I have just passed an elderly gentleman who is holding an old wooden staff, a beautiful long piece of wood which has a hand-crafted Y shaped handle at the top of it. It’s the sort of implement that you might see Gandalf using if he were about to descend a rickety antique stairwell after dining in one of London’s busiest restaurants.
It was as if the food universe was alerting me that I had just stepped into a building built in 1793; a divine dine intervention.
I have just arrived at the top of the stairs at the restaurant in The Devonshire, a pub in Soho which is within spitting distance of Piccadilly Circus. It is 4.45 pm, and no, the place was not jammed full wall-to-wall with Zimmer frames and colostomy bags there for the pensioner’s early bird special, it was the only online booking I could get! To be honest, I don’t know why more places don’t offer it, it’s a wonderful time to eat! Yes, yes, I know most kitchens need to close between services, and there is a chronic chef shortage, extra wages… etc, etc, but for the diner, it’s win, win, win. You get to choose your preferred table; the staff aren’t as harried, and you have more time to chat as the afternoon spring sun beams through the large windows. Besides, its always a fun sport to watch that one sad 12.30 pm table of four louche corporates spilling most of their sixth bottle of burgundy all over the table and themselves, whilst simultaneously trying to guess the nationality of their attractive female server and order four “cleansers.”
The four-storey building has had every inch of it lovingly restored keeping it’s old-world character by the three visionary owners. Charlie Carroll is co founder of Flat Iron a wildly successful vertically integrated beef company that rears, butchers, and features its beef in Flat Iron Restaurants. Oisin Rogers is the former Guinean Grill publican and highly regarded pub whisperer. Ashley Palmer Watts was head chef for Heston Blumenthal at the Fat Duck Group for 20 years.
These three meticulous musketeers have created a pub that is timeless, and their timing is perfect. The place is heaving, there are over 100 lubricated happy punters on the street enjoying a rare warm afternoon; you can hear the sighs of contentment as you enter the bar from the street; and from there it’s a quick hop up the lurid red stairwell, complete with red velvet curtains, to one of the two dining rooms.
The first-floor dining room has retained its original creaky wooden floor; there are two rows of tightly packed paper over cloth tables, and a thick pale green curtain to hide the kitchen. At the far end of the space, is a large-scale open grill, a bed of white-hot coals, four adjustable grills, and a raging furnace fed from the pile of wood in the corner. The other end of the room has an oversized antique sideboard that is slightly buckled and groaning under the weight of wine bottles, all of which enhances the Dickensian aura of the room.
The menu is quaintly written in cursive and it’s one of those menus that has me at “HELLO.” I just want to order one of every dish, sit back and engorge myself, and then be carried out on a stretcher three hours later. Comatose but satisfied. But that is my fantasy, not yours. Fortunately, we only have a two-hour dining allotment, but we do our best.
The starters range from £9 to £16, and mains start at £24 and for those on a budget, the set menu is daylight robbery at £25 for two and £29 for three courses.
Water and Chablis are quickly poured and then, the most unexpected of offerings; a gesture that was once standard circa 1993, but now is almost extinct. Complimentary bread! To be honest, I would be perfectly happy to pay for these freshly baked laminated rolls, they are served warm from the metal baking tray, and have brioche aspirations but are somewhat airier, with a golden crust. They are dangerously addictive.
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Our starter of shrimp arrives, served in a ramekin and sealed with clarified butter, the nest of tiny potted shrimps are briny and slightly sweet, simply served with lemon and triangles of Melba toast. We run out of toast, but another free bread roll arrives and hey presto, the greatest ever buttered prawn roll!
Hand dived scallops from Oban, Scotland, are exquisitely roasted in their shells with bacon and malt vinegar. Try doing that in your air fryer at home!
A dish described as,”White Crab Salad” is an effortless plate by a chef whose palate is only equaled by his sense of restraint. Dollops of luscious white crab are veiled under a roof of dressed radicchio leaves and slices of green apple. The piquant crab is mixed with fine green herbs, a smidgen of mayonnaise and finely diced celery for crunch. It’s everything you ever want in a salad.
While we are bathing in the afternoon sun waiting for our mains, our smug self congratulatory mood is enhanced by the arrival of Oisin Rogers, who is touching each table and making everyone feel at home. I think I said something ridiculous that wasn’t really a question, more of a sycophantically obvious statement like, “You guys look like you have been super busy.” Oisin agrees, his look of bewilderment indicates that even he can’t understand how this place has captured London’s Zeitgeist so quickly. “Two weeks ago, we sold 20,000 pints of Guinness!” Oisin stammers in disbelief. That is a lot of Irish Coca Cola, it’s four pints every minute! A sign of the Devonshire’s widespread appeal is that half of those pints were drunk by Gen Z women. Being the affable publican that he is, Oisin cruises on to the next table as our main courses arrive.
There is a wonderful lamb hot pot, diced spring lamb shoulder is braised for hours to a sweet tenderness with a carapace of tiny gratinated discs of potato. A pile of Langoustines is exactly that, the spiny creatures are split in half, grilled, and dressed with a drizzle of acidulated cream. It’s like being kissed by the ocean.
Dessert is a Grand Marnier soufflé flamed at the table and a bread-and-butter pudding that your grandmother would envy. The service here is some of the best I have had in many years; caring, instinctive, and humorous, it is similar to being looked after by your best friend's mum.
The Devonshire is the real deal, and I still haven’t told you about their on-site aging room that holds 5000 steaks, overseen by George Donnelly from the famous Australian butchery Victor Churchill, the terrific value wine list, or the Iberico pork that is farmed by the Ledbury chef Brett Graham.
Cancel all plans.
Lock in the babysitter.
Sell a kidney.
Postpone that meeting.
Do whatever is necessary.
Just go.
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The Devonshire
https://www.devonshiresoho.co.uk/