It's easy to see just how the recently opened Pearl in Mayfair got its name.
Perched atop the Italianate Brown Hart Gardens (reimagined by late great landscape architect and horticulturalist, Nigel Dunnett), the building shimmers – its curvaceous roof dipping slinkily in the middle, allowing one of the domed pavilions behind to peep up, just as if you'd prised the shell off an oyster.
This is a clever piece of architecture, for a part of London that demands such refinement; the original electricity substation and its elevated grounds were originally transformed at the turn of the 20th Century by none other than Charles Stanley Peach – most famous for designing Wimbledon's famous Centre Court.
The tactile approach to design continues around and inside Pearl. Teal metalwork on the outer edges 'froths' with oceanic 'bubbles'. And a low, sweeping oculus window right at the heart of the restaurant suffuses the interior with natural light and shade; clouds passing overheard reminiscent of a Renaissance painting.
Under the clarity of an early autumn sky, we saw Pearl at her dazzling best. She's petite, only seating a few dozen covers. And her refreshing brightness, and open glass frontage is a tonic to the many bougie, dark dining rooms in this part of the city. A gleaming oasis of calm to escape the frenetic nearby Oxford Street.
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This latest offering from The Beaumont Mayfair (just a few steps away) has been designed under the auspices of culinary director Lisa Goodwin-Allen and executive chef Brendan Fyldes, who've collaborated on a menu that puts sunshine on a plate. Sharing dishes plucked from the mountains, meadows and seashores of the Mediterranean.
From the off it was one of the most relaxing lunches we've enjoyed in London for some time, largely due to the absolutely gorgeous service from the front of house manager, who burst with enthusiasm, knowledge and 'good vibes'.
She talked us first through Pearl's accessible and approachable drinks list, with a leaning to old favourites mingling alongside new wave wines and cocktails.
The Rebujito spritz was a bit of a revelation, and a crisp depart from a classic Hugo or Aperol. This simple stirring of Tio Pepe in good lemonade over ice opened out the herbaceousness of the sherry in the most surprising way, with a lingering savoury sweetness that synced beautifully with all the dishes we tried.
And Croatian Stina Cuvee was a knockout too, bursting with honey and ripe white melon.
But let's get onto the food, shall we? The menu is split into nibbles, small plates and larger plates. Around three small plates, two larger and a couple of sides is sufficient to conquer even the rumbliest of tums.
And what plates they are too. When outfitting the restaurant (which leans into a kind of Art Deco/Mid-Century mash up) the kitchen could have opted for super 'clean' crisp white plates, but they've chosen to pay homage to familial dining with serving dishes that feel distinctly homely and Mediterranean – the edges printed with unfurling petals and yellow and blue flowers.
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It's the kind of serveware you might encounter on a sun-filled terrace under a lapis sky and vine and wisteria-tangled pergola in warmer climes; another signpost to the kind of dining experience Lisa and Nigel want customers to have. Not one of starched linens and stiff upper lips, but one where the top button of the shirt comes undone, and wine, food and conversation flow.
Our trio of small plates did the trick. Octopus (which can be a rubbery foe in the wrong hands) cut like butter, framed by a taramasalata-like nduja aioli that danced around with sharp apple and lime.
The carbonara croquettes, we expected to burst on biting like a Spanish croqueta, but Pearl's are slightly more cunning – the crumbed exterior hiding nuggets of fused carbonara noodles and smoky guanciale, all topped with cured egg yolk. It worked. And we liked that the kitchen hadn't held back on black pepper and Parmesan. The flavour took us right back to labyrinthine Trastevere.
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A surprising palate cleanser came in the form of a silky boule of burrata, all crisply milky, with a herbal dressing, leaves, sundried tomatoes, grilled peppers and artichokes. The menu billed hazelnuts which were few and far between. Their roasted intensity could have brought more to the party.
Though we'd asked for them medium rare, our pair of lamb chops in the middle nonetheless were supremely soft and tender, flamed at the edges with gnarly, umami fat that begs you to gnaw from the bone (and yes we did, thank you). Lightly cured greens and cucumber, and an understated, not-too-pungent tzatziki completed the picture.
We also happily tucked into a fine pair of fleshy prawns pil-pil, doused in a green chilli dressing entering chimichurri territory.
Then there were the sides. Unassuming-looking cubes of bravas whose appearance did little to belie the warmth of the spicy sauce and lip-smackingly garlicky aioli. And an exceptional bowl of charred, yoghurt-marinated cauliflower with pomegranate, green salsa and toasted almond giving serious Ottolenghi vibes. Just the kind of thing, we agreed, we'd love packed up in Tupperware on demand in the fridge for workday lunches.
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The pudding menu is, as in most parts of the Med, short and sweet. A star turn was the crema Catalana. Think of it as creme brulee's sexy little sister. A lighter, gently citrus-perfumed custard, with a burnished crinkly crackly top. Heavenly.
Pearl's orange polenta cake, though, didn't quite make the charts. It was missing a proper burst of orange for both of us and would benefit from a juicy soaking syrup or something else to slap the palate about a bit, like a sherbetty sorbet or bright nuggets of fruit.
Lunch was rounded out with the restaurant's heady, exotic honey cardamom latte – a dreamy note to finish on after a charming chorus of plates singing from a rather tempting song sheet.
We rather liked this place. Unstuffy, affordable (certainly for London), and thoughtfully outfitted, it's a little stunner to escape to from the hubbub of the West End.
