Bob Bob Ricard City review: Like a hallucinogenic trip, or a warm hug, this just needs to be experienced
Bob Bob Ricard founder Leonid Shutov said he wanted his recently renovated Bob Bob Ricard City restaurant to be “somewhere you’ll travel to” rather than somewhere you’d go “because you happen to be nearby.” In the capital, where half the new restaurants close within two years of opening, it’s a smart approach. ‘Make somewhere memorable’ seems almost too reasonable an ambition for a restaurateur – and yet so few eateries stand out like Bob Bob Ricard.
In case you’ve missed the hype since the flagship opened in Soho, the two restaurants are exactly what you might expect restaurants to look like when they’ve been through “multi-million dollar” fits – and then lots more on top. If you asked an AI image generator to “design a 21st century version of the sort of hedonist mecca Henry VIII would have gone to to dine on whole swans, presented on beds of caviar, their necks curled and spouting champagne,” Bob Bob Ricard City is the sort of place it might dream up. It’s the sort of place that comes around once every generation, preceded by the likes of The Ivy and Le Caprice as a genuine flagship destination, as unique in its look as it is memorable for its food.
It would do a disservice to try and run through the interiors; like trying to describe a hallucinogenic trip, or a particularly warm hug, it just needs to be experienced. But in short, it’s an explosion of colour and design detail that’s so stimulating that, if you’re me, you’ll stop and stare at everything for so long that staff will politely check to see if you’ve had some terrible news.
The food is French and modern British, with flair from across the world. We began with three servings of caviar, from weaker to reassuringly strong, because, well, why not? And it goes delightfully with champagne. (More on that fizzy stuff later…) Next we played it straight with a steak tartare, the Scotch beef tasting longer-aged and more intense than usual. A stinking bishop cheese soufflé was a great mound of a thing, with consistency somewhere between an omelette and a Victoria sponge.
We were celebrating my best pal’s wedding, and it felt like an appropriate best man suggestion to propose that we share the beef wellington, which is, naturally, everyone’s favourite dish, unless they’re really silly. Theatrically, it was presented to us whole, its crust hand-decorated and gleaming. Then it was swept away, then presented again, cut carefully into two big slices and two smaller ones. It comes with truffle jus but it doesn’t need it: the beef was perfectly cooked and the pastry avoided the pitfalls of a bad wellington; holding its shape until the bitter end, it refused to turn into a soggy mound and attach itself to the meat like bad versions do.
Then Wedding Boy, a few glasses of red down, pressed our table’s private “press for champagne” button. Our waiter came over looking animated. “Did you press for champagne?” he purred, broad smile on, playing along with the game. The restaurant’s champagne buttons are practically on the top 10 lists of things to do in London at this point, and I’d thoroughly recommend giving one a push just for the campiness and the pomp and circumstance of it all.
Four years on from opening, and gleaming with its fresh fit, Bob Bob Ricard City is a unique type of hedonism. You might be able to make a picture of it using AI, but as for the vibes – and the champagne – that requires a visit.
To book call 0203 145 1000 or visit Bobbobricard.com/city