Disclaimer: I was a guest of the property for this meal.
I may never be truly French, if only because I cannot partake in one of the national sports: side-eye at London’s gastronomy. I can’t help it. I love eating in London. From the wealth of international specialties to the very best in fish and chips, I stand by my frequent assertion that it’s easier to throw a rock and hit a good meal in London than in Paris. Are there some duds? Sure. But London does not deserve the boiled meat and boiled potatoes reputation it once, I hear, justly shouldered. And I recently got an excellent opportunity to eat my words and find them just as true as when I first spoke them, when I was invited to dine at Pavyllon, the new Mayfair spot from Yannick Alléno.
Now, as those who have noticed the accent will certainly waste no time in noting, Alléno is indeed French. Hailing from Puteaux, not far from Paris, the multi-Michelin-starred chef has helmed restaurants from Paris to Saint-Tropez, from Marrakech to Dubai to Beijing. I actually dined at his Terroirs Parisiens (since shuttered) years ago, and was particularly taken with his commitment to the namesake terroir.
Pavyllon is his first London property, and with a stated mission of highlighting a “British expression” of his modern approach to French fare. With a menu rooted in French techniques, British produce, and a plant-driven fairly-free-from mentality, it promised, if nothing else, to be interesting.
It proved to more than deliver on the promise.
We were seated at the long counter overlooking the open kitchen, where preparations were taking place in quiet but not hushed tones. The convivial ballet of prep and plating before us proved enticing but by no means distracting to conversation.
After a bit of deliberating – and at the recommendation of our server, who, like the rest of the team, mastered that perfect blend of presence and unobtrusiveness – we opted for the 148-pound Pavyllon tasting menu, boasting six courses plus an amuse bouche and mignardise. We relied on the capable sommelier for the pitch-perfect, often surprising pairings, which began with a glass of British bubbly Blanc de Blancs from nearby Kent. The wine from Gusbourne was refreshing and boasted the classic Chardonnay green apple, citrus, and buttery notes.
It was also a lovely accompaniment for our first bite: an amuse-bouche of beetroot hummus in a nutty short pastry topped with a smattering of pistachios.
The first official course seemed to be the one that would best fulfill the promise of revisiting British terroir: a potato salad, of sorts, with baby potatoes dressed in a lovage-infused mayonnaise and settled atop kombu broth and seaweed. (Did you know that seaweed has been cultivated in Wales since at least the 17th century?) Unfortunately, this dish was also the only low note of the meal, for me, proving to be a bit too assertive in its aniseed flavor, with a strangely snotty texture from the gelatinous seaweed. My dining companion also noted that the portion of three potatoes, as the first of a six-course tasting, might have been a bit overzealous.
Luckily, this slight stumble was more than righted with the second course: a langoustine tartare topped with a toasty tuile paired with a lovely Alsatian Sylvaner from Ostertag. The langoustine was seasoned with preserved ginger and lime and settled in an avocado mousse. A touch of Espelette pepper added a hint of smoke, and the texture of the ginger somehow nearly approached that of raw apple. And while none of the ingredients seemed to deliver on the British promise, it offered a wonderful marriage of flavors and textures was far more in-line with what would follow.
I’m a huge fan of red mullet’s sweet, shellfishy flavor, and here it wasn’t just perfectly cooked but creatively paired with briny clams, smoky chorizo, chermoula, and a smattering of crispy potato chips (er… crisps) on top. I was certain, as I was eating this, that it would be my favorite dish of the night.
And then… this lamb chop arrived.
I’ve got a tough time with lamb. I’ve got no problem with gameiness, but lamb often proves too fatty – and frankly too much work for the payoff. But this massive lamb chop cooked to a perfect medium rare was sinfully simple to eat. It was sitting in a puddle of shiso sauce – a clever play on the mint-and-lamb pairing so pervasive in Britain. That little quenelle off to the side was a sumptuously salty anchoïade, which our server recommended we use “like English mustard,” aka sparingly, to add even more depth to the dish.
It was perfectly paired not only with an herbaceous 2019 Saint-Joseph from Emmanuel Darnaud, which was engaging in a delightful duet with that earthy shiso sauce, but also with a bowl of unapologetically butter-forward mashed potatoes topped with nutmeg. It would have been easy to wipe the bowl clean with some of the delicious house bread, which had been served with perfectly room temp British butter, but seeing as we had two more courses to go, we exercised (some) restraint.
The first of our two dessert courses featured fruit, and thus had the lead in my heart. But it wasn’t just the fresh, seasonal raspberries that gave this deconstructed millefeuille the edge. Made with a combo of fresh raspberries, coconut ice cream, and dill sorbet topped with a croissant crisp, it was also dotted with bits of dried raspberry and crystallized dill, which created more depth and vibrancy. I demolished this, and I’d do it again. (Also, could crystallized dill become the Thing of 2023?)
More muted in flavor – and far richer – was this vanilla “Napoleon” (aka millefuille) with inverted puff pastry encasing a thick vanilla pastry cream. The dessert was drizzled with an Earl Grey-infused caramel and dotted with what sounds like an extremely labor-intensive sugar-free orange confit. This was quite nice – and certainly understood the British-influenced assignment – but was far more one-note than the previous dessert.
We finished things off with a lovely coffee, served alongside a pralinesque sugar-free milk chocolate – the ideal last bite to ensure we finished our meal sated but far from over-full. Indeed, the restraint exercised in rendering this meal a joyful journey that did not need to finish with a post-prandial constitutional (or, as my dining companion Scotty has led me to begin calling it, “a walk about the ramparts”) is just one of many high points of the experience. Joining the judicious management of acoustics, exemplary service, and bar seating that does not leave your feet flailing in the wind as you dine, it was one of the perhaps less noticeable details that catapult a good fine dining experience into a truly memorable one.
Pavyllon London – Hamilton Pl, Greater, London