Ambassadors Clubhouse wants you to party. Never mind that, as per the adenoidal pronouncements of our new prime minister, we are collectively bound for an autumn of unrelenting fiscal gloom. Never mind the palpable, cuffing season vibe-shift towards boxsets, radiator-warmed pyjamas and cloistered frugality. Almost everything about restaurant group JKS’s much-anticipated return to the big ticket hospitality fray – the chilli-spiked Punjabi margaritas, the regally rich, £45 lobster korma, the basement club that stays open until 2am – is like the decadent equivalent of a brimming shot glass devilishly pressed into your palm.
So, I suppose, there is a sort of irony to the fact that, during my time there, one of the constants was the toil of a pair of neighbouring diners who had brought their very young children along. A recalcitrant toddler was coaxed into his chair with the dangled promise of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on an iPhone; his four-week-old brother was fed beneath a draped muslin; a spread of ornately presented chutneys, breads and tandoor-blistered meats was momentarily accessorised by a massive toy dinosaur. “Sorry about all this,” said the dad, late on, having recognised me. “I think the team here were a bit worried that us sitting next to you might affect your review.”
