When you hear there’s a shiny new hype-spot in town, and that dining there comes with a thirty percent chance of clapping eyes on an equally shiny film star, one’s natural nosiness tends to get the better of them. For months there have been whispers in the air surrounding Café Clement, and so, for my sins, I followed them.
Ex-River Café chef Danny Bohan’s new all-day bistrot has opened within the swanky but still unfinished St. Clement hotel, a new venture by Soho House founder Nick Jones, which explains the celeb sightings. As with any hotel restaurant, there’s a real risk that the hotel’s own formalities – in this case, St Clement’s stark and echoey hotel lobby – stamp out any glimmer of individuality. Yet the warmth emanating from Café Clement’s entrance is as hard to ignore as trying to sleep with a sunburnt back on holiday. It’s positively toasty.
The restaurant hums with activity; even at Saturday lunchtime, there are an inordinate number of waiters charging around the dining room, all with somewhere to be. We are guided to a booth in the corner, next to the much-lauded outdoor terrace. Today the petite terrace is near-empty thanks to the lashings of rain that have announced the end of this summer’s latest heatwave. But oddly, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than in the cosy confines of my booth, facing into the restaurant, which allows for the most satisfying of leisurely people-watching and a clear view of the open kitchen that shares the dining room with us.
There’s absolutely a buzz in the air; something akin to the atmosphere captured in the Ratatouille kitchen, minus the rodents. It’s the sort of buzz you’d yearn to stumble upon on an unplanned night in Paris, when you chance upon the perfect neighbourhood bistrot. You’re not ignored, exactly; in fact, you’re incredibly well-looked after. It’s simply that the liveliness of the room would carry on with or without you in it. This ambience is quite special for London, where many new restaurants try so hard to create something magnetic that they forgo any genuine desire to be there on the diner’s part.
The famous terrace
I’ll admit, you can’t help but feel a little chic just by existing here, crispy-cold dirty martini in hand to kick things off. Or maybe it’s the zesty St. Clement Sour, or the Clementini, surely soon to be a fixture of the Instagram Hall of Fame. Aesthetically, the wavy floor tiles and white tablecloth-clad circular tables nod to retro glamour. There’s jazz music floating in the air. The thick-set, vintage leather chairs have something of your grandpa’s office about them.
And the cheese soufflé has just been served. Rich, astonishingly light and dressed in a performative mound of cheese – no, I’m not describing the average diner. The Gruyère and nutmeg soufflé dissolves on the tongue, accompanied by a punchy, naughty cheese sauce. Marinated tomatoes and sweet figs with basil are a welcome forkful of freshness, but the tomatoes are those large, watery varieties that are a little too much muscle, not quite enough depth. An accurate depiction of my London dating life.
Cheese soufflé
Silky slices of lime-soaked seabass carpaccio, finished in beautiful green olive oil, however, provide the desired air of summer. The scallops atop pea purée are sticky and charred, salty but saved by a mint vinaigrette. Again, we’re eking out the remnants of summer in a way the autumnal rain bashing against the window hates to see.
The spatchcocked chicken comes recommended by our lovely waiter, Tom. It’s served with a shallot vinaigrette, green beans and speck. In reality, our plate of chicken has been dieting too hard of late; we’re only privy to a few chunks, although the crispy skin is welcome. The plating is supremely simple; it’s some bits of chicken, a portion of beans and a couple of rogue slices of speck placed on top for decoration. Likewise, our seabass is flaky and soft, but the portion is on the small side, its skin barbecued right up to the point of testing whether charcoal is a complimentary flavour profile.
But the sides – house frites, with absolutely all of the dips (please get the house mayo) – are crispy, textured and gorgeous, and our side salad is well dressed, sharp and very welcome on the plate. Reclining like a fat king after a banquet, it’s time to soak in the atmosphere and sip on a glass of crisp Verdicchio before the desserts arrive. And let me preface this with the fact that the retro dessert options are perhaps the highlight of the meal.
Seabass carpaccio
Baked chocolate mousse comes out piping hot; it’s the most decadent version of the molten lava cake you remember from childhood. Tom encourages us to dollop the accompanying scoop of house vanilla ice cream directly in the middle of the vast chocolatey baked thing in our midst, so we oblige. Once the ice cream has begun to melt into the chocolate, it’s every bit as mouthwatering as you’re imagining. Paired with a house Limoncello Sgroppino – always impossible to resist when sighted on a menu – that’s astonishingly refreshing, finished with lemon zest swirls and made from their homemade Limoncello sorbet, we’re suitably restored.
Suddenly it becomes apparent that it’s four-thirty in the afternoon. But there’s nothing to indicate that Café Clement has a siesta. The churn is happening around us, yet no one has made any move to rush us on. While our meal had a couple of moments that could be tightened, the sheer pleasure of being here is undeniable, and the food is broadly flavoursome and comforting.
Café Clement will undoubtedly become a favourite haunt for Londoners; a new source of cosy escapism when all you really need is a spoonful of posh lava cake and a good eavesdrop to get you through a bleak winter’s day. I’m already excited to return.
12 Temple Place, London, WC2R 2NF; St Clement
