well-travelled and versed in the basics of most international cuisines. Galvin La Chapelle’s Mediterranean-inflected French fare should be no problem – but this is a menu that wanders around southern Europe like a particularly epicurean noble on a particularly indulgent grand tour.
There’s pigeon from Anjou, white truffle from Italy, olive oil from Sicily, fallow deer from the Lake District, and a whole host of elements – bagna cauda (a hot dipping sauce from Piedmont), carnaroli (a type of Italian risotto rice), buddha’s hand (a rather unlovely-looking citrus fruit from South Asia) – that have me furiously Googling under our crisp white tablecloth.
Of course, while chef-owners Chris and Jeff Galvin themselves hail from Brentwood, Essex, it should come as no surprise that their classical culinary knowledge is second to none. With more than six decades of cheffing experience between them, including stints at The Savoy, L’Escargot, The Ritz, The Lanesborough and The Wolseley, this year marks the 20th anniversary of the brothers’ Galvin Restaurants group.
All food imagery: Patricia Niven
Following the closure of Galvin at Windows last year due to a major renovation of its home at Hilton London Park Lane (and possibly because it sounds more like the email address of an IT support worker than a fine dining restaurant), the portfolio currently includes an upscale pub in the Essex countryside, a refined-yet-casual bistro in Spitalfields, and Galvin La Chapelle – the undisputed Michelin-starred jewel in the crown.
It would be hard not to be wowed by Gavin La Chapelle even if the food was bad (spoiler alert: it isn’t). Located at the juncture where the skyscrapers of the City meet the urban graffiti of Shoreditch, the restaurant is housed in a Grade II-listed building that was once St. Botolph’s Hall; not, as the name may suggest, a former church but rather once part of the late-Victorian Central Foundation Girls’ School.
A building that could easily have been destined to be ‘saved’ by Wetherspoons, has instead found itself masterful wardens in the Galvins. Soaring ceilings are softly lit to highlight original beams; during the day, vast arched windows flood the space with natural light; and a clever mezzanine level above the semi-open kitchen houses the bathrooms and private dining room. Seating is almost exclusively at round tables or booths for the most convivial experience, while the dining room is scattered with contemporary sculptures and classical artworks. It’s a space both smart enough for entertaining your most important clients (and there’s a very keenly priced set lunch menu for that exact purpose) and intimate enough for a special anniversary or birthday celebration.
Back to the menu. If you find yourself even more perplexed than I, there’s a five-course tasting menu devised by executive chef Arturo Granato that will happily take the choice out of your hands by serving some of the restaurant’s greatest hits. We, however, decide to risk our dinner on my research skills and begin with a steamed brioche bun filled with veal ossobuco.
My husband, always a refreshing dining partner thanks to his day-to-day indifference to all things culinary, is immediately in raptures, comparing it to “really good fancy pulled pork” and declaring he could easily eat 10 more. I’m not convinced that’s exactly what the Galvins were going for when they devised this dish but, with its pillowy bao-like bun and meltingly soft meat, he isn’t entirely wrong.
Starters of Dorset crab raviolo and the aforementioned Anjou pigeon come with all the Great British Menu-style flourishes you’d expect from a restaurant of this calibre. A single large raviolo is packed with fresh, light crab meat that cuts through a luxurious buerre blanc studded with pearls of salmon roe, while the perfectly pink pigeon breast is accompanied by a confit leg and, intriguingly, a dark chocolate truffle that acts as the most opulent of condiments.
The bells and whistles continue across mains of fallow deer with bagna cauda – in which the caviar reappears, this time in Baeeri form – and English Pekin duck à l’orange, which is, mercifully, a million miles from the sickly sweet 1970s dinner party staple the name can conjure. Could the skin of the duck have been rendered just a little more? Perhaps, but it is a mere quibble across a menu of hits.
To dessert. My husband, who at this point in the meal has entirely given up on reading the menu and is instead taking advantage of our prime corner table to peer into the kitchen and select whatever looks best on the pass, spots a waiter parade what appears to be a stack of chocolate mousses past our table and is instantly sold. I, in a futile nod towards health in a dinner absolutely soaked in melted butter, opt for a fermented fig sorbet with macadamia praline. The chocolate proves to be lighter than anticipated, and the fig more indulgent; we’re both delighted with our choices.
Yet, while the food is great, it’s the service at Galvin La Chapelle that proves to be exceptional. Impeccably dressed waiters and sommeliers move efficiently but discreetly through the room like a well-oiled machine, making sure glasses are full and diners happy without being over-attentive. Perhaps it’s because, in a chronically understaffed industry, on a busy Friday night the dining room appears to be more than adequately catered for. Maybe it’s because none of the waiting staff seem to be doing this as a part-time gig during their A-levels. Great hospitality is a skilful, demanding job and, at least from my brief encounter, Galvin La Chapelle treats it like a career, not something you do until a ‘real’ job comes along.
The day after our dinner, an email drops into my inbox asking me to rate our experience. So far so standard and I’m happy to oblige. I’m surprised, then, when a few hours later a second email lands. This time it’s a note from the formidably suave maitre d’, Franco Becci, personally thanking me for my feedback and offering use of his personal booking link to ensure VIP status on my next visit.
Does everyone who dines at Galvin La Chapelle receive this email? Probably. Do I still feel like I’ve passed some secret test to gain access to an exclusive and discerning club? Absolutely. It’s a small gesture but one that, in a decade of reviewing restaurants, I’d never come across. This, ladies and gents, is how you charge £200 per head for dinner and still make guests feel it’s a place they can ‘pop into’ for supper after work. Well played, Galvin brothers.
Visit galvinrestaurants.com
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