Address: 392 King's Road, London SW3
Telephone: 020-7349 9934
Rating: 4/20
On the way home, I found myself working my way through a packet of M&M's chocolate-coated peanuts. What was it about lunch at 8 Over 8 that had driven me to this?
8 Over 8 is a Will Ricker restaurant. Ricker has been one of London's more successful restaurateurs. His E&O has become a destination diner for celebrities, semi-celebrities, ex-celebrities, would-be celebrities and others for whom dining out is a social occupation. It is hellishly popular. I cannot comment on the food because I have never been there. But I can recognise a phenomenon when I see one and, when Ricker opened 8 Over 8 in Chelsea, after a bit of hesitation I decided to find out about the substance behind the absolutely fabulous reality.
The place was once a pub, and it still has a bit of the old boozer about it, in spite of the now universal makeover - ie, dark brown wood, white walls, rather crude eastern-promises screens. But it's busy, and at the World's End end of King's Road that is quite something. But why, frankly, is beyond me. The service was characterised by an easy-going casualness that verged on recklessness. I was mystified by what appeared to be splashes of dried soy sauce up the outside of the pot on the table holding chopsticks, but perhaps that was just a design feature. And the food ... well, the food.
I suppose it says something about the nature of the clientele that 8 Over 8 thoughtfully put an Asian food glossary on the back of the menu. I was curious to learn that, according to 8 Over 8, granita was Asian in origin; I had always thought of it as Moorish, myself. But it was nice to be reassured about those mystery ingredients daikon, hoisin, nori and wonton, as if we had never seen them on a supermarket shelf in our lives.
But let us not mock. Ignorance may well be bliss, particularly as far as such food is concerned. 8 over 8 makes no pretence at anything so original as fusion cooking. The menu simply takes dishes from any country that fits a dietary bill. The flavour range is very narrow, picking up almost entirely on dishes that have a citric or acidic edge, and so seem light and refreshing, which accounts for their contemporary chic. So there's a bit of Chinese, a bit of Japanese, a smattering of Thai. Vietnamese gets a look-in, as does Korean, although whether the natives of these countries would recognise their national dishes is open to question.
Tucker and I marshalled seven courses between us - edamame, soy and mirin; chilli-salt squid; Thai-cured wild trout with coconut betel leaves; rock shrimp with yuzo aïoli; chicken pad thai; black cod with miso dressing and kim chee; and lychee granita with champagne float. Let us begin by emphasising the positive. I am not sure where "wild" trout comes from at this time of year - it certainly isn't Britain; the season doesn't open for another few weeks - but it was pretty damned tasty, full of freshness and spirit. The coconut betel leaves gave each mouthful a heady, perfumed facet. And the granita wasn't bad at all, with the exotic flavour of lychee well to the fore.
But for the rest? Tasteless, tooth-numbingly chilly edamame to which even soy and mirin could add no substance. Chilli-salt squid was like chewing mildly salty hosepipe, and there was no chilli that I could detect. Greasy, tasteless rock shrimp. Slimy black cod. And the chicken pad thai? The very smell of the dish, a combination of boiled wool and compost, was enough to make my throat close up. Trying to eat it merely transferred the smell to my mouth. The texture of the noodles was unutterably glutinous and the advertised chicken was a thing of a very few desiccated shards and gobbets that looked as if they had been chewed once already. It was so revolting that I could eat no more after a couple of mouthfuls, and it's a long time since that happened to me.
I have no objection in principle to a restaurant serving up a potpourri of dishes belonging to different culinary traditions. I just ask that they be properly cooked. These weren't. The pricing is chic, as is the fashion. Not much on the menu looks that expensive - aside from the black cod, which logs in at £21.50 - but these dainty dishes don't half add up. Our bill came to £111.70. To pay half that, a quarter, would be too much. Not that such slovenly treatment seemed to make any difference to the customers around me, who were all having a whale of a time. I have no doubt that 8 Over 8 will continue to flourish, proving once again the ineffectuality of restaurant critics. Heavens to Murgatroyd, as WC Fields put it.
· Open All week, lunch, 12 noon-3pm (Sat & Sun, 4pm); dinner, 6-11pm.
