My theory on the current explosion of French-inspired dining ventures, in London and beyond, is that many restaurateurs these days feel that it’s much better to have a direction – in this case, pointing at Paris – than no direction at all. Take 74 Duke, a brand new, mock-Parisian brasserie just off Oxford Street that serves filet de bœuf, tarte au citron and potent Bastille cocktails and appears to have Mayfair’s mega-affluent tourist firmly in mind. It’s an elegant, pseudo-Gallic, Emily in Paris-style brasserie with outdoor seating – a place to see and be seen, rather than some confusing, pan-European, small plates trendy-wendy joint. And, zut!, its rather limited menu sets out its stall pretty tout de suite, too: salade César, escalopes de veau, crevettes royale à la sauce thermidor.
So, yes, 74 Duke is très French, but it is also a pricey, sterilised, movie-set version of France for diners with deep pockets and only the smallest yearning for true French cooking. Decor-wise, it is heavenly inside and out, like a sleek private jet or objet d’art showroom that opens by appointment only. It is a dreamy blur of honey-coloured leather banquettes, elegant awnings, ivory paintwork, dainty doilies on silver platters, monogrammed cutlery, pretty mahogany tables and the kindest, most diligent, white-jacketed staff.
