10 shrines to classical haute cuisine
Published 23 August 2023

With its colourful stained glass windows depicting M Bibendum, better known as the 'Michelin Man', Claude Bosi’s spacious, elegant dining room in the landmark Art Deco Michelin House merits that clichéd foodie description, ‘a cathedral of gastronomy’. But there is nothing clichéd about Bosi’s food. It may be underpinned by peerless classical technique, but a meal here will always take you down the culinary path less travelled. Consider, for example, a main course of Brittany rabbit, a re-working of a Bosi classic. Previously paired with langoustine, this latest iteration features freshwater eel in several guises. A small piece, barbecued and glazed with mustard sauce acts as a richly flavoured condiment for the various preparations of rabbit that include a tiny, expertly trimmed rack (roasted to perfection and seasoned en pointe), two pieces of tender loin and a puffed-rice tempura nugget of the leg. A hollowed-out new potato is stuffed with an eel and rabbit farce and the whole thing bound together with two sauces – a rabbit jus and a smoked eel/mustard sauce poured at the table. A side dish of kombu custard topped with braised coco beans, mustard sauce and tarragon oil nearly steals the show. It’s complex, clever and memorable but, more importantly, it’s a joy to eat. That holds true of everything that arrives at the table, from exemplary cloud-like aged Gouda gougères and superb sourdough bread to a three-part interpretation of peach Melba that includes a white chocolate shell filled with a jelly of the peach poaching liquor topped with diced peach, vanilla cream, toasted almonds, lemon thyme and raspberries, plus an ethereal amaretti biscuit and a third dish of fresh peach slices with Vin Santo ice cream. A meal here is not cheap. Expect a hefty supplement for the signature duck jelly with smoked sturgeon and caviar or the roast chicken 'de Bresse' (served from a spectacular silver domed trolley). As for wine, the extensive wine list is dominated by bottles priced at three or four figures (although we did find several more-than-decent choices below £40). Bosi's singular culinary vision is a given, but factor in exquisite crockery, cutlery and stemware, as well as excellent old-school service (delivered with a smile by a smartly suited-and-booted team) and you have something worth paying all that money for. 

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.

It's a tribute to the serene longevity of the Champignon that reporters typically begin their accounts by reckoning up in decades, rather than years, how long they have been coming here. David and Helen Everitt-Matthias are well into their fourth decade of operations in the Montpellier district of Regency Cheltenham, and their restaurant still radiates energy and commitment. In an understated dining room – its sandy and stony tones offset with splashes of contemporary art – a highly burnished Anglo-French culinary repertoire continues to dazzle, with all the extras one might expect, from extraordinarily creative nibbles to serried regiments of petits fours.

Prawn ravioli with wilted spinach in lemongrass bisque kicked things off in fine style at an August dinner, an outrider for Cotswold white chicken with charred aubergine and girolles, and a dish of plaice with celeriac purée and rocket. There is always a neat balance between flavours that come at you full-throttle straight off, and others that develop more slowly and subtly, but still land perfectly.

Combinations can be the last word in daring, as in a starter of pigeon with black pudding, chocolate ganache, cherries and radicchio, to the extent that one can only shudder at what would happen to them in a less assured kitchen. By contrast, other ideas work with the grain of ingredients and tradition, perhaps for a main course of miso-glazed monkfish with barley broth, cockles and samphire, or glorious chump of lamb with romaine lettuce, peas and sheep's curd. That August dinner ended with poached peach, yoghurt sorbet and honeycomb – at least for those whose heads were not turned by the two dozen or so fabulous cheeses – while others will hear of nothing but bitter chocolate and pistachio délice with positively luminous pistachio ice cream.

The fixed-price menus at both lunch and dinner are an amenity for which Cheltonians give thanks. As for wine, the list is a carefully curated and quality-conscious collection with house Chardonnay and Pinot Noir at £28 (or £8 a glass), and markups that city-dwellers might find surprisingly kind. An extensive listing of half-bottles has long been one of its attractions.

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.

Sections of this historic edifice, including its stone entrance arch, date back to the turbulent mid-16th century, but there is nothing unsettled about the place these days. Indeed, its head chef, the highly accomplished Andrew Baird, has been cooking here since Sir John Major was prime minister. From the civilised lounge bar to a linened and mirrored dining room that feels like the salon privé on a luxury liner, the hotel radiates a sense of welcoming contentment, with staff who exude effortless courtesy to non-res and resident diners alike. The whole place runs on well-oiled rails.

Baird's cooking has gently evolved over the decades, absorbing the better ideas of the modern repertoire, ignoring the silly flummery. His supremely well-judged dishes can be as simple as a terrine of slow-cooked pork, guinea fowl and ham hock with pata negra, pickled vegetables and golden raisins or as complex as an array of Jersey crab with watermelon, lime, prawns, garden shoots and Bloody Mary gel.

Main courses might see classic preparations slightly tweaked, as in Creedy Carver duck breast with glazed fig, butternut squash, pomegranate and a duck confit salad or line-caught local sea bass and crab exotically paired with spring onion, ginger and lime leaf, all offset by Jersey Royals and a Champagne sauce. The prime materials are of unquestionable quality, the timing and seasoning flawless. Signature Longueville desserts could bring pumpkin mousse with sea-buckthorn ice cream and pumpkin cake croûtons or Jersey yoghurt mousse with orange blossom and honey ice cream.

A wine list running to 5,000 bins could just be a boring grand-hotel trudge past the familiar names. At Longueville, it exudes imagination and care at every turn, as witness the enthusiasm with which the sommelier serves the Coravin glasses (and if you haven't seen the device in action, this is the place to watch the magic).

It’s astonishing how Galton Blackiston has managed to keep Morston Hall at the top of its game for so long. Norfolk-born and self-taught, Blackiston refurbished and opened this 18th-century mansion as a hotel-restaurant in 1991 (while still in his 20s), and his exquisitely balanced take on haute cuisine continues to impress after more than 30 years. Despite a starry procession of head chefs by his side, things here are very much on Blackiston's terms: apart from Sunday lunch, you must come at 6.45pm (for canapés before a 7.30pm start) and dine from a no-choice, daily changing tasting menu of seven courses. Ingredient-dislikes and intolerances are catered for (let them know in advance), but if you follow a dairy-free or vegan diet head elsewhere. That said, some of the dishes at an inspection dinner were sublime. Tempura-battered hake (part of a trio of perfectly formed morsels to kick off the meal) displayed the most fragile of translucent batters around succulent fish; to follow, tomato consommé was a stunningly beautiful distillation of summer, including a little scoop of tomato sorbet, pellets of fresh courgette and globules of basil oil. Elsewhere, a supremely refreshing pre-dessert ‘soup’ of Champagne, elderflower and cucumber also hit the seasonal heights, although not everything scored a bullseye. Whether barbecued Brancaster lobster is ideally accompanied by a sweetish curry sauce and golden sultanas is questionable, but the peerless quality of the bread (there's no extra charge if you ask for more), and the profoundly flavourful gravy (in a dish of mouthwateringly pink Yorkshire lamb, with sweetbread, violet artichoke, local asparagus and black olive caramel) prove that the chefs take care – and show abundant skill – with the basics. See them at their meticulous work through a window in an anteroom. The dining area stretches over four rooms: three serene spaces within the main building and an even lighter conservatory where views of the glorious garden compete for attention with a portrait of Blackiston himself. Wine pairings are offered from from a suitably well-chosen list, and the waiting staff, though exhibiting differing levels of experience, are invariably polite and attentive.

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.

The setting has been delighting diners since before Britain was quite done with post-war rationing, and could hardly be more of a tonic to the senses. Loyal locals and London escapees still flock to the outdoor terrace by the Stour for unhurried lunchtimes and light evenings. The Talbooth does things in the old-fashioned way, garnishing a tartlet of West Mersea crab with avocado, serving asparagus in season and carving rib of beef at the table.

That doesn't preclude acknowledgements of traditions beyond the Anglo-French matrix, giving tuna the Japanese treatment with with wasabi crème fraîche, pickled cucumber and crispy nori, for example. At main course, halibut might be arrive coated in ‘nduja and served with tiger prawns and kale in beurre blanc, while venison loin appears with lightly curried pithiviers, mushroom purée, blackberry ketchup and gaufrette potatoes.

Some have felt that the system can be unyielding, as when a request for a chicken dish without garlic arrives simply denuded of its sauce, rather than with anything to replace it, or when the proffered petits fours are strictly off-limits to anyone who hasn't ordered coffee. Perhaps a steamed sponge pudding would help, one made with roasted figs, alongside butterscotch sauce and orange and cardamom ice cream. A good spread of wines by the glass opens a French-led list that's strong in the heartlands of Bordeaux and Burgundy.

As with bungee-jumping or a trip to Venice, dinner at The Ritz is one of those experiences that every life should ideally embrace at least once. There is nothing in either hemisphere that looks like the hotel's dining room on a balmy day, with the sun pouring in off Green Park – unless it be the evening scene, when gilded Poseidon lolls on his pedestal, sparkling chandeliers twinkle and the silverware gleams like honesty in a sinful world.

In the distant past, the cooking idled amid pedestrian Anglo-French cliché, but under John Williams MBE, it began a steady ascent toward global greatness. Needless to say, the style of service is an exercise in arts that have been cheerfully abandoned elsewhere, and yet there is genuine warmth within the impeccable propriety. Prime materials from the home nations – organic Cornish beef, Lakeland lamb, Scottish lobster – furnish a menu that is supple enough to be parlayed into five- or seven-course ‘epicurean experiences’ for those reluctant to tear themselves away.

To start, there's Dorset crab dressed in crème fraîche and adorned with Imperial caviar, or you might plump for roast quail cooked in verjus and crunchy with hazelnuts. The delicacy of timing is exemplary throughout, from wild sea bass with artichoke and lemon to truffled veal fillet with chestnuts, but equally sharp judgement distinguishes the miraculously tender roe deer and its aromatic garnitures of smoked beetroot and juniper.

Tableside service was what there was before open kitchens, a chance to see the finishing touches being applied to dîner à deux servings of Dover sole or beef Wellington, followed perhaps by crêpes Suzette – an Edwardian culinary bloop that stuck. Otherwise, look to chocolate soufflé with vanilla Chantilly, chestnut Mont Blanc or the distinctly daring port-roasted figs in orange and olive oil.

If you're after a spot of wine as well, the Ritz can oblige. Perhaps start with a larger-than-average glass of the ‘Champagne of the month’, before setting about the main list. French and Italian classics form the solid, lottery-win foundation, but there are excellent selections from South America and Australasia too.

'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.