The 12 most expensive restaurants in The Good Food Guide
Published 16 August 2023

Since 2012, Andrew Wong’s Pimlico restaurant has redefined high-end Chinese dining not only in the UK but, arguably, for anywhere outside Asia. The no-choice, 30-dish tasting menu takes inspiration from far and wide – Hong Kong for the dim sum, Shaanxi province for the bao, Anhui for the fermented wild sea bass – but the result is unmistakably Wong’s own vision, not least in its striking presentation. A martini glass suspended over ice, for instance, contains finely chopped green beans spiked with wasabi soy encased by a quivering shell of osmanthus jelly, while ribbons of tofu wave in a limpid soup like the fronds of a sea anemone.

At its best, Wong’s cooking melds astonishing creativity with the most alluring of flavours and sublime contrasts of textures, everything held in a delicate balance by the surest of touches. Consider a candied walnut stuck onto a trio of honey-roast roast pork slices, each daubed with gravy to glue onto shavings of frozen foie gras, grated as finely as sherbet; or wagyu tartare, presented in a caviar tin and adorned with shards of crisp potato, its chilli heat balanced by the citrus jolt of yuzu when dolloped onto a barely-there ‘pancake’ of pear.

Wong’s contemporary interpretation of Chinese cooking is so compelling that when a faultless nugget of sweet-and-sour chicken arrives (an affectionate nod to his parents’ Cantonese restaurant, Kym’s), it feels like an uninvited old friend gatecrashing the party. At £200 a head for food, however, it is not unreasonable to expect this level of perfection throughout, and our most recent meal fell short of that. There were basic errors (prawns not properly shelled) and some dishes tasted of very little at all – even if they looked lovely (cheung fun refashioned as an inside-out wafer of pork or an al dente roll of Peking duck, for example).

Overall, we longed for more nuance to the flavours rather than an insistent, unremitting savouriness. These criticisms might have been easier to stomach had there been more charm to the service. Empty plates were whisked away with lickety-split haste, a neighbouring table was brought Pouilly-Fumé not Fuissé, and being moved to the empty bar to eat dessert in solitude seemed ungracious while our seat upstairs was filled with the next round of punters.

Perhaps we visited on a rare off-night; certainly, the advance planning required to secure a table here (or a seat at the counter, with its direct view into the kitchen) indicates there is no shortage of takers.

The new decorative look at Core has worked wonders. What was an underused bar space is now Whiskey & Seaweed (named for its signature cocktail), and the dining room has had quite the 'glow-up' too. The expansive space is bathed in bronze light, with candles performing their age-old office of making a restaurant table look inviting, and at the centre of it all is a striking column, loaded with uplit glassware. So far, so chic. An army of staff is on permanent manoeuvres, yet without making the place feel like a parade-ground. Efficiency and discretion are as finely judged as is consistent given the ambitious context, with just enough friendly chat to ensure civility. As for Clare Smyth's food, the first thing to say is that, for a venue operating in this bracket, it has an uncommonly solid following of regulars. Call them the core of Core. As soon as the nibbles appear, one can see why: a truffled pumpkin gougère; a lobster roll; a caviar sandwich, all sublime. Bread is made with Wessex flour and served with whipped buttermilk. Dishes from the full menu are capable of balancing sparkling freshness and delicate textures – just consider the Isle of Harris scallop tartare in sea-vegetable consommé, the shell sitting proud on a mound of flora. A more assertive fish pairing sees roasted cod honour-guarded with Morecambe Bay shrimps and Swiss chard in brown butter. Tour the home nations with a main course of Rhug Estate venison, which comes with a refined (ie offal-free) 'haggis' of the leg meat and bacon on pearl barley in an ambrosial sauce of 16-year-old Lagavulin single malt. If it's internal organs you're after, look to the crisp-fried veal sweetbread dressed in honey and mustard, with a serving of Norfolk kohlrabi. Desserts incorporate what might be considered the local option, Notting Hill Forest – a trompe-l'oeil pile of ‘fallen leaves’ made of ceps, chocolate, pine and woodruff on nutty crémeux, in which are embedded little shards of millefeuille pastry, to give the acoustic effect of crunching through autumn leaf-litter. And then one stumbles on a prune soaked in Earl Grey tea. Dinner ends with a little tableside tasting of Irish whiskey. A magnificent wine list covers pairing options, as well as an inspired glass selection (from £12), before graduating to the great and the very great of the vinous globe.

Secreted within a once-grand Edwardian town hall, this major-league dining establishment packs one hell of a punch. It’s a serious, smart-looking spot – both the bar and dining room have a fabulous character and patina into which mid-century furnishings and the stylish open kitchen slot sympathetically.

Brazilian-born Rafael Cagali’s cooking has pursued an interesting trajectory – with stints at Quique Dacosta and Martín Berasategui in Spain, then the Fat Duck and Simon Rogan’s Fera and Aulis – and his background suggests a fondness for classic, ingredients-first techniques. This certainly shines through in exquisite snacks such as a tiny, friable pastry cup made with stout and filled with scallop roe, mousse and tiny diced scallop; in quail tortellini in a sparkling clear broth, alongside a skewer of quail breast with a slice of brioche topped with parfait, damson and a generous shaving of black truffle; and in wagyu sirloin with hen of the woods, lobster rice and cavolo nero.

Yet it’s the weaving in of Brazilian-influences that really set Cagali’s cooking apart. Take moqueca. It’s a traditional fish stew fiendishly reinvented by Cagali as an elegant tasting-menu dish of aged brill (on our visit) with manteiguinha (butter) beans and farofa (toasted cassava) in a frothy coconut sauce, given heft with whole biquinho teardrop chillies (fiery and fruity) that are served on the side. Or the cross-cultural slant of a baba served with Brazilian cachaça, pistachio ice cream and a generous dollop of N25 Reserve caviar. All of this comes at a price – the tasting menu is £245, the set three-course lunch £110 ­– but it is without doubt an exceptional experience from start to finish.

Much depends on front of house, a first-class team who take the east London essence and manage to transform fine dining to something fun and classy at the same time. The wine list is brilliantly curated and correspondingly expensive, although it's worth mining the sommelier's impressive and charmingly imparted knowledge to get the best from it. 

Despite the gushing water feature on Carlos Place, the Connaught remains a redoubt of hotel tradition, still at the centre of a turbulent West End. Its principal dining room has been under the aegis of Hélène Darroze for 14 years now, undergoing cosmetic surgery in 2019 to turn it from something that still felt like a gentlemen's club to a lighter, more appealing space with tan leather banquettes and subdued illumination. Numerous staff patrol the territory with impeccable precision, smart as soldiers and twice as friendly, contributing to the sense of occasion that the seasonally shifting menus promise. There is just enough variation to permit some choosing: pairs of options at some stages (though one always has a supplement), a sliding scale for the overall number of courses. Wine flights also ascend through the financial levels, from here on earth to ya-ya. If there was occasionally a feeling in the past that the fit wasn't quite comfortable – like those new shoes that pinch a little – the transformation in recent years has been remarkable. Darroze is at the top of her game, offering dishes that astonish with their complexity and stirring depth of flavour. Paimpol coco beans and smoked eel, seasoned with Nepalese timut pepper and bathed in clam consommé, was a magnificent opening statement on the 'Taste of Autumn' menu, followed by ceps in pasta cups with a snail, some guanciale and roasted cobnuts. A dish lid is whisked away to engulf the diner in the aromas of burnt hay, the basis of a foaming sauce for a piece of lobster tail, with two superb condiments – a sweet-and-sour gel and vivid green tarragon purée. The main event might be Rhug lamb dressed in ras el hanout with apricot and spelt. Less spectacular, but still good, was the breast of guinea fowl stuffed with duck liver and accompanied by braised Roscoff onion. A pre-dessert of peach with nasturtiums then paves the way for, perhaps, Mekonga chocolate in buckwheat tea or the signature baba, doused in one of Darroze's bespoke vintage Armagnacs, with raspberries and peppered crème fraîche. There has sometimes been a feeling that the grand hotels have lost a little ground in the rip-tide of contemporary cooking that has overtaken the capital. Not here. This is a kitchen in turbo-charge.

Jeremy Chan has settled into his new surroundings in a tucked-away corner of the huge brutalist building that is 180 Strand. The entrance is discreet and the dining room dominated by an open kitchen that runs down one long side, while the decoration is nothing more than earthy colours, some golden wood (including the well-spaced tables) and the ambient dusk of a hip restaurant. Without design, fireworks or ornamentation, it is what it is: a space devoted to the service of food. The previous location in St James’s Market was known for its Nigerian-inspired cooking – Ikoyi is the name of a well-to-do Lagos suburb. The kitchen still takes its cue from West African cuisine, but this is merely the jumping-off point for a repertoire of precise, produce-led westernised dishes with prices very much in line with the international clientele. From the three-hour-long tasting menu at dinner, a veal sweetbread with pea purée, pork cheek and black garlic was the undoubted standout, closely followed by dry-aged turbot with a frothy crab bisque and umami-rich egusi (melon seed) miso – though the tiny accompanying honey-glazed brioche filled with veg added nothing to the dish and was not well thought through (it was so sticky, we had to ask for wipes). What tantalises is how Chan blends each flavour with the one preceding it, and the one about to come. His careful use of chilli, a subtle hint of heat that lingers gently on the palate, infuses snacks and early courses, building to a crescendo with the final beef offering where two dabs of purée (agrodolce and curried courgette) pack a real punch. Look a little deeper, however, and some flaws are evident: that beef (dry-aged Belted Galloway) proved surprisingly chewy, and the accompanying jollof rice – the classic West African one-pot dish that is a regular fixture on the menu – was made slightly too sweet and creamy with a lobster custard. And while a palate-cleansing timur pepper and rosé sorbet was utterly delicious, desserts are clearly not the kitchen’s forte. Service, however, is faultless. Wines are chosen with spice in mind – we drank an excellent South African Gabriëlskloof Elodie Swartland Chenin Blanc 2022.

Simon Rogan was awarded an MBE in the New Year Honours List at the end of 2023, which is some measure of the influence he has had on contemporary British dining. The nerve centre of the whole operation is still here, in a stone-built former smithy on a Cartmel road-bend, not far from its sibling Rogan & Co. The ambience has lost none of its rusticity, from the roughcast whitewashed walls and raftered ceilings to the anvil after which the place is named. The light, airy conservatory makes a fine spot for lunch. Smartly clad staff oversee a welcoming – and supremely professional – approach to hospitality, and the food does the rest. The kitchen mobilises a battalion of unexpected ingredients in surprising – even stunning – combinations, with textural notes to the fore as well as a clear focus on sustainability and regionalism. Among the appetisers is a fritter of Duroc pork and smoked eel on lovage emulsion with sweetcorn purée, an unimaginably delicious composition of flavours. There is also a pudding of Berkswell cheese coated in caramelised birch sap, tapped from a tree just a couple of miles away. A succession of plated dishes might include tiny pink fir potatoes cooked in chicken fat with pickled walnuts and an oil of burnt onion ash, while one of L'Enclume's signatures is the seaweed custard in beef broth and bone marrow, garnished with a house blend of caviar and Maldon oyster. Various vegetable-based specialties are always part of the menu, their seasonal freshness offset with powerful herbs and seasonings. As for animal protein, a pairing of John Dory and cuttlefish in pork fat with shrimp sauce, spinach and verbena might precede an outstanding dish of dry-aged Middle White pork in mead sauce with black garlic purée and pickled allium seeds, plus a pork-fat crumpet sitting on a hot stone to keep it warm. Textures go haywire in a serving of frozen Tunworth cheese topped with puffed buckwheat, lemon thyme crystals and gel, on a compôte of Champagne rhubarb. After strawberries and sweet cicely cream served in a ceramic pouch, followed by a miso-caramel mousse with apple (another L’Enclume signature), we concluded with an array of superlative petits fours – including a cornet of peach-stone ice cream with elderflower and white-chocolate ganache, and a tiny caramelised pear tart with a spot of herb oil. Wines by the glass are presented on an iPad, which you may want to keep by you as the menu progresses, but it's best to let the wine flights themselves take wing on a cosmopolitan journey around the globe.

*Closed for major redevelopment. Due to reopen sometime in 2027.*

Le Manoir in late May is a picture. Wisteria drapes over its honeyed stone, and you can wander freely across graceful lawns to kitchen gardens, orchards and ponds that hum with the energy of the season. This has been Raymond Blanc’s domain for almost 40 years and while firmly rooted in that heritage, its gaze is now fixed firmly on the future. Clearly the brief for 30-something Luke Selby, executive head chef since January 2023, has been not to cause upheaval within these mellow walls, rather to lead things gently forward – his six-course menu feels light-footed and playful, youthful and fresh. Luxury here is defined not necessarily by a flash of langoustine or lobster, more by garden-fresh produce whose flavours are allowed to shine. Tiny peas gather with vivid sweetness on a ricotta-filled tartlet, one of the exquisite canapés. Beetroot demonstrates its peerless versatility in a beautiful opener of deftly cubed pieces, the tartare base for a dome of beetroot mousse glossed with a gel that’s dotted with pickled mooli ‘flowers’. It’s fun and palate-awakening, thanks to a horseradish sorbet that sears fierily through the sweetness. Later, a dainty potato basket of tiny carrots, ribboned asparagus and crimson-edged slivers of radish is a bouquet of garden offerings alongside roasted guinea fowl. A morel filled with the lightest chicken and mushroom mousse sits in the airy tickle of a Gewürztraminer foam like a giant thimble; underneath is just-poached white asparagus, on top a crisp toast for texture. It’s a Blanc classic, but updated to offer a single, showstopping mushroom rather than three small ones as on previous menus. Classic too is the confit chalk stream trout on pickled mooli with compressed cucumber, tiny cauliflower florets, horseradish, dill oil and oscietra caviar. Its summery flavours are beautifully balanced, and it’s dashingly attractive. Desserts are exquisite. Bitter chocolate with coconut sorbet refreshes, before rosy-red gariguette and wild strawberries arrive, announced by their fragrance. Scarlet pieces of fresh fruit and a bright strawberry sorbet top a feather-light mousse, a pistachio biscuit base tempering the fruit’s natural acidity. Be assured, this is special-occasion territory without a doubt. Service glides with easy professionalism. The conservatory dining room is comfortable. Sommeliers are attentive. This is helpful given the scope of the wine list, which proudly celebrates France before heading, for example, to Austria for Martin and Anna Arndorfer’s minerally Riesling or to cool-climate Patagonia for Bodega Noemia’s smooth biodynamic Malbec. The four-glass paired flight is £95 at lunch; for those with unfathomably deep pockets, the £999 ‘sélection exceptionelle’ (£799 at lunch) includes Burgundy winemaker Cecile Tremblay’s magnificent 2015 Chambolle-Musigny Premier Cru, Les Feusselottes.

Chef-proprietor Mark Birchall came up through the ranks at L’Enclume and over the past decade has created his own forcefield here in Lancashire, cultivating a new generation of talent from across the UK and Europe. So, if you’re going to go all in on a gastronomic experience, Moor Hall is the place: one of Britain’s all-time greats where no stone is left unturned in the quest for perfection. Of course, fine dining restaurants should nail hospitality, ambience, service and wine, but the thrill here is the level of precision and attention to detail delivered by the sizable brigade over 18 or so courses. Every fuss and flourish of napkin folding, table sweeping, butter scooping and sauce spooning is pure theatre.

In winter, proceedings begin in the wainscoted lounge, but the best time to go is in the summer where you’ll be seated in one of England’s most beautiful kitchen gardens in view of the green beans and perfectly symmetrical mulberry tree. Snacks arrive at pace and culminate at the kitchen pass, where you’re invited to marvel at the cornucopia of ingredients – Louët-Feisser oysters, Isle of Mull scallop, Sika deer, kuri squash, Black Hamburg grapes – that will be heading to your table over the next couple of hours.

Work has been done to improve what once felt like a cool, echoey dining room. Better acoustics, candlelight, a good playlist and the happy hum of a full room bring warmth and a sense of personality. Service is more easy going, truly world class when it comes to the drinks program masterminded by Bence Karpatfalvi, a Hungarian winemaker tuned sommelier. Particularly notable is the non-alcoholic flight of single-estate teas and infusions which prove almost as diverting as an adventure into the depths of a fine and rare cellar.

If you’re staying the night, the secluded cabin rooms among the grounds – some of which boast hot tubs – provide a considered and contemporary place to rest and digest, while the rooms in the house are as-yet unrenovated and still a little blingy. A newly refurbished private dining room for up to 12 offers a uniquely personal way to soak up the dazzling show.

After a quarter of a century, you could forgive Gordon Ramsay for turning his fine-dining flagship into a culinary jukebox of his greatest hits. Such is his enduring worldwide fame, he’d be assured an audience for whatever he served up. But, apart from the crowd-pleasing signature lobster, langoustine and salmon ravioli that’s been on the menu since day one, the kitchen’s elegant and sometimes playful dishes are resolutely modern. Take a main course entitled ‘100-day aged Cumbrian Blue Grey, panisse, cosberg, pontac’, described by one of the smartly suited waiters as ‘our take on steak and chips’. Despite the long ageing, the perfectly medium-rare piece of rare-breed sirloin had a mild flavour and was oh-so tender, while the garnish (a nugget of beautifully rendered fat) delivered a delicious whack of gamey, savoury funk. The crisp, refreshing cosberg was also a revelation: a cross between iceberg and cos, the lettuce heart was glazed with dashi vinegar and garnished with a multitude of pickled shallot rings, wild garlic ‘capers’, herbs, flowers and tiny croûtons. Its palate-cleansing freshness counterbalanced the pastrami spice-dusted, crinkle-cut panisse chips served on the side, and the umami pungency of their accompanying black-garlic purée. Needless to say, classical saucing is of the highest order here: pickled mustard seeds added welcome acidity to that beef jus and red wine-based ‘pontac’, while brown butter lifted the ‘jus noisette’ served with a roast veal sweetbread to another level of deliciousness. This was our dish of the day – a generous piece of precisely cooked, honey-glazed offal, encrusted with puffed grains and allium buds, all bathed in a velvety macadamia ajo blanco. Heavenly. Everything delights and every single item we sampled was faultless, from an ethereal gougère filled with smoked Montgomery Cheddar (one of a trio of stunning canapés) to a benchmark cherry soufflé with coconut ice cream and a selection of petits fours including a wonderfully full-flavoured, cushion-shaped blackcurrant pâté de fruit. Chef-patron Matt Abé (namechecked on the menu cover) and head chef Kim Ratcharoen are doing a fine job, not just by protecting the jewel in Ramsay’s crown but also by expressing their own highly attractive and accessible culinary creativity. After a decade, it is perhaps time to refresh the intimate dining room's rather dated lilac and grey interior, although it still feels like a special place in which to dine. Regulars may also lament the retirement of charismatic maître d’ Jean-Claude Breton in 2022, but the quality of service remains undiminished and is arguably the finest in the capital (perfectly paced and perfectly judged). We felt like royalty, even when we asked for tap water – which was poured with as much care and ceremony as a vintage Bordeaux. As for the wines themselves, don’t expect to see anything under £50 on the exhaustive and opulent iPad list, although there are some relative bargains that will ensure the bill doesn’t spiral into the stratosphere.

'Unique, authentic and elaborate,’ this ‘restaurant avec chambres‘ has always been about keeping it in the family. Founded by Michel and Albert Roux in 1972, it’s currently in the safe hands of Michel’s son Alain, who has presided over the place since 2002 – although there has been a significant change of dynamic in the kitchen of late, with Fabrice Uhryn promoted to executive chef. Refined haute cuisine in all its gilded finery is the order of the day, and readers confirm that the results are ‘unflashy, clever, skilled and perfect' in every way.

Impeccable ingredients of rare quality are treated with a respectful sense of occasion: the langoustine soufflé is a winning opener, served with a truffle-scented cassolette of langoustines, or you could marvel at the seasonal splendour of white asparagus stuffed with creamed morels and finished with an almond and mint sabayon. Among the main courses, tender grilled rabbit fillet presented on celeriac fondant with a rich Armagnac sauce and candy-sweet glazed chestnuts had one recipient reaching for the superlatives, while cuisine ancienne is given full rein when it comes to whole braised Dover sole accompanied by lobster mousseline, asparagus tips and a voluptuous Champagne and chive sauce.

Occasionally, the kitchen steps out of its Gallic comfort zone, but it's back to the home country for a flurry of intricately fashioned desserts. Alain Roux is a master patissier by trade and his confections range from a fabulous rhubarb mousse to a dark chocolate délice flavoured with lime, citrus tutti-frutti and pomelo sorbet. Service is correct in every detail, but it’s also ‘approachable, knowledgeable and friendly’. 

Of course, all of this may cost you a king's ransom – especially if you deep-dive in the vintage treasures of the aristocratic, Francophile wine list – but who could resist the serene willow-shrouded riverbank, the ‘absolute cosiness’ of the main salon or the seductive Gallic charm of it all.

The sense of almost mythological remoteness is accentuated as you head towards the west Wales coast, past the RSPB nature reserve, to the remarkable residence that is Ynyshir. Once owned by Queen Victoria, it has become one of the UK's foremost destination dining options thanks to Gareth Ward and his superlative kitchen and front-of-house teams. Ynyshir runs to its own agenda, with dozens of dishes over the space of four or five hours, requiring a level of concentration that will be amply rewarded with revelatory food rocking with stirring East Asian flavours, textures and temperatures. Bringing a singular atmosphere to the dark-walled dining room is a resident DJ, the now-famous glitterball and smoky theatrics from the embers of the evening's fire. There is a feeling that you might need to prepare for Ynyshir by forgoing solid sustenance for 48 hours, but our feedback files show how volubly people adore the novelty, the challenge and the sheer unadulterated fun of it all. And it is less relentless than it sounds: 'the tempo of the performance surges, then slackens and surges again, led by the music, and the fever-pitch deliciousness of some of the dishes,' our inspector noted. Wine picks are as original and as assertive as they need to be for the food, and are flexible enough to accommodate the gentler end of the spectrum.