Galvin at Windows
22 Park Lane
W1K 1BE
Tel: 020 7208 4021
Guest Review by Douglas of Intoxicating Prose. Check back on Monday, May 6th to vote for your favorite guest blogger.
London looks beautiful from above. More precisely, through immaculate windows, 28 floors up, the Queen’s garden looks green, the main streets are cleared of traffic for the marathon, and staccato spring rainstorms reinforce the cosy isolation. Up here it seems that God sieves through a giant scola pasta rather than weeps on the population.
This is my third visit. The first occured before Galvin took the helm. I was six, staying at the hotel below with my parents. I remember being mesmerised by an aqualine, Russian Princess, shoehorned into a mini skirt, shuffling towards the bar, tightly escorted by her elderly, fattened ‘uncle’. Last year was my second, working as a sommelier at a private gastronomic event for hedge fund managers. I watched the affluently be-suited shun glasses of ’96 Dom Pérignon in favour of ’90 Lafite. Ah, the pain of decisions…
During today’s reconaissance, we sit in soft, capacious seats, strong enough to support Dawn French and bolstered with fussily offered cushions. Beaded flutes of Pommery Springtime Rosé gently land. Soothing. The tiny, explosive bubbles echo the patter on the panes. A helicopter dragging a ‘Flora’ banner whirs by. Tomato and multigrain bread is brought in abundance, warmed just enough to melt the beaten butter, and almost too tasty. In fact we greedily partake of in total three servings, followed by crostini with the starters, snugly embalmed in a linen eiderdown.
The Head Chef is Roux Scholar, André Garret, formerly of The Orrery (where Chris Galvin was mentor). Despite the Gallic name, he comes from Bath. His mother was a fan of pianist, conductor, and composer, André Previn apparently. This André continues to carve his culinary career, admitting cravings for the luminosity a Michelin star will bring (and Windows is on the ‘Rising Star’ scoreboard).
Thankfully the old adage, ‘the better the view, the worse the food’ proves untrue amongst the panorama. In fact, despite arriving via a Top Table offer, the food I tried positively distracted me from the world outside. A trio of lightly cooked Duchy of Cornwall rock oysters with seaweed butter, served on a coarse salt landscape, tantalised, surprisingly an improvement on serving them naked. A simple, fruity butternut bisque arrived in a sauce boat, elegantly decanted around the beach of a ravioli island sporting a parsley palm.
Two glasses of Vouvray followed the Champagne. This distinct, off-dry Loire white from a one horse town with voluminous cellars had a distinct, deep aroma tally of undercooked apple crumble and a taught palate evoking damp cashmere. Curiously, but to my favour, the Sommelier filled our glasses unevenly. The wine list has, expectedly, some unbearably lofty mark-ups, but offers reasonable value around £20-£30, particularly with white bottles. My guess is that most corporate charge-card diners don’t pause for financial concern, patting the vinous celebrities at whatever cost.
For the main courses, I enjoyed hearty, braised lamb shank, which was extroadinarily succulent, the meat meltily flaking into satisfying fronds. I sucked the soft marrow from the protein bagpipes afterwards, feeling illicit, savouring the pleasurable grey goo. It could have been caviar. My companion had “perfect” Pollack fillet, soft, flocculent, in genre fitting somewhere in between haddock and halibut. This was served with very green broccoli florets.
Puddings were artistically crafted, particularly my cool dark chocolate tower with brittle cocoa shard sail and river of pureed pistachio. This was bisected by alcoholic cherry stepping stones. My companion was pampered with a shivering pannacotta with aromatic Earl Grey sorbet and raspberry jam. A huge pot of cleansing fresh mint tea followed, poured through a gimbled strainer from New York which I was very tempted to steal (I have a thing for tea time accoutrements). Then, a silver raft of petits fours, including pulverised Madagascan vanilla truffle. A clear bonbon jar of coconut flavoured marshmallows came in time to sweeten a bill just below £100.
Service, by aesthetically diverse staff, occasionally veers from attentive to obtrusive; in fact we resorted to whispers early on (there is no ambient music, not even a Previn melody). The chairs are unergonomic, being a little low, with high arms. And the décor, whilst smart, could be described as drab, especially the entrance, which feels a stuck in the ‘80’s. The designer obviously has a love of brown.
Overall, however, watching clouds disperse then reappear, then sunshine blink through, Galvin provides an enduring, luxury vantage with really enjoyably edible food.
Many thanks again to Douglas of Intoxicating Prose for providing this guest review while I take some time off. Check back on Tuesday, May 6th to vote for your favorite guest blogger!
