Galvin La Chapelle – Review

During their early careers, Essex-born Chris and Jeff Galvin worked separately with top industry names as varied as Antony Worrall Thompson, Sir Terence Conran and Marco Pierre White, during which they became the first British brothers to gain Michelin stars from different restaurants. In 2006, they joined forces to open Galvin at Windows at the top of Park Lane’s Hilton after which they became the first British brothers to gain a Michelin star from the same restaurant. It was a sad day for London when Windows closed but the brothers never slacked. They now run three eateries and somewhere along this impressive journey became British restaurant royalty. 

La Chapelle, on the edge of Spitalfields market, is the brothers’ flagship and has held a Michelin star for an impressive fifteen years. Beyond the slick metal bar on the entrance’s left, super high ceilings, shiny marble pillars, swathes of dramatic gold curtains and monastery-style candelabra contribute to initial impressions of religious decorum and regal majesty. St Botolph’s Hall, as it used to be known, is a Grade II listed Victorian building designed initially as a place of worship for the Central Foundation Girls’ School back in the late 1800s. Built in Flemish Renaissance Revival style but with a Grecian interior, minimal contemporary lighting adds subdued elegance. 

On a Friday night, tables are packed for a lively but unobtrusive buzz. Although we’re here for the Autumn menu which launched in September we veer off piste immediately with a glass of eponymous house champagne. The Galvin Grande Réserve Brut is crafted in partnership with Beaumont des Crayères and should be mandatory for all diners. To accompany our meal, we opt for the Sommelier wine pairing and instantly warm to Dalibor as, once the Galvin is finished, he surprises us with another champagne. 

The Delamotte Brut is a fine-bubbled, chardonnay-led, fruity-finishing snack companion of which we’re presented with three. If the crispy bread and semi-solid cheese dip are satisfying but functional, the others are served simultaneously and deserve a standing ovation. The Comté Gougeres look soft but are actually hard and crumbly. The exteriors offer savoury, delicately burnt biscuit topped with shaved parmesan, inside which a gooey burst of mushroom ketchup keeps proceedings lively and titillating. With what might be a row of small chocolate drums, the final snack looks like a playful dessert served prematurely. Popcorn crumble even decorates but make no mistake; this is, essentially, foie gras. Crispy toast underscores the Duck Liver Paté and a surprising but subtle Moroccan spice lingers for what is overall a simultaneously silky but crunchy treat. 

Henceforth the menu is an either/or proposition. Dalibor pours a prettily designed Chateau Sainte Margeurite Fantastique, the design for which conjures up Caribbean exoticism rather than French estates, but this Rosé tastes peachy and has a raspberry, possibly grapefruit, finish. For starters, the Cornish charred mackerel is seared but only just, for a close-to-raw, nigiri style freshness. As my friend concludes, the mackerel is definitely not from a tin and, with skin maintained for a silver flashiness, tastes as fresh and as succulent as the ocean it came from. The Bergamot dressing poured at the table provides a citrus tang and the dainty girolles are a curious but not unwelcome surprise. My Dorset Crab Raviolo (yes, that’s singular) is the size of a poached egg and hidden in a buttery yellow sauce brightened with orange salmon roe and similar-sized crunchy greenery for an overall luxurious treat. Consumption is slow and measured and very enjoyable. 

We’re tempted by the Venison and juniper berries but decide the proposition is too Christmas-y for early October. The Matured Grass-Fed Beef is presented geometrically with a heady burgundy jus also poured at the table. My friend swears in delight. The steak is chunky fish finger in size, topped with grains of salt and comes medium-rare for a succulent and fleshy texture. It’s served with a square of delicate short-rib, and on top of the oblong potato sits an unexpected joker in our pack – a fried oyster. Still, no one’s complaining and once again, Dalibor impresses with a silky smooth and oaky Primitivo di Manduria Anniversario 62’ which my friend confirms she could drink forever. 

We eschew the Delica Pumpkin & Clementine tart and opt for the Baba au Tiramisu, which initially seems like the culinary equivalent of hedging bets or sitting on the fence. We’re intrigued and not quite sure what to expect, but the terminology is literal and the offering is an honest, straight-down-the-middle mixture of Rum Baba and Tiramisu. And rather than the mess it could be, it’s nothing short of sensational. And in retrospect it seems so obvious; one wonders why this hybrid isn’t preening and beckoning from every Italian, every Caribbean, every high-end, every low-end restaurant the world over. Our waitress has to concentrate as she pours liquor over the bread and then sets it all on fire. Coffee is also poured over it before mascarpone and a sprinkling of chocolate powder finish the dish. 

Our waitress looks pleased with herself as she hands over the Baba au Tiramisu, but perhaps she’s more excited by our reaction, knowing what we do not yet. More positive swearing from my friend and I’m inclined to join in for a lively cuss-in. The sponge is so succulent it’s a miracle the texture and shape still hold firm. We eat awe-struck but practically drink it, too. It conjures up Vespas and coffee mugs under palm trees and swim-up bars. It feels cheeky, somehow. It feels louche but luxurious. It feels like it shouldn’t work but it really, really does.  

The Autumn Menu comes, at its start, with a Negroni or Galvin Signature, neither of which we ordered due to champagne interference, so instead we finish the menu topsy turvy, with the starter cocktails last. Even after all we’ve consumed, we’re happy to have more, to relish La Chapelle’s unique surroundings and discuss what has just passed. It’s a civilised way to finish this near-religious experience.