REVIEW: PUNK ROYALE, MAYFAIR

AG
4 days ago
4 min read

London’s Most Outrageous New Restaurant, with 20 Courses, Syringes, Latex Gloves and Caviar Bumps

We slip behind an unassuming door in Mayfair to experience London’s most outrageous new restaurant, for a 20 course tasting menu featuring syringes, latex gloves and “caviar bumps.”

Punk Royale has arrived in an explosion of delicious and intoxicating chaos, with Londoners and critics clamouring to find out what really happens after the staff lock up phones, for a £220 dining experience which is Fat Duck meets From Dusk Till Dawn.

Well buckle in guys, because you’re about to find out.

On arrival to the rebellious Scandinavian destination, we are warmly greeted by the adorable, green-haired Bjorn [pictured above] and his brilliant high-vis clad sidekick, who will be serving us for the night.

We’re led through a low-lit room brimming with neons, graffiti, framed paintings of Vivienne Westwood and rule-breaking chef Marco Pierre White; Barbie dolls doing a Miley Cyrus on disco balls, and alternative cuddly toys - “this one has a cock” Bjorn tells us delightedly, flipping over the cute and well-hung panda on our table.

Our group is assembled at the kitchen bar where the chef provides expanding towels in rubber duck-filled saucepans for us to clean our hands ahead of their signature caviar bump.

The glistening fish eggs are generously ladled onto the backs of our hands - thankfully not snorted up with notes.

A petrol canister - emblazoned with their self-appointed four Michelin stars - is used to pour vodka into shot glasses, and we’re instructed to gulp the enormous caviar blobs and down the shot. So far, so deliciously weird.

Punk Royale is a few steps from Fortnum & Mason, serving exceptional cuisine with the expected candles, white tables cloths, foie gras, caviar, truffle and oysters. But that’s where the Mayfair sensibilities end. You don’t need to worry about which cutlery to use here, because it doesn’t appear until about course 16.

Menus are also banned. The only questions are “with or without booze?” Or “any allergies or intolerances?” These requests - “no booze,” or “no meat” - are scrawled onto neon tape and stuck to the diner.

We’re seated at our table with Champagne and as promised, the sealed box arrives to lock away our phones.

What follows is a breathless, beautifully presented and delicious succession of Nordic and Asian-inspired dishes, presented in increasingly bonkers ways as the music, lights and energy of the restaurant gradually ramps up into a brilliantly surreal, fog-filled party.

Highlights include a plate of syringes, filled with Sauterne dessert wine, to inject into our mouths after eating the excellent foie gras blinis, topped with smiley faces in rose hip jam.

There’s a tiny, creamy Guinness which turns out to be mushroom consommé, using malt and sherry to ape the deep, rich stout flavours.

Bright blue oysters arrive on ice, served in a moreish Thai Green Curry sauce.

Bjorn dances towards our tables to the refrains of Madonna’s Just Like a Prayer and spoon feeds us a giant and juicy hunk of lobster tail with ceps and lemon kosho.

Their signature potato rosti are accompanied with a caviar tin filled with crème fraîche and golden fish roe, which we scoop out with the provided black latex gloves.

There is an orgasmic Chawanmushi - a savoury Japanese egg custard - which is silky, umami-rich and topped with a hit of salty caviar.

The Scandinavian and Asian influences mean that the seafood dishes are real showstoppers, like the tapioca crisps with razor clams in jalapeño sauce and the crispy eel waffles.

Cutlery arrives for the juicy Guinea Fowl, served with blackberry, swede puree and some sort of sexy paste - as I said, there is no menu, so I am taking notes as Bjorn shouts what each dish is.

We are beginning to feel comfortably full, so are relieved when the light and fun dessert dishes arrive. These include a warm, cardamom sugar Madeline and peach marshmallows.

We are then invited to literally lick our plates - three desserts are piped onto them, for us to lick into one flavour hit, as Khia’s “My Neck, My Back (Lick It)” is belted out of the speakers.

The fog machines and disco lights are now at full pelt. The two Italian women on the table beside us have stopped licking plates and turned their attention to each other.

The entire room has transformed from the nervously excited guests who arrived 2.5 hours ago, into a joyous, full-bellied party, oiled by the endless succession of paired drinks, from fizz and cocktails to beer and wine.

We’re surprised by the mix of diners, there are plenty of younger hipsters, but also couples and people in their 50s and 60s, all enjoying this intimate and bonkers finale together.

It is not for everybody, but everybody should try this once, if they can.

Get out of your comfort zone, away from your screens, and experience food which would be unforgettable without the fog machines and syringes, but is made all the more extraordinary with them.

Punk Royale, 6 Sackville St, London W1S 3DD. £220 per head, including drinks. Open Tuesday - Saturday