Bob Bob Ricard

Bob Bob Ricard has built an entire evening around the pleasure of indulgence. The 1920s Orient Express glamour is not a decorative afterthought: velvet, brass, booths and warm light make the room feel like a private journey through a more flamboyant version of London. The Press for Champagne button is a joke that keeps becoming useful, and the atmosphere holds its balance between theatre and comfort. You arrive ready to play along, then discover that the room is also very good at looking after you.

The menu is a generous meeting of British and Russian pleasures. Pelmeni and vareniki bring comforting savour, while the soufflé, lobster burger, chicken Kiev and Wellington understand the appeal of a dish that arrives with a little ceremony. The cooking is at its best when it embraces richness and texture rather than apologising for either. Chocolate Glory is the suitably extravagant finale: less a quiet dessert than a full stop with fireworks. This is not food designed to disappear into the background, but it is made to be enjoyed.

Service is warm, professional and admirably alert to the room’s sense of fun. Staff can keep the theatre moving without making guests feel managed, and the pacing supports the restaurant’s naturally generous rhythm. The setting and menu make for an expensive night, but the experience feels unusually clear about what it is selling: glamour, comfort, abundance and the chance to make a story out of dinner. Bob Bob Ricard is not restrained, nor should it be. It is a thoroughly accomplished piece of restaurant theatre with a very good kitchen behind the curtain.