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I hope you’re hungry, because 64 Goodge Street wants to feed you up good. So nourishing and potent is its essence, I imagine people walking past its sleek frontage might feel full from a culinary contact high.
This elegant Fitzrovia bistro bangs out old-school, hearty dishes, proper meals. As you’d expect, pan sauces at this place appear to be sacrosanct. I can imagine all the chefs hanging out in the open-fronted kitchen, taking turns to show off their most banging reductions.
‘Maaate, the opacity on that consommé is fucking sick, not going to lie.’
The preponderance of sick jus can only mean one thing: French fine dining is back, baby. But this time some of the chefs have tattoos and moustaches.
Escargot orbs were smushed with bacon, fried in breadcrumbs and served like aristocratic Scotch eggs
64GS does what it does with aplomb. The night’s show-stopper was an unctuous seafood bisque, boasting a depth of flavour that bottomed out somewhere in the planet’s core. In its centre, a single volcano-like ravioli object, erupting a magmatic plume of crab meat and apple. Hyper-rich boudin noir cylinders - like hockey pucks made from the world’s most extra black pudding - looked uncharacteristically demure served alongside a trio of contrasting smears. Part dish, part artery-clogging playset; every carefully assembled mouthful a new experience.
There were brazen anachronisms, too. Caper-studded remoulade with ham, and smoked salmon with blinis both totally justified their being brought back from the culinary grave. In less capable hands this stuff would be kitsch or, even worse, ironic. At 64 Goodge Street it’s taken completely seriously, like an obese, ailing artist whose squandered but extant genius is still recognised in all but one members club.
Were there snails? Of course there were god-damned snails. Escargot orbs, smushed with bacon, fried in breadcrumbs and served like aristocratic Scotch eggs.
By this point you don’t need me to tell you that mains were bolshy and fulsome. The halibut, served on a selection of objects, sauces and smears that I won’t even try to identify (I have no idea what ‘salsify’ is) was a triumph of flavours and textures. The roast partridge was almost too 64 Goodge Street. So rich and sticky as to be borderline upsetting, like a flavour that only sophisticated aliens can endure.
Not everything worked. On our visit the aligot lacked its signature elasticity, meaning it was basically just posh cheesy mash. Not the worst by any means, but if you’re a high-quality restaurant specialising in the comfort cuisine of central-ish France, you owe it to your social media team to be getting the region’s most video-friendly dish right.
I also reckon they should go all out with the decor though. It is nice: wooden and green, hinting at the ambience of an old-school dining room. But someone’s holding back. The unnecessary gestures at stylishness (no tablecloths, understated frontage, ‘tasteful’ art in boringly uniform frames) prevent 64’s Goodge St from being as much fun as its food. It’s like they’ve taken the obese, ailing artist from earlier and given him a trendy haircut. Let him be himself! Have some fun.
The vibe The embrace of old-school dining, with the hair tousle of modernity thrown in for good measure.
The food Joyful, sauce-laden French dishes designed to warm the heart and fill the belly.
The drink Loads of Burgundy wines, basically. But it would be sort of weird if it wasn’t that.
Time Out tip Fans of anachronistic desserts will be overjoyed to see the lesser-spotted gateau marjolaine (a layered and light combo of chocolate, meringue and ganache) on the menu.