The Lansdowne Club – Review

Located below Annabel’s on Berkeley Square’s south-west corner, the Landsdowne Club exterior is decorated with two blue heritage plaques, one for ex-Prime Minister William Petty and one for department store magnet Harry Gordon Selfridge, both of whom lived in the Georgian building before it converted to a private club in 1935. Famed at the time for allowing not only men but also women as members, the interior retains many original features, including wide open spaces filled with marble, gold leafing and elaborate cornicing on every ceiling and corner. Once past reception, up a few stairs, a lift rises to the second floor, where diners pass through two glass doors before arriving at the restaurant on the right. A neat and tidy bar stretches straight ahead, and another receptionist welcomes you to both. 

A rare oasis of calm in Mayfair, design is unfussy, riding somewhere between art deco, elegant, minimalistic and naked. Colouring is oceanic, mixing grey, turquoise and green depending on where you look and at what angle. Lighting is bright, tablecloths are white, and a grey carpet adds a soft and bouncy touch to proceedings. Some wall based tables double as makeshift booths with heavy hanging curtains for extra privacy. We start with house champagne and are almost immediately presented with five slices of bread and three types of fluffy, mousse-like butter. It feels like an unofficial test, a mix and match quandary and we hope no one’s eavesdropping. Does the olive sourdough work best with onion or mushroom butter? Should we even contemplate tomato butter on the sundried tomato focaccia? What about the seeded flatbread? Surely, no butter at all? 

It’s a fun way to kick the taste buds into action and the creative juices into analytical mode, both of which are further tested and treated with some spectacular starters, the descriptions of which do not do them justice. The Seared Orkney Isles Hand-Dived Scallops demand visual investigation before tasting. The three scallops are partially hidden with nduja sausage and parsley and interrupted by two cubes of pork belly. There’s a mussel here, a mussel there, and some funky Romanesco broccoli, the lively pale green colouring of which lifts the plate’s otherwise more dour colouring. Tasting contradicts already high expectations with the unexpected; nduja provides the scallops with a meatier prompt whilst a coconut and lemongrass flavour, erring towards tom yum soup, provides the meat with a a spicier but refreshing prompt. It’s a taste bud ping pong finessed to perfection.

The Cromer Crab resembles a shimmering eccentric underwater broach. The brown crab is whipped to smithereens, smooth as silk but is mainly hidden by jellified haddock consommé. The colour palate is lifted by green leaves and bright red apple blossom and its consumption seems to go on for ever, is pure decadence.  

Mains mainly include grilled surf and turf with lobster and monkfish as well as wagyu and aged rib-eye. Gianni, our waiter, advised us on starters so we return to him and there’s absolutely no hesitation. The Roast Saddle of Venison for two is pure gastronomic theatre. Served on a trolley, cut at the table, it takes three to deliver to our plates. It’s super dark on the outside and perfectly crimson in its middle.

Swimming in red wine and juniper berry jus on one side of the plate, a phalanx of winter root vegetables curve around the opposite. At times it’s a guessing game with outlandish and exotic stabs – plum, baby carrots, beetroot of different colours, maybe a radish or something close to pickled watermelon, dollops of carrot and aniseed purée. For extra idiosyncrasy and a personal touch, small pots of creamed girolle mushrooms, hazelnut powder and berry sauce tempt. As do, two semmelknödel – bread dumplings. With so much else to consider the Venison could become secondary but is so perfect that it refocuses the wandering attention on what is an opulent and supremely varied dish, simultaneously rustic and old-fashioned in its roots but urban and veering towards daring in its contemporaneity.  

Although other members of staff engage with and serve us, Gianni is our constant. He seems to be a man who loves his job and one possessed of many talents. Raconteur, historian, adviser, Maitre D’, sommelier, even chef at one point. He decants our recommended Casa Silva Carmenere from Chile which he describes as full-bodied but delicate. He’s a cheery presence who elevates our evening and contextualises all that’s on offer. As we dissect the dessert list, he explains the history of one of the items – Crêpe Suzette – something to do with a mistake which caused sugar to caramelise, chef Henri Charpentier, the future King Edward VII and a guest companion who was actually called Suzanne. 

Of course, we chose the Crêpe Suzette, which Gianni prepares in front of us with more theatre. Our receptionist joins for good measure, as does another waitress. The dish is prepared on a tall, antique silver stove with some pouring, some flourishing and a metre and a half blue flash flame which delights all concerned. Pancakes swim in orange butter sauce, chunks of orange lounge and a Tahitian Vanilla bean ice cream melts from the dish’s middle. My friend says it’s better than her mum’s which must be the biggest compliment a diner can make – just don’t tell the mum.

My mum never experimented with White Chocolate Mousse but I think she’d have struggled to match this one. The plate has a largely golden, orange palette wherein a quenelle of mango sorbet is flanked by two quenelles of white mousse as mango salsa, a thin and surprise layer of meringue, a smattering of white chocolate soil all add to the bravura. It’s a fantastic way to end an exceptional evening where a calm but intimate atmosphere is compounded with charismatic service and thrilling cooking.