Controversy has swirled around Michael O’Hare’s departure from Leeds city centre after Psycho Sandbar, the reworking of Man Behind the Curtain, went bust in just seven months. Far from the restaurant’s heyday of Dali-inspired lobster telephones, the chasm between O’Hare’s creative vision and the economics of an expensive piece of real estate had ultimately stretched too far. The place felt thoroughly unwelcoming, in the Berghain-like aesthetic and service that was both snooty and shambolic.
Debts of nearly £1m were left in its wake as the business went into liquidation in October 2024 and the chef laid low for a while (not counting his Great British Menu appearances). But not for long. In 2025 plans were underway to open a new, much smaller restaurant in the West Yorkshire village of Boston Spa where personal connections presented the opportunity to take over a former tapas bar, tucked just off the high street. As someone who grew up five minutes down the road I was deeply curious. How would the smoke machines and bare-chested waiters work in the distinctly ungrungy Boston Spa?
The new restaurant, In Lamentation, launched at the end of February. Just 16 seats – four at the chef’s counter and six two-tops – promised a more intimate experience with O’Hare in the kitchen for each of the four services per week. We booked a table roughly a month into launch and the pre-paid booking system felt ominously similar to the previous restaurant: full of upsells on wine flights and caviar-strewn extras. A pre-visit email full of anticipatory apology that things were a ‘work in progress’ did little to dispel my concern. But from that point onwards, things began to look up.
There’s no sign to mark the restaurant. Instead, a fresh-faced 17 year old waves from the doorway to shepherd in the diners not intimately familiar with the village. The exterior has had a lick of paint to better show off its pretty Crittal windows and, save for a bit of grey tiling up to the first floor, there’s scant sign of its humble predecessor. Instead, it’s warm and architectural: two serene white-washed dining rooms are artfully lit with low-slung spotlights while a stainless steel sculpture clads the candlelit fireplace. Tables in stretched linen rather than heavy drapery strike the right tone of formality, and incredibly expensive looking chairs – like shiny black jellybeans – beckon you to take your seat.
There’s warmth, too, in the service. Two smartly suited front of house staff, formerly of Tommy Banks’ Black Swan at Oldstead, bring the necessary professionalism with lightness and ease. When I order the cheapest glass of wine on the menu (£13, or £75 for the bottle) they seem genuinely delighted to share their delightful Beaujolais with me. Every time one of us returns from the loos (Japanese toilets, black toilet paper) our napkins seem to be folded in a different shape from their expansive repertoire.
The cooking is a masterclass in laser sharp flavour. Premium proteins underpin the menu (portions of which might seem a little mean) and are treated with a borderless range of mostly East and Southeast Asian influence. There’s a laughably good riff on char siu paired with two thick slices of hamachi briefly kissed by the coals, and then a sheath of A5 wagyu ‘wafted’ over the fire and draped on a tiny crispy-bottomed dumpling. The ajo blanco with tomato granita is a masterpiece of textural contrasts with a gentle hint of confit garlic making itself apparent long after the dish is finished. Of 12 courses, only the deep fried nugget of sweetbread, topped with lardo and truffle felt like something you might find elsewhere.
And a word on the place settings. Just like design-forward dining space, each piece of tableware is a bespoke work of art (you have to feel for whoever is on washing up duty). The char sui glaze on the hamachi bleeds into the blood-red glass of the plate. The duck, unimprovable save for the portion size, sits on a translucent glass plate like a scrunched up piece of paper. There are subtle touches of macabre still on show. First with a graceful stainless steel skeleton’s hand patiently holding your napkin as you arrive at the table, and then the reappearance of the ‘kill someone’ inscription on the steak knives. Hopefully they’ve filtered out the ones that read ‘kill yourself’, once seen at Man Behind the Curtain.
The whole affair takes little more than two hours and 30 minutes, though having been drawn in by the jumbo-sized bottle of O’Hare’s favourite Chartreuse, gleaming green under the spotlight, we spun it out to nearly three. It whisked by in a way that felt much more balanced and invigorating than Gareth Ward’s 30-course five-hour affair at Ynyshir. It’s hard to beat that stunning Welsh setting but I know which I’d sooner go back to.
So who is this restaurant for? One neighbouring table, who stormed through two bottles of Bollinger and left before desert fall into a category of clientele where money is evidently no object. And the other table were Michael O’Hare fans, indulged in a a photo op and face time with the chef. But it’s not out of the realms of possibility that more moderate locals will jump on board – particularly if they’re feeling flush and looking for a thrill.
WHERE 174 High Street Boston Spa LS23 6BW
FOLLOW @ohare.michael
BOOK inlamentation.com
