Bread Street Kitchen & Bar – Bishopsgate – Review

The recent Netflix series about Gordon Ramsay’s bold if not bonkers conceit to open three restaurants at the top of London’s second-tallest building was unexpectedly bingable. Contrary to opinions of yore, Ramsay came across as a generous, focused and motivated man with a great sense of adventure and a family who loved him as much as he loved it. Essential viewing? Perhaps not, but top of the world branding for the venture, which, apparently, would lose him a quick £20m if it failed? Absolutely! 

Although the documentary concentrated on the Lucky Cat and Restaurant Gordon Ramsay High opening, Bread Street Kitchen is the largest of the three endeavours, with 250 seats. Described as the highest restaurant in Europe, it’s technically the third highest after the two aforementioned, which sit one above Bread Street’s 59th floor. Much like the Shard and the Walkie Talkie, a security check is mandatory and reminds one of a cursory customs search. The elevator speeds quickly, and at some point, my ears muffle but quickly pop. Beyond the reception desk, to the left, an airport-type bar barks with six TV screens whilst, somewhat randomly, a monochrome photo of Jimi Hendrix silently monitors proceedings. 

The journey to our table feels like a twisty, turn-y obstacle course full of tables, chairs, another bar, flying waiters and a couple of stumbling customers. It’s not quite as hectic as Oxford Circus but it’s getting there. We’re seated by the South London facing windows so as well as the mighty Thames, we also have a unique view of the aforementioned Walkie Talkie and The Shard,  HMS Belfast, London Bridge and a never-ending expanse of bricks and mortar. My friend is already seated and sipping something sparkling so I follow his lead and we quickly opt for Gordon’s Tasting Menu, which includes many of his better-known dishes. 

The Snacks and Starters are delivered interchangeably, but we start with Oysters. Served on a bed of ice with slices of both lemon and lime, they’re served with a mild habanero vinegar which infuses tabasco and mignonette into one. They’re fresh, as you’d hope, and chunky and meaty and don’t stick around for long. Next up is the Stonebass Crudo which looks like someone’s eaten half of it and pushed the remainder to one side; more fool them. My friend’s never had Crudo, so is wary but his reticence doesn’t last long. There’s a generous amount of Aji amarillo dressing and the fish is subtly flavoursome with sliced grapes thrown in for good measure and something crunchy and biscuity which we never identify.  

GFC (Gordon Fried Chicken) is one of Lucky Cat’s signature dishes, but down here, the eponymity is lost for a less rabble-rousing Fried Chicken Nugget. Still, each nugget has a bump of caviar, making the dish a curious commingling of street culture with haute cuisine. Truffle and black garlic aioli underlie the nugget and just when I’m wondering if the caviar part is all mouth and no trousers, the roes burst as one and a salt liquidity pleasantly surprises. Blink and you’ll miss it but caviar on chicken nuggets is definitely one for moderate bragging rights or, at least, discussing them. 

The Wagyu Meat Ball is hard to identify from appearance alone and could easily be mistaken for a fondant dish coated in white chocolate, covered in grated coconut and swimming in a red berry coulis. If it feels a few steps away from what’s preceded, the wagyu is succulent and lean and easy to eat, though the roasted tomato sauce and smoked provola help make it the evening’s richest offering. 

We move on to San Marzano Tramaré Rosé when a funny thing happens. Throughout the night, I’ve been snatching glimpses of the London skyline, thinking a lightning storm is brewing; flashes, not constantly, just here and there, now and again. It’s about 9.30 pm and suddenly the restaurant lights dim for what must surely be its best party trick and a flourish of visual drama. Interior lighting becomes little more than finely tuned pin pricks so the interior matches the exterior at night and resembles an exotic Bondian location. The ‘lightning’, I realize, is no more than flashing cameras from excitable diners. 

We’re missing one of our starters, the much-anticipated Lobster and Prawn toast, another Ramsay signature. Turns out they’ve run out so we receive a Prawn Cocktail at the same time we receive the Duroc Pork Chop main course for an impromptu surf and turf. Gone is the traditional English cocktail dressing to be replaced more by the Vegas-style buffet of king prawns on ice with lemon and ketchup to dip them in. The Duroc Chop is the largest I’ve seen at a restaurant and is the size and shape of a boomerang. Meat is chopped into slices and curves opposite the bone which has still more meat on it. A walnut and black garlic purée divides the two, and there’s no apple sauce in sight, thank you. Whilst I’m enjoying the prawns, I ask my friend how it is. He’s stuffing himself so he can’t answer verbally but gives me the thumbs up. Meat is super tender and succulent and is interspersed with fat. My friend wants to take the bone home for his dog but I tell him he can’t as I use my hands to devour what’s left on the bone. 

A couple of Sticky Toffee Madeleines with sauce poured at the table act as pre-dessert amuse-bouches for the cheerily coloured Meyer Lemon Cheesecake.  Shaped and textured like a real-life lemon, it reminds of Heston Blumenthal’s seminal tangerine-looking Meat Fruit. Where that consisted of a chicken liver and foie gras parfait, and would be completely inappropriate as a dessert this ends the meal with a bang. The harder outside lemony/white chocolate gives way to a lively lemon cheesecake with biscuit base and a strawberry confit surprise in its middle. A large basil leaf works as a visual motif for the vivid strawberry and basil compote and as I split the dish in half, my friend is already hatching a plan to bring his family back to repeat the experience.