The Warrington

Ah, the gastropub! That most London of eateries, invented in ’90s Farringdon at the heart of cool Brittania, where foodies, young and old, could come to chomp on lamb shanks, drink rioja and still bask in the haze of faded Victorian glory. Or something like that anyway.

God save the Boozer! Husar!

And so to The Warrington, which isn’t a gastropub. Well, not really. The downstairs lounge is all pub: glorious dark wood and mosaic floors around the original horse shoe bar. A quick glance at the bar menu reads like you’d expect, but we’re here to eat upstairs, and that’s a whole different kettle of fish.

Strangely, there’s no suggestion that the restaurant exists up the broad staircase but we head up anyway, even though the signs on the wall point to the lavies. You get the feeling that upstairs and downstairs occupy different worlds here, occasionally nodding to each other when they happen to pass on the stairs.

Once we’re through the door though, things start looking brighter. Met by the charming manager, Luca, who takes us to our seats, and then generally takes care of everything for the rest of the evening, and in a good way too. He, like the chef, who comes for a chat later, are new to the place and are clearly looking to do great things with their new gaff.

The emphasis on the new winter menu includes good British ingredients like Scottish scallops, Dorset crabs and Casterbridge beef. We pick a steak tartare with poached egg and truffle mayonnaise and a crab soufflé with truffle salad. The soufflé – always a tricky proposition – is nice enough, although missing the sweetness that really makes crab special. The tartar, on the other hand, is a real gem. I love steak tartar anyway, but it’s pretty unfashionable these days – I guess raw minced steak isn’t everybody’s idea of fun, but they got it spot on here, fresh and tangy with lashings of Worcester sauce and a great truffled mayonnaise to go with it.

Then came more Casterbridge steak, fillet this time with oxtail and bone marrow sauce, and a fine, pink rack of lamb with cauliflour puree and a port sauce. We let Luca choose us a bottle of wine and he came up with a great rioja and we happily tucked in. Both dishes worked well: meat served pink and well rested and, if not quite on a par with the starters were still very good.

A plate of English cheese followed – all good English fare, but unfortunately not as looked after as they might have been and only the stinking bishop was on top form, strong and gluppy and delicious, but don’t touch it with your fingers or they’ll be smelling suspect for days.

Sitting there after the meal, drinking Somerset cider brandy we couldn’t help feeling something was missing. Oh that’s right. Ramsay. Has the big man been seen of late? We enquired. Apparently not. At least not by any of the staff we spoke to and neither Luca nor the chef were company men before The Warrington. And it suits the place just fine. For once team Ramsay may have done good on the discretion front. Praise be!

Walking back down into the boozer, then out into a frosty Maida Vale, we were a little confused by the whole thing. Pub? Gastropub? Fine dining? Identity crisis? You get the feeling that The Warrington doesn’t quite know what it is either, but the fresh blood upstairs are heading in the right direction – let’s just hope they’re allowed to get on with it.

The Warrington
93 Warrington Crescent
Maida Vale
W9 1EH

T: 020 7592 7960