In my experience, Sketch in Mayfair is delightfully unconventional and unapologetically idiosyncratic. Restaurateur Mourad Mazouz and chef Pierre Gagnaire’s 20-year reign resides in an 18th-century Mayfair townhouse – the former site of Christian Dior’s London atelier (says it all, really). The space dazzles with a shamelessly brazen, brilliantly glaring decor that teeters on the edge of madness -in the best way possible. And you got love them for it – if you’ve been and seen the toilets then you know what I’m talking about. I’ll come back to them in a bit. Sketch opened in 2003, with Pierre Gagnaire already holding three Michelin stars since 1998 for his Parisian restaurant. Over the years, Sketch has been gilded with Michelin stars of its own, earning its first in 2005, a second in 2013, and a third in 2020. Since 2013, Johannes Nuding has been head chef, bringing experience from his time leading Pierre Gagnaire’s restaurants in Moscow and Paris.
It’s tasting menu only and it’s an event that begins with dextrously crafted amuse bouche of marinated oysters, a meat bon bon and some baked goods piped with the pungent pong of cheese.
We start with a Chablis – just a casual £176 to complement my “impressive palate.” So the sommelier says. Naturally, I dunked my wallet in a glass of the stuff to extinguish the flames engulfing it. On the flip side, we also ordered the Marche Bianco, a modest £27. When requesting this, I asked the sommelier, “What is the most… cheapest dry white wine on the menu?” The pause after “most” set up the expectation of grandeur, only for me to pivot to the cheapest option. She suggested the Marche Bianco.
The bread is a course in itself for me, here we got a choice of a mini sour dough baguette, buckwheat and butter bread rolls. There were three kinds of butter; one salted, one punched up with lemon and a brown butter number – all delightful in their own ways and arrived at the perfect spreadable temp.
First came the hare and foie gras terrine, laden with enough truffle to leave its unmistakable, heady aroma hanging in the air and then permeating my nostrils. The Roscoff onion compote worked beautifully to cut through the richness, as did the bitter kick of radicchio coated in a sticky vinaigrette. It was a lot of action for my sourdough baguette, which I loaded with hefty scoops of the terrine before crunching down with gusto.
Tagliatelle, black as night from the squid ink it’s made with, comes cloaked in a reduction of Gambero Rosso wine and crowned with a generous pile of Oscietra caviar—the kind you can pick up at Fortnum & Mason for £130 a tin. A bitter crunch of radicchio features too, this time the succulent Castelfranco variety, alongside tender morsels of baby squid. It’s all in the details, you see.
Here’s some pics of the vegetarian courses. I’ve completely forgotten what they were. Yup, every single one! While my memory might be having a day off, my taste buds haven’t missed a beat as they were delicious.
My memory fondly recalls the dish titled “Sea Garden.” A Scottish scallop with fiendishly sweet, caramelized edges took centre stage. Of course, there was the viscous richness of Colonnata ham in there, somewhere, alongside a sea urchin bisque, green Puy lentil gnocchi, razor clams, samphire, rye bread, sea urchin tongues, and raw bluefin tuna. WTF – so many elements!
A fillet of line-caught seabass is poached in plankton butter, which is then aerated into a frothy green sauce – because only the best will do. Parsnip purée delivers a comforting dose of festive, belly-rubbing goodness, complemented by the salty umami hit of anchovy water and shellfish.
Next came the breast of whole-roasted Goosnargh duck, cloaked in a dark, intense jus infused with green peppercorns that clings to it for dear life – a striking highlight of the meal. Autumnal fruits add a subtle sweetness, while a knödel – a potato dumpling stuffed with sauerkraut – pays clear homage to Chef Johannes’ heritage.
You might be wondering why “Congratulations” was expertly written in chocolate sauce. Well, it was to celebrate surviving our first year of trading as a start-up! Naturally, none of it went to waste, especially since it came with a slice of the softest Swiss role (we can call it a Christmas log), filled with the silkiest cream, served table side cut from a foot-long roll – not to be confused with a certain chain you might know. A tangy pear compote added a lively kick as did a gingerbread biscuit. I would have been perfectly happy with this as the final, but there was more to come.
To the right of the spoon sat a striking white sorbet infused with absinthe, cucumber, soaked raisins, pomegranate, and dill – a refreshing palate cleanser from the VI of Pierre Gagnaire’s Grand Desserts. The absinthe was unmistakable, delivering a kick as potent as a mule, leaving a bold, lasting impression. As if I didn’t need more booze.
Here we have the walnut sacristan, with Angelica and almond cream. It’s a twisted piece of puff pastry, generally made from leftover pieces of puff pastry. Angelica or Angel herb can be used in desserts because of its sweet herbaceous mannerisms – did you know it’s part of the celery and carrot family. Me neither – thank-you Wikipedia.
This is the yuzu sponge cake, featuring layers of lemon, pink grapefruit, and a lightly torched licorice meringue. A crisp, buttery biscuit base anchors the dish, topped with delicately piped tangy fruit. It’s reminiscent of one of my favourite desserts – the classic lemon meringue pie, but with a zesty, contemporary twist.
This is their ‘Blue Water,’ paired with sticky, crystallized Medjoul dates – the kind that cling to your teeth and the roof of your mouth in the best way. If I’m not mistaken, the Blue Water, a Smurf-colored jelly of sorts, was infused with absinthe. Then again, by this stage of the meal, I might have been too inebriated to tell for sure.
This is their Somerset apple gâteau with salted butter caramel. Naturally, it’s a deconstructed version, true to the style of the Lecture Room. A crisp, buttery biscuit base anchors the dish, topped with a cube of delicately pressed apple slices that become good friends with the rich caramel.
The cacao mousse arrived with a decidedly grown-up glug of serious Calvados – we’re talking a Michelin-gilded chocolate pudding potent enough to get you tipsy. I was definitely buzzing after that one. Alongside, you’re served mikado, those long biscuit sticks for dipping – reminiscent of Japanese Pocky snacks. Remember those choc dips from the early 1990s? This is them, but reinvented in a decidedly mature, luxurious form.
By the time the precisely made petit fours arrived, I had more than a brimful so couldn’t fit them in.
These are the toilets I mentioned earlier – they’re possibly the most snapped/famous lavatories in London.
Verdict
When did I go? December 2018
The damage: Expect to pay £150/£225 per head with drinks
The good: The Lecture Room is, at times, incessantly brilliant, with surroundings that resemble the home of a truly majestic ruler. And yet—here comes the ‘however’—when I dined here, greedily indulging my every whim, it held two Michelin stars; now, it has three. While there were delightful touches scattered throughout the meal, there were no real ‘wow’ moments—none of the sublime peaks one hopes for in a multi-starred restaurant. An honorable mention must go to the service team, though—they absolutely nailed it, delivering excellence with precision and warmth
The bad: The meal is designed as a leisurely 3/4-hour experience, which is understandable. However, midway through, we found ourselves eager to bring the end closer, as the gaps between dishes felt excessively long. We asked the kitchen to speed things up – not the ideal mindset when their goal is likely for diners to slow down and savour each course.
Rating: 3.5/5
Would I go again? Yeah sure.
Address: 9 Conduit St, Mayfair, London W1S 2XG
Web: https://sketch.london/the-lecture-room/
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