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'It's shamelessly derivative – a New York experience, apparently, but without the generosity that this implies'
I am not a total fool. I know that in the absence of conventional advertising, restaurant marketing is fuelled by freebies. For years this has been orchestrated by a small band of charming PRs, but then social meeja came along and put everyone in a tailspin. No longer could you simply invite a few key burgundy-nosed coves for a bibulous blowout, comfortable in the knowledge that an agreeable review would arrive in due course. Who were these upstart Yelpers, bloggers and Tweeters, all in as soon as the paint dried, all daring to have an opinion?
So marketing adapted and adopted. Press critics being too snooty to keel up for a free dinner, tables at previews and launches are now filled with a hungrier audience, and the ether is guaranteed to be all a-tremble the next day. But we're getting wise even to that now. We look at sudden rashes of yelping praise with eyebrows a-waggle. We know the game. You can't snow us, pals. Enter Richard Caring, a very clever chap.
Caring, the orange-and-titanium-tinted mogul behind some of the capital's hottest restaurants, is also behind Jackson + Rye. Ostensibly the owners are a former Gordon Ramsay Holdings executive chef and an ex-operations director at Hakkasan, but Caring is puppetmaster. And he's far too sussed to do anything as conventional as mere PR. Instead, he appears to employ personable young people with bulging files of influential contacts. The influentials are invited to convivial "friends'" dinners and sent off into the night full of expensive booze, untroubled by l'addition. No mere parvenus, their reach is wide, their opinions credible. For many reasons, I usually avoid the rush to be first to review. So it's weird to find myself in among this lot at dinner chez Jackson + Rye. Weird, and an education.
Me, I don't much like the place. (And that's discounting the fact that we can't have certain tables because "they're reserved for important people"; or, despite the well-stocked bar, we're not allowed dry martinis because "they're not on our list"; or that we don't get our wine until an hour after ordering it.) It's shamelessly derivative – a New York experience, apparently, but without the generosity that this implies: you should see the bean-counted portion sizes. Where's the ability to mix a killer cocktail? Or the effortless bonhomie and professionalism? Staff aren't just headless chickens, but wingless and footless, too. Beside NYC's hottest, this looks like a Wimpy.
Our food is bland and forgettable: from "truffle" popcorn lacking even a ghost of the alleged flavour, to shrimp with grits (a mushy southern US version of polenta), it's like invalid food; they've even managed to find insipid chillies. Fried chicken features flabby bird: more grease-bound chippy, batter thick as a MasterChef greengrocer, than evolved comfort food. It comes with "spicy coleslaw" that isn't. The fries – tepid, pallid, limp – would make McDonald's blush. A special of the day – hey, it's written on the paper tablecloth, just like they do in Brooklyn's Diner– of grilled swordfish with veg is a dull chore of a dish, to be chewed diligently like cud.
Music, a curious Smashie and Nicey playlist, is over-loud; tables are rammed together. This is Caring doing yoof, if that yoof looked like JP in Fresh Meat. A bill arrives, with 100% discount. When we question it, they look at us as though we're mad. It is, apparently, "a mistake"; we still have to insist they let us pay.
The pal says as we leave, "I didn't enjoy that at all." Me neither. I do like the American-style pancakey brunch, though; puddings – especially blowsy apple fritters and peanut butter cookies with milk ice-cream – are on the money; and the corporate identity and menu design is delicious. The rest, not so much: it has concept and roll-out written all over it. But what does it matter? Everyone else who was there raved about it online the next day: job done. Whatever I say, it's going to be a smash.
• Jackson + Rye 56 Wardour Street, London W1, 020-7437 8338. Open Mon-Fri 8am-11.30pm, Sat 9am-11.30pm, Sun 10am-11pm. About £35-£40 a head for three courses, drinks and service.
Food 4/10
Atmosphere 4/10
Value for money 5/10
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