Restaurant Review: The Lavery, South Kensington

This new opening brings refined Mediterranean flavours and low-key glamour to the former home of late Sir John Lavery. A stylish dining spot with a menu to match, says Tessa Dunthorne – just be prepared for a tomato stain or two. Here’s our full review of The Lavery.

Restaurant Review: The Lavery, South Kensington

Half a course into eating at The Lavery, a new outpost from chef Yohei Furuhashi in South Kensington, I have spilt tomato down myself. It leaves a distinct, oily mark on what was a crisp white shirt. And it’s a shame – I’m less upset about this, and how I now stick out against the tables chocka with fashion editor types, than I am about losing a share of this plate. My now naked monk fish looks lonely on its plate minus the plump tomato that instead decorates my outfit. 

The bar

The thing is, The Lavery is a smartly uniformed restaurant. You do want to dress up to be here, if only to fit your surrounds. The concept: the late painter Sir John Lavery’s home and studio on Cromwell Place (moments from the Natural History Museum) has been sensitively restored. Downstairs is an event space that doubles as an art gallery, and upstairs is an bright, high-ceilinged dining room with the kind of killer team that has food critics salivating from the first press release. (Chef Yohei Furuhashi is both ex-River Café and ex-Toklas, joined by Alcides Gauto who ran front of house at Toklas and Llewelyn’s, with creative direction of the joint from Martin Cohen. What an outfit.)

The look the restaurant strikes is towards the minimal end. It’s low-key. The real eye-catcher are the windows: big huge frames that invite you to peer down onto clean streets. The kind of windows that transition the space from day-to-night elegantly: at lunchtime, daylight bounces through the room and off gold, gilded mirrors; by night, little candles flicker and give the whole space a faintly orange glow. Then there’s comfortable, curvy sofas, sleek wooden tables framed by mid-century seats and a certain delicacy to the whole design. The effect is something distinctly residential, a sort of grown-up, artful townhouse. It’s more dinner party in vibe than set-dressed restaurant. 

And the food, too, reflects this. The menu in a sentence is refined Mediterranean flavours with strong connections to the seasons. It includes a lot of meat and fish but still feels veg and bean-focused, so lighter and healthier and less intense on those cholesterol numbers. It’s not trying to smack you in the face; nothing about the restaurant shouts. 

Rhubarb Sour

The cocktail list is elegant. Orange martinis (complete with peels of the fruit and aromatic in oil), rhubarb sours, elderflower negronis… Spring-time twists on classics, and done well: the rhubarb sour isn’t so tangy; the orange martini is sharp, and the quality of the spirits cuts through. The glassware each cocktail arrives in, though, are so svelte one fears you may break it a la the incredible hulk. 

The wine list is wide and you’ve got edgier bottles to plump for but also this is matched by classics, your standard grapes. For the former, the team works with specialist suppliers like Roland who excel at sourcing from unique, natural winemakers (like Etienne Seignovert, who is something of a whizzkid small-plot producer in the Doux valley – his Le Murmure de L’Eau 2023 is exceptionally funky – although this comes in at £77). 

Monkfish dish

Food arrives in plates intended for sharing, although you’d get away with hogging each course solo if that was your heart’s desire. For your smaller plates, two not to miss are the asparagus and the iberico salt cod. The asparagus is topped by fonduta and parmesan, although it’s more hollandaise than cheese-overwhelm, and the sauce is sharp but you’ll be polishing it off with bread after the green spears are gone. The iberico salt cod is piled on creamy polenta and it’s a trip to the seaside in your mouth; it’s paired with the tomato that I take home as a stain. When it comes to bigger plates, the monkfish is exceptional – it’s a masterclass in contradiction. It’s extremely tender, but it still has bite. The fish is cooked in what can only be assumed to be tons of butter, although somehow it still feels fairly light. More delicious (but destructive) tomatoes are vinegary yet sweet. And the alubia beans cut through an otherwise restrained dish – like I said, this is a restaurant that speaks softly – with a dose of in-yer-face smoke. When dessert comes, you’d be remiss to skip the Lavery mess (it’s dressed up in pomelo and passion fruit, and portends warmer months to come). 

The Lavery mess

There’s a quiet confidence to The Lavery that’s hard to fake. It doesn’t need grandstanding; it just does what it does very well and lets the food – and the space – make the noise. So: come for the monkfish, stay for the soft lighting, the thoughtful wine list, and the sense you’ve just stumbled into someone’s very chic dinner party. Just maybe wear something you don’t mind getting a bit of tomato on.

thelavery.co.uk