Review: Claude Bosi at Bibendum

What stands out when you walk in here?
This classic West London address is just the place for a blow-out meal: one that starts with champagne and witty amuse-bouches, and ends with a show-stopping cheese trolley. It’s set in the Michelin tire company’s grand former HQ, where a bowler-hatted doorman (it’s that kind of place) points us up to the dining room with its famous stained-glass windows – our favorite shows the Michelin Man cycling along, waving a fat cigar; for a motoring mascot, he’s quite the bon viveur.

What was the crowd like?
In the daytime, Chelsea locals drop by for oysters in the ground-floor bar, while the main restaurant’s a mix of business and birthday lunches. In the evenings, Bosi’s two Michelin stars, awarded with unprecedented speed, mean tables get booked up weeks ahead, and there’s a tangible air of expectation.

What should we be drinking?
A mosaic on the ground floor reads nunc eat bibendum ("now is the time to drink"), and the wine list’s suitably expansive. Isabelle Legeron, a champion of natural wines, advised on the selection; for a thrilling example of an orange wine, try the Radikon Slatnik. We kicked off with a bottle of Munir, on the sommelier’s advice; a delicious, organic Sicilian catarratto with a hint of peaches.

Main event: the food. Give us the lowdown—especially what not to miss.
Dinner kicks off with dainty amuse-bouches, from a tiny foie gras cornetto to glossy little olives (which, in El Bulli fashion, aren’t quite what they seem) served below a miniature tree. If some dishes are beautifully elaborate, like the sea herb-dotted Cornish crab, there are nods to more rustic French cooking. Think juicy black leg chicken for two, with tarragon jus (just be prepared to fight over the outrageously rich pommes boulangère). Born in Lyon, Bosi also has a persuasive way with offal, from creamy, crisp-crumbed veal brain to "my mum’s tripe and cuttlefish gratin," peppery, uncompromising, and one of the best-sellers. For dessert, copy the regulars and order the soufflé; sometimes chocolate, sometimes pistachio, and delicious either way.

And how did the front-of-house folks treat you?
When it comes to service, these guys like to keep it old-school. The kitchen’s manned by chefs in tall white toques, while waiters in waistcoats and crisp white shirts are unfailingly attentive, discretely refilling glasses and reclaiming dropped napkins.

What’s the real-real on why we’re coming here?
Even the set lunch menu here feels gratifyingly grand. At dinner, it's all about that tasting menu—a seven-course feast that’s only fractionally more than three courses à la carte.