The Wolseley
THE INAUGURATION OF THE WOLSELEY in 2003 changed the face of breakfast in London. Before that time, one’s options were limited to the grab-and-go, the greasy spoon and the grand hotel. There were precious few alternatives between those distant poles. Suddenly, thanks to the vision of Chris Corbin and Jeremy King, the capital gained not merely a new restaurant but a new institution. Safe to say, it’s never looked back. I don’t mean to imply that The Wolseley isn’t ‘grand’. It is, mightily so. Built as a showroom for the long-defunct motor manufacturer from which it derives its name, it’s surely one of the most glamorous spaces in town, replete with soaring columns, vaulted ceilings, red, black and gold lacquer panelling, and tessellated marble floors burnished to an ice-rink glitter.
The Art Deco drama is earthed by an around-the-clock buzz that sees countless covers served from 7 AM during the week (8 AM at the weekend) to last orders at 11 PM. The Wolseley’s lunches, teas and dinners are, of course, splendid, but its breakfasts are its USP. Eggs or pastries, French or Full English, there’s a transcontinental – indeed, transatlantic – vigour to the menu that’s as appealing to the self-treating day-tripper as to the time-pressed businessman. Eccentric, I know, but I’m particularly partial to the grilled kippers with mustard butter, washed down with a bracing pot of lapsang souchong.
See also: The Delaunay, Fischer’s
