Cafe Murano - Mayfair

33 St. James’s Street, SW1A 1HD

“For once maybe someone will call me ‘sir’ without adding ‘you're making a scene’.” 

- Homer, Scenes from the Class Struggle in Springfield (3F11)

Going somewhere for breakfast is a strange experience. Going for breakfast in Mayfair even stranger. To get up, get dressed smartly, and head out early on the tube without eating doesn't feel right. It leaves a hole in the stomach and a taste of early flights in the mouth - one croissant and three cups of Pret filter coffee on the tongue.

Sitting in a restaurant in Mayfair in front of curried fish, rice, and discussions of business, a glance out of the window revealed three men in tweed, cantering horses. Again, a strange place for breakfast, Mayfair. But then, a slightly strange place altogether. The Queen is your neighbour, and champagne, cigars, and caviar your corner shops.

Not a place I eat often, clearly; but it was my birthday, I wasn’t paying, and for reasons of a long family story that isn’t worth telling, I needed a location in London where the locals were ‘safe’ - for their benefit, not just hers. Fortunately, there were no altercations on the short walk between the tube and Cafe Murano, even if three swaying, Special Brew swigging, fingerless glove wearing gentleman did appear outside the Ritz as we walked past - how does she do it?

Cafe Murano is a small, smart, clean restaurant, with staff who seemed so courteous, professional, and pleasant it made me feel nauseous. With the front of house being so good, that could only mean the chefs, previously balancing knives on their fingers and deboning salmon blindfold, would be quivering wrecks, mistaking soap for garlic and dishwasher fluid for olive oil. Seriously, she has that effect. Many a restaurant steeped in history and laden with Michelin stars destroyed in the seconds it takes her to order a side of bread.

But still the meal grew better. The food perfect, the portions a tad small, but all the more reason to order more courses. The vegetables crisp and fresh with tangy ricotta and a helping of someone else’s beef carpaccio. Meat makes a meal. Tender halibut followed, sitting atop three pieces of asparagus - I took a second to name each stem - and scattered with some sort of crumb. As the wine flowed too fast and my taste-buds had been seared by the 17 inches of sugared icing of my bought-in birthday cake, pudding was a non-event. I imagine it was as good as the rest.

And then it was over. We stayed for hours. We gave them every chance to prove the strangeness of Mayfair or flander and confirm the inevitability of her curse, but they single-handled failed on both counts. Clearly an excellent and charmed restaurant. Good luck to Fifteen is all I can say - she’s heading there tonight...

Fifteen - Old Street

15 Westland Place, London, N1 7LP

(This review also appears on Hoxton Radio)

Is there a better known chef than Jamie Oliver? Aside from his soul, he's sold near enough everything related to the kitchen. Books, DVDs, school meals, supermarkets, pasta, and even a flavour shaker. There's probably a Jamie Oliver melon baller out there too.

With six different brands of restaurant to his name, including thirty-five Jamie's Italians, it's easy to forget about Fifteen. Now eleven years old - if you can believe it - Fifteen is where Jamie crafts skilled chefs from perennial underachievers. Pure alchemy, with a TV show tie-in, naturally.

Although tucked down an alley off City Road, a short walk from Old Street, I still expected Fifteen to be busy on a Sunday. While the Smokehouse in Islington had nothing until four o'clock, Fifteen had tables all day and their basement floor - possibly larger than the one upstairs - was deserted

Whether you like Jamie or not, and many seem to fall in to the latter category, there's no denying the quality of both his food and his venues. Extremely sleek, clean, neat, with dark wood throughout, the décor suggests a far higher priced meal than the menu offers. The service, however, was an issue. Polite and friendly to a tee, the staff seemed confused as to who was actually serving us, which resulted in a long wait for the first drink - a very autumnal Hackney Gold (5.5%) from Redchurch Brewery. There is also an insistence on reeling off the various components of each dish upon delivery, as if announcing the destinations of a train. When my food arrives, I want to eat it, not wait. The almost robotic speech indicates that staff have a good memory, not that they understand the food.

Of course, the food was perfect. The menu works like tapas on a slightly larger scale, with a definite English flavour. Choosing four or five dishes for two people produces a miniature banquet of a lunch and I felt very sorry for the table next to us who chose not to share. You could possibly stretch the description 'medieval' to the food, adding to the banquet feel. Bread with chicken infused butter, tender featherblade of beef with potato and cow's curd, deviled egg and smoked cod roe. A menu lifted from the pages of Game of Thrones.

Regardless of their view of Jamie Oliver, I defy anyone to visit Fifteen and not enjoy both the food and atmosphere. At £45 a head, including pudding, coffee, and a couple of beers, this isn't the cheapest lunch in Shoreditch, but nor is it the most expensive. Many would be surprised at how little they can spend and still come away fed. Well worth the short walk.