Midweek Lunch: Odette’s, Primrose Hill

It’s not often we can spare an hour or two to join the drifting lunching ladies of Primrose Hill, but the other day was so warm we gave in, attempting an editorial meeting over the £17 two course deal at swanky old Odette’s. Perfect, we thought, for a spot of people-watching from their terrace too.

But not, it transpired, without its setbacks. All smiles, we asked the sweet but monosyllabic waitress what the wifi password was (the domain had come up on screen already). She said they don’t do wi-fi. She volunteered to call the po-faced manager. Who told us the don’t do wi-fi. Quite haughtily too.

We discussed this at length; it’s understandable why restaurants get snotty about use of technology at table. And horrific hearing someone bark into their mobile, for sure. But during the working day, in what we suppose is a meeja area, iPads are sometimes part of a conversation, aren’t they? Especially when you’re discussing an online publication like ours. Plus we were alfresco, not in the stiff confines of the restaurant. But we were made to feel grubby. And slightly naughty.

‘I love Primrose Hill,’ said Susie, changing the subject. ‘Such happy memories of Odettes in the 90’s – upstairs with the bosses, downstairs with my mates.’ And she was right, we do like the Hill, and so put the incident out of our minds, excited about celebrity chef Bryn Williams’ virtuoso cooking. Yes, we admitted, maybe it was us who were wrong. We are pathetically hooked and should all learn to take a techno-break sometimes, right?

Right. And boy was the food all wonderful (at the set menu price cheaper than the average gastropub too): oxtail hash brown with exploding poached egg and bearnaise. Brown crab custard (as rich as a savoury creme brulee). As for seabass (below) with squid and a perfectly salty accompaniment of capers and anchoiade? So light, it simply disappeared with the Verdejo.

Yet all around was misery. The mute couple next to us came to life only when he objected to a man parking too close to his Merc. A polite but indignant quarrel followed, as if they were actually arguing about who was richer. Meanwhile his beautiful but glum companion chewed twenty times before turning away to swallow, a chore that, quite frankly, she could do without.

Our service didn’t really improve, either. A succession of waiting staff appeared, each stern, yet oddly un-confident. ‘Are you fine for water?’ asked one, despite our tumblers being empty (it was duly fetched and poured, un-iced and lukewarm). Was it wrong to want everyone to relax, smile a bit? Surely this is a nice place to work? Look at the view! Plus it was empty. Formal is OK, but for why not combine it with charisma, like they do at The Ivy, Wolseley, Gilbert Scott, Meribel Brasserie even? ‘It’s nothing a stint on one of the street food stalls in Camden Market wouldn’t iron out,’ said Susie. ‘I feel sorry for everybody. Genuinely.’

It was no surprise that, when we came to pay, the machine wasn’t working. ‘There’s something wrong with the streaming,’ said the waitress grimly. And there ensued a hoo-ha of running through passwords and private details with the bank on the phone, before finally – joyously! – we were free, escaping into the glare of sun on Regent’s Park Road.

Words & Pics: Stephen Emms & Susie Innes

Is everything normally all smiles at Odette’s? or what are your experiences?