Claro London – Review

Billed as Mediterranean cuisine with Middle Eastern influence, Claro is inspired by the success of its Tel Aviv namesake and is located on the site previously occupied by Villandry, one of the restaurants which sign-posted St James’ slow segue from corporate and commercial to hospitality and social. A bank before this, Claro’s dining space is dramatic and provides the night with a grandeur. Its ceiling towers at least twenty feet high and is decorated with reiterations of hereditary crests and flowers. Three large and diaphanous lampshades hang like inverted test tubes and glow around the bottom rim of their circumference. Vertical metal girders full of rivets add a more industrial mix and the kitchen is open plan so expect sizzle and clatter to complement diners’ chatter. Checked shades of grey marble flooring finish the space with a chessboard pizazz. 

Cocktails are mainly twists on classics, though the Basilica, less so. Gin, spiced pear, basil and lemon offer a refreshing sup with the basil revved up in a deceptive purple. My Fichi is, essentially, a fig infused negroni. It packs a heavy and pleasing punch with a lingering aniseed kick. A blood orange red in appearance, along with the Basilica, softer rouge with pink shade, the two look like they’re making a concerted effort to brighten the capital’s winter blues.

Starters are for sharing and three is the recommended portion for two. The Beef Tataki is a sight for sore eyes with taste and texture to match relevant organs. Seared on the outside, the steak is raw within and melts in the mouth. Chargrill adds character to the sourdough and a grapefruit does the same to a small but sprightly salad. Nestled in a large dollop of Greek yoghurt, the Tuna Tartar is less pure than many Mediterranean variations. Served with two za’atar crackers, it’s more of a dipping dish with pickled onions and chives offering an unexpected crunch. The Shrimp Falafel is visually the most playful, is literal in presentation with a crunchy fried prawn, tail and all, stuffed through a falafel; it looks like a crustacean on its way to an avant garde fancy dress party. Green and red dips add vibrancy and colour to the costume. My friend is allergic to shellfish but I happily consume both falafels. 

Ron, our sommelier, takes us expertly through the wine list and guides us towards a Christian Rouchier Syrah Aintraigue. It has a dark berry complexity and reminds of us those distant Christmas nights. The longer it decants, Ron explains, the better it tastes and each glass will be superior to the previous one. He’s not wrong and as he’s explaining all this, sous-chef Gal rushes from the kitchen to tell us he’s added a couple of tasting dishes to our mains. Along with Pantelis, the restaurant manager, who adds an infectiously happy presence, the three staff make for a perfect team brimming with enthusiasm, knowledge and affability. 

The Steak Bavette is warmer than our Beef Tataki but otherwise similar. We have no-one to blame except ourselves though, and, actually, no-one’s complaining. The steak is a sumptuous medium rare and blends with celeriac purée. The Turbot Steak is delicate and firm and swims amongst seasonal vegetables in a ras el hanout butter sauce. Of our side dishes, the Okra is a rich and exotic and could well be promoted to a main dish. With slow cooked tomatoes which verge towards ratatouille, a paprika aftertaste, a generous portion of creamy labneh and grated cheese, it’s a filling showstopper. A crispy leafed salad is crunchy and fresh; its beguiling pink leaves make it resemble a prototype for a Marc Quinn photograph or a Willy Wonka invention after Willy moved on from his chocolate factory. There’s also an unexotic baked potato which is well done and is spread with a smattering of garlic and dill butter. If nothing else, it wins our sympathy vote, sitting as it does, slightly lonely if not redundant on the side of our side dishes.  

My friend has to unzip her belt buckle a notch or two but doesn’t shy away from dessert or the Oremus late harvest Tokaji that Ron chooses for us. I usually opt for chocolate or caramel desserts but on this occasion am drawn to Malabi, a Middle Eastern rose flavoured milk pudding. It’s the right decision, is delicate and fragrant and reminds of a viscous Turkish delight.

What looks like fried plantain on its top is a swathe of crispy cinnamon. Pistachios, black berries, strawberries and candied nuts add to a refreshing and surprisingly light finale, something that can also be said, unexpectedly, about the date cake. Final preparations take place in front of us and it’s served on a black Swiss chalet type metal dish. There’s whiskey caramel, pecan crumble and a healthy dollop of coconut ice cream. Possessed of an intoxicating lightness, it has the comfort of a sticky toffee pudding with none of the density and works as perfect fuel for us to head back into the drippy February night.