Otto’s
LONDONERS FALL INTO two camps: those who know about Otto’s and those who don’t. I once promoted a casual acquaintance to the status of a lifelong friend upon discovering that he belonged to the former. As a benchmark for discernment and a healthy appreciation of the finer – nay, the finest – things in life, Otto’s has few rivals.
At first sight, there’s little to suggest that this is one of the most extraordinary eateries in town. The location is inconspicuous, the décor is unassuming. Yet even a cursory glance at the menu is sufficient to convey a sense of culinary wonderment in store. Bavarian by birth, Otto Tepasse’s half-century in some of the world’s most storied kitchens has included stints at Maxim’s, The Plaza Athénée and the sadly defunct Lutèce in Manhattan. To that gilt-edged résumé he addeed his namesake restaurant in 2011. Beloved by peers, high court judges, media moguls and Booker Prize-winning novelists, Otto’s is a bastion of Escoffier-style French cuisine prepared and presented with absolute excellence. If you try one thing only, make it Otto’s iconic – really no other word for it – pressed duck, served from a Christofle press that formerly did duty aboard the Olympic, the twin sister of the ill-starred Titanic. Otto tells me that one international diner has ordered it no fewer than 49 times, and is now looking at his 50th. It’s that exceptional.
