So, the chap and I decided to go on a supper date one evening. This time, however, it was a little special because he had no idea where we were going. I took charge. “Get your hair done, put on a nice pair of shoes and grab your jacket,” I said. “You’ll love this.”
The Uber arrived promptly. We hopped in and weaved our way through the West End traffic—Green Park, Piccadilly, Soho. The car eventually stopped on a narrow lane in this infamously loud and licentious area.
“Russian-inspired British food,” I revealed. It took no more than a millisecond for his lips to curl into a wide smile.
Time Out London describes Bob Bob Ricard as “the sort of venue you can imagine Bertie Wooster taking his pals after a day at the Drones” — “British and Russian comfort food, plus lots of champagne”.
Hunkered down in a relatively quiet quarter of Soho, the frontage of Bob Bob Ricard looks surprisingly unassuming. But once the ushers open its doors, the elegant, Roaring Twenties décor sweeps you back to the golden age of New York—a time of splendour and sustained prosperity, where people danced, dined and drank in whirls of jazzy smoke as though there were no tomorrow.
The dress code is elegant, though no tie is required. It serves both lunch and supper, and stays open as late as 1 a.m. from Thursday to Saturday. It’s the perfect place to dress up, unwind past ten—and, best of all, take your time while avoiding the usual dinner crowd.
The menu changes only slightly with the seasons, so you can always count on your favourite late-night comforts whenever you visit BBR throughout the year. Each booth comes with an extravagantly convenient “Press for Champagne” buzzer. Give it a nudge and flutes of bubbles will promptly arrive at your table.
But press sparingly, I would caution—for it comes at a price, and a very serious addiction.
Ambience: right. Champagne: served. Prayers: answered.
Utterly smitten.
For starters, we had truffled vareniki—traditional Russian dumplings served with shimeji mushrooms and crispy onion—and lobster pelmeni topped with flying fish roe. Both were drenched in a gloriously rich gravy. So good were they that we ordered a basket of bread and wolfishly wiped the plates clean.
For his main, he had the Champagne and truffle humble pie. The pastry lid was perfectly crusty, and the filling luxuriously creamy—a bowl of baked indulgence with mushrooms, pecorino, pearl barley, leek, and, of course, Champagne and black truffle. Who knew a dish laden with fungus could taste this good?
We’ve never had a vegetarian dish better than this.
My main was venison steak tartare, served with a raw quail egg and croutons—a dish my mum would never approve of. I could already imagine her going on about the endless cons of uncooked meat, but nothing could change my love for this finely minced, rebellious delight.
We slipped into our usual tittle-tattle—drinking, eating, people-watching, then drinking and eating some more. After a while, we finally summoned the dessert menu.
Full as we were, there was no way we were missing BBR’s signature Chocolate Glory—a golden chocolate globe that melts and blooms open under a stream of hot chocolate. Hidden within were Jivara mousse, brownie, meringue and passion fruit–orange jelly. Each spoonful was pure, gilded pleasure, with an aftertaste that lingered—subtle, slightly bitter, like dark chocolate.
We couldn’t resist ordering the Eton Mess en Perle as well—a beautiful pink lime-meringue globe encasing an even more delightful mix of strawberry sorbet, raspberry, marshmallows and cream. I liked this one even more; a tangy dessert always finds its way straight to my heart.
Alright, my love—enough blabbering. Let the photos do what they do best: make us all hungry and just a little jealous. And if you’re still wondering whether to keep scrolling, the exit button is right there in the top-right corner.
With love x