Simpson's in strand: a time capsule of british comfort food
Forget fleeting culinary trends; Simpson's-in-the-Strand, a London institution since 1828, stubbornly clings to a tradition of hearty, unapologetically British fare. Stepping inside is less a restaurant visit and more a journey back to a time when dining meant robust portions, dark wood panelling, and the echoing murmur of satisfied patrons – a sensation akin to wandering into a particularly well-preserved Oxbridge feasting hall.
A culinary relic, remarkably preserved
The Grand Divan dining room, the heart of Simpson's, is a spectacle in itself. Chandeliers cast a warm glow on the dark panelling, and the sight of black-waistcoated servers gliding between tables with overflowing trolleys is a scene straight out of a Dickens novel. It’s a Jeremy King establishment, and the subtle details – impeccable soundproofing ensuring lively conversation without shouting, a smartly appointed cocktail bar upstairs – are hallmarks of his careful curation.
While many restaurants chase the ephemeral, Simpson’s leans into its history. The menu, eschewing elaborate descriptions, presents a “rollicking list of cosy British joys.” Think bubble and squeak, bacon chop, dressed Portland crab – dishes that evoke a comforting familiarity. The daily pie selection, from Monday’s beef and ale to Thursday’s steak and kidney pudding, is a testament to the kitchen’s dedication to classic, unpretentious cooking. And let's be honest, who can resist the siren call of spotted dick with custard, a sugary, currant-strewn indulgence that transports one back to childhood Sundays?
The beef rib trolley, the undisputed star of the show, arrives bearing a magnificent selection of roast ribs, served rare with fiery horseradish from a communal bowl. Yorkshire pudding, gravy, and a generous portion of roast potatoes complete the picture. It’s a meal designed to satisfy, and you certainly won't leave hungry.
The prawn cocktail, though not revolutionary, is presented with a certain elegance, showcasing three large shelled prawns alongside a scattering of smaller ones in a sweet Marie rose sauce. The roast loin of cod, however, was a standout – flaky, moist fish complemented by a rich, glossy lobster bisque sauce. Even the bubble and squeak, while somewhat overpriced at £16.75 for a modest portion, proved delightful. A mini croquembouche, a slightly dry but thoroughly British affair, offered a sweet, if somewhat unbalanced, finale.
Simpson’s isn’t about pushing boundaries; it’s about delivering dependable, satisfying comfort Food in an atmosphere steeped in history and tradition. It's a place to be nurtured, to be fed, and to momentarily escape the chaos of the modern world. And in an era of fleeting trends and culinary experimentation, that, perhaps, is its greatest strength.