Emma Perry

Past Harvey Nicks and boutiques featuring loafers, blazers and Laboutins sits the latest outpost of clean food chain The Good Life Eatery, joining outlets in Marylebone and Chelsea. When even Gwyneth Paltrow is moving from ‘It’s All Good’ to ‘It’s All Easy’ (her latest cookbook features pasta, bacon and pizza), are these dudes surfing a wave that’s already on the ebb? The décor is odd, with pub-like padded black chairs out of place against industrial concrete walls and the sort of caged pendant lights Detective Sarah Lund would brush up against during another unwise foray into an abandoned lock-up outside Copenhagen. The ‘Good Life’ philosophy extends to no wifi, so you’ll be fully aware of how much kale you’re chewing through in the signature Good Life Salad (quite a lot, since you ask). Options for main courses are grouped into three sections: superfood salads, sandwiches and wraps, and warm bowls. We also tried a Mexicali salad, a deliberately carb-light take on tacos, but the black bean dip was tasteless, the avocado needed seasoning and the chipotle sauce lacked punch. We could feel the food and cold pressed juices doing our health a power of good, though.

This glamorous dining room on London’s famous tailoring strip could have been lifted straight out of an ocean liner.  From the lacquered tables and salmon red leather banquettes (one of which snakes down the centre in a dramatic double S bend) to the Art Deco lamps and crackled glass panels, 45 Jermyn St makes you feel under-dressed in anything less than a beaded shift (ladies) or spats (gents). Fortnum and Mason green is the second theme colour, which is no coincidence: they own the joint. Conversation was hushed despite the restaurant being half full. Dimming the lights would help, but this is a place to see and be seen and the greeting from waiting staff was warm.  Given that the place wasn’t crammed, the meal felt a tad rushed – starters arrived within 10 minutes of ordering and mains followed with barely time for a convenience break (on that note, follow the door marked ‘Peas and Leeks’ – not a dedicated vegetable kitchen, but a punning pointer to the loos). But you can’t fault the food, which is served in generous portions and lovingly put together. Oysters and caviar top the menu – if you like theatre, the latter arrives by trolley and accompanying eggs are scrambled at the table. A dressed Portland crab and a tomato, treviso and goats curd salad were both excellent. Main courses include as many vegetarian as meat dishes, an unusual touch. in the end, I couldn’t resist flesh, so ordered a perfectly executed calvados braised guinea fowl and a fillet of hake with white b

Choconut is an odd hybrid between shop and café, selling chocolate, nuts and crystallised fruits, plus coffee and hot chocolate.  Presentation is a strong point, with a large chocolate fountain in the window, huge wooden vessels (shaped like urinals, but don’t let that put you off) showing off the nuts (absolutely no double entendres there) and shelves groaning with candy jars.  The high-end chocolate is made on the premises whereas the baked goods aren’t. We shared a couple of cronuts, almost the size and density of a human head. The custard version was better than the oversweet salted caramel and pistachio. The chalkboard on the pavement outside states ‘life’s too short to drink crappy coffee’, so it’s a relief that the flat white was just as it should be. But the hot chocolate was disappointingly lukewarm and thin – in a blindfold taste test, it could have passed for Cadbury’s Instant.  Friendly service makes up for some of the flaws, but Choconut remains more of a shop where you might suddenly decide to stay for a snack, than somewhere you’d arrange to go deliberately. 

French salad and sandwich chain Cojean has chosen Ludgate Hill as the launchpad for its charge on the London fast food market. The City (and the city) could do with a bit of liberté, égalité and fraternité – anything to challenge the stranglehold of Pret. If you respect the adage that nationals using a restaurant validates its authenticity, you’ll tap your nose and wink Clouseau-style at the number of French-speaking customers in Cojean’s queue. This isn’t traditional French food, mind you – no frites, hamburgers, foie gras or minute steak to go – but rather, a vision of clean living and health to suit a new generation; whole grains, Asian flavours and lots of veggie and gluten-free options. Interiors are thoughtfully designed, with wooden frames and judicious planting separating diners from the queue. It’s a pleasant place to sit and watch the suits go by. In the display fridges, bright-striped tubs announce soup and curry options (there are more soups, curries and other hot dishes on a specials board too); salad and sandwich options are plentiful. A baguette of goat’s cheese, red lentil and hazelnut salad was full, fresh, and frankly excellent – if a little pricey. Another option, a classic ham and cheese, was equally good. But wait: what’s that? In among the list of drinks (coffee, juice, tea) are large multi-coloured spots, just like a Damien Hirst masterpiece. Sadly, it’s not the real thing (for that you’ll have to go to the artist’s own café in Ilfracombe, Devon). Conje

This version of Restaurant de Paul is not nearly as French‐looking as the Covent Garden branch. In fact, it’s positively Silicon Valley by comparison, with chunky upholstered green, blue and red chairs, bright monochrome rugs and busy black tiling across floors and walls. The menu, though, is exactly the same. Classic starters lead into main courses featuring meat, fish, burgers or salads. We shared a perfectly decent but forgettable ham with celeriac remoulade to start. The poussin roti with aubergine and potatoes had good flavour but a smoked duck salad was underwhelming and lacked dressing. As you’d expect from a business with a baking background, the bread is top notch. So too, are desserts – the ‘bottomless’ mousse au chocolate is worth visiting for alone, and you can have as much as you dare. So then, with decent food and little atmosphere, Restaurant de Paul is solid, if not exactly ooh‐la‐la.

Please note, The Truscott Cellar is now closed. Time Out Food & Drink Editors, 2017. There are hints of the nautical about The Truscott Cellar, a second outpost from the crew who opened The Truscott Arms gastropub in Maida Vale back in 2013. With chubby porthole lights down the wall to starboard, suspended storm lanterns over the bar on the port side and high-backed booths like small cabins down the middle, the owner (also a theatre director) has created a shipshape setting that makes the most of the main event – the wine. A backlit wall of resting bottles tells you the list of reds, whites and rosés is tip-top. Most come by the glass, so you can walk the plank to oblivion in style. By comparison, the food menu is compact, offering cold meat or cheese boards plus a few hot plates and puds. Our beef cheeks, smoked mash and crispy shallots came dressed in rich gravy – the Platonic ideal of mid-winter comfort food. A satisfying pressed pork platter showcased Suffolk’s best Blythburgh pig in five forms – salami, ham, potted pork, pressed terrine and cured pork – and came deliciously accessorised by caperberries, pickled cucumber and celeriac remoulade. Only puds – a curiously bland deconstructed maple, blueberry and pecan cheesecake and an overly al dente rice pudding – would have been better thrown overboard. Luckily, some rich raisiny Pedro Ximénez sherry saved the day. Instagramming your dinner here might be a challenge in the candle-lit gloom, but you won’t care. In modern Lo