Big Review: Hawksmoor, Air Street

Many years ago, I reviewed the first ever Hawksmoor in Shoreditch for a now defunct monthly mag. Yet for no particular reason I never returned, despite reading the endless acclaim for every subsequent opening, including the all-conquering Covent Garden branch.

An invite to try out this newish opening bang in the centre of Piccadilly was, therefore, irresistible;  inside, as promised, it really is art deco glamour all the way, with floor-to-ceiling arched stained and etched glass windows, reclaimed furniture, low-lighting.

Ushered to our table, we were softly advised to try the new range of cocktails (around a tenner a pop). Lots of Venetian-style aperitifs, as is the vogue: a Sinking Spritz proved a sweet but not sickly concoction of Aperol and Sauvignon Blanc, like a starter level Negroni. Better still was the Garden, a gin-based libation garnished with a sprig of mint and cucumber to inhale as you sip. Sharp, bitter, a fresh nose.

The emphasis here is sustainable seafood, alongside the steaks which have made their name. Yet despite the hype, our piscine starters were not quite Neptune-bothering: a lobster cocktail, at a mighty £17.50, was underwhelming, its generous swathes of little gem lettuce holding court for just a few teeny pieces of shellfish. Roast scallops with white port and garlic, on the other hand, melted tenderly, the coral (the orange bit) left on in all its splendour. We drank Picpoul (£5.75 a glass), its light and aromatic notes working perfectly with both dishes.

Any lingering concerns paled, however, when the steaks – supplied by the Ginger Pig in Marylebone – arrived. We shared two, a rib-eye, medium rare, and a fillet, as it’s years since I ordered this rather unadventurous cut.

The verdict? Possibly the best steaks I’ve ever devoured. The latter was pillowy and soft, all flump-like melt-in-the-mouth texture, while the rib eye was packed with chargrilled meatiness and moistness. Both arrived ready sliced into tantalizing red pieces, so no need to saw the flesh indelicately with a sharp knife when enjoying a romantic dinner. What else? Creamy bearnaise, buttery cabbage, a lettuce and herb salad zingily dressed. Chateau de Ricaud, a traditional Bordeaux (£8.50 by the glass), only added to the finesse.

The sommelier popped up at this point to a recommend a Vin De Constance, from South African wine makers Klein Constantia, a moreish little number packed with apricot flavours. Napoleon drank it by the gallon, he explained, and characters in both Jane Austen and Charles Dickens novels guzzled the stuff too: in Sense and Sensibility, for example, Mrs Jennings recommends a little for “its healing powers on a disappointed heart”.  Recuperative or not, it certainly accentuated our childhood-like desserts – a chocolate caramel cup, like a big melting rolo, and peanut butter shortbread with salted caramel ice cream (a deconstructed Snickers, if you will).

I could go on – but you get my gist. This is a special (and special occasion) place, undeniably expensive at peak time in the evening. However, the daytime and late night menu is great value, priced at little more than the average north London gastropub.

In fact, if it wasn’t for that rather slight starter, Hawksmoor would probably have scored our first ever 10/10.