David Ellis reviews Bar des Prés: ‘Le Sushi’ is a pricey pretender that doesn’t show the best of its celeb chef

While there’s much to enjoy, little feels new at Cyril Lignac’s Franco fusion, says David Ellis, and that vanilla ice cream...
Paris born: Bar des Prés’ cream and marble interior
Daniel Hambury/Stella Pictures Ltd

The rumbling thunder of trouble was faint at first. I asked a friend who’d trained at the Parisian Cordon Bleu if she knew Cyril Lignac, the chef behind this place. “I’ve heard him called the French Jamie Oliver,” I said, “which seems rather cruel.”

“I do,” Fiona replied, “I suppose he’s opening a patisserie? He’s sort of ‘French-famous’ for those.”

“I think it’s a fully-fledged thing,” I said, to a sudden and alarming crease of worry burrowing between her brows.

Fully fledged it is. Fortunately, this isn’t a story of a French-style Jamie’s Italian — that can’t be a business model anyone wants to mimic — and the decade-old Oliver comparisons instead stem from Lignac building his fame repeating our Jamie’s tricks: overhauling school dinners, teaching disadvantaged types, opening Le Quinzième (the Fifteenth). But he gave up the copycat stuff yonks ago and besides, Oliver never had anywhere as high-end as here. Be clear: calling it a “bar” is false modesty.

Albemarle Street has long been a Venus flytrap for international hits trying their luck and Bar des Prés takes over from the ill-fated, sometimes brilliant Indian Accent. But whereas Indian Accent was sadly often quiet, the buzzy BdP had a feeling, even late on a Monday, of somewhere to be. While its cream-and-marble looks come from the school of the very rich and very bland — less is more, except when it’s nothing at all — the narrow room was purring with good-looking people shuffling bits of sashimi around their plates.

Oh — yes. Sashimi. I should have said. Bar des Prés may be Paris-born, but it’s definitely a mostly Japanese restaurant, with the roll-call of hits that do the rounds in this part of town: sashimi, sushi and maki, lobster salad, crab with avocado, that sort of thing. They insist it’s “Franco/East Asian” and while unnecessary French descriptions do run through the menu as an attempted persuasive — “Black cod caramélisé au miso” — really it feels as if Lignac was one step away from calling the place “Le Sushi” and hoping to get away with it. While normally a menu left unexplained is a bullet dodged, here I could have done with a hand; with frightening prices and little idea of how much to have, I wasn’t sure if we’d go hungry or I’d have to call the bank to extend my limit. Still, we struggled on, bless us.

Daniel Hambury/Stella Pictures Ltd

And there’s lots to enjoy — tight rolls of icy, delicate yellowtail carpaccio given life by an almighty tang of homemade soy sauce, say, or hot chunks of mildly spiced prawns that had a regrettably regurgitated look but turned out to be comforting, fleshy bites (really, I wanted them piled high to snack on).

Dover Sole sat in a foaming blanket of broth, the red chillies adding a much-needed thwack of heat; beef satay was rightly cooked only in passing and given a flash of bright citrus from a smart squirt of lime. Lignac’s vanilla mashed potatoes, on the other hand? A signature, apparently. One that could scribble his reputation away: it brought to mind microwaved Carte D’Or.

Sometimes you eat the bar, sometimes the bar eats your wallet. Wine begins at £40, really kicking off at about £60. A parsimonious portion of steamed broccoli is £8. We both skipped pudding and coffee to stay under the £300 mark.

Lignac’s vanilla mashed potatoes... brought to mind microwaved Carte D’Or

And those in that night probably didn’t care, but here’s the rub: perhaps 10 years ago, it might have felt worthwhile. But London isn’t short of really first-rate Japanese places: nothing here is new, and nothing is served that you might not prefer at, say, Umu, Zuma, or perhaps even Nobu.

With Lignac in a spotless shirt wandering between tables to say hello — those not into their French food programmes may want to look him up, or it might get awkward — it’s not clear how much he’s actually cooking.

Not only does this seem a little underhand for somewhere new being sold on its celebrity chef — although granted, I’m not walking into a Ramsay Burger expecting to see Gordon swearily flipping patties — but it feels like this place could be anyone’s. In other words: We Want Cyril. I’ll wait for his cakes.

Bar des Prés, 16 Albemarle Street, W1S 4HW; Meal for two with wine, around £300. Open daily, noon until 11pm (10pm Sunday); bardespres.com

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