Review at a glance: ★★★☆☆
Critics sometimes get it wrong and restaurants have off nights. A reminder of this materialised last week in the chipper form of Ledbury chef Brett Graham, who works six doors down from Eel and Dorian, a magnificent pair of restaurants that share an owner in Chris D’Sylva. Having lunched at the former, I was emptying the cellar at the latter with D’Sylva when Graham, perhaps picking up the scent of Chassagne-Montrachet, spotted us and popped over. That both are restaurateurs and Australian expats makes it easy for them to see eye-to-eye, helped in a literal sense by the fact they are, curiously, exactly the same height. Unsure if Graham would remember or even have read my lacklustre review of The Ledbury on its 2022 reopening, I thought it best to clear the air. “It was gutting,” he said. “And I still remember the service — the drink spilt on you, the late booking, drama in the kitchen.”
But then he offered to show me how things were today, four years on. The Ledbury I saw that afternoon — I didn’t eat or drink — is a restaurant overflowing with the passions of its owner. It has not been thought about but obsessed over: every nook has been considered, every cranny polished twice. My old opinion is now null and void. Poor sods, they’d just had an off night. The double, then.
On to Auguste. The name refers to a type of clown — the jolly, pin-striped and chequered sort. The owners say it is for the sad, cigarette-smoking clown in Edward Hopper’s melancholic Soir Bleu, though he’s actually a Pierrot. Clown enthusiasts must be fuming. Also, the painting — a copy of which is on the wall — is a reminiscence of Paris, and Auguste is Italian. Someone, somewhere, has been getting all mixed up. What does this mean? Well, it’s hardly a sign. But it might be an omen.
The bill for two at Auguste came to almost £300
Auguste fills what was once the ill-fated Papi, and to look at, not much has changed. The decor is similar: blue paint has been covered in plain wood, tablecloths introduced, but the white-tiled kitchen hasn’t been touched and the loos are still the red of flushed cheeks. It remains handsome. Bottles of Campari were lined up in a way that brought to mind Warhol’s Campbell’s Soup Cans. I like all this: here is an opening that feels economical and practical, well reasoned. There has been no wasteful starting again for the sake of it. Mike Bagnall and Dylan Walters, the owners, have nous: it feels like a restaurant opened with more pluck than cash.
Italian, Auguste, but not in the usual way of it, and definitely not in the New Yawk red sauce mould that’s slowly been taking hold. Bagnall fell in love with Abruzzo, right in the middle of Italy, and offers a menu that skips the ragu and risotto in favour of things like hefty asparagus stalks lazing beside a pool of thick wild garlic sauce with beautifully fresh peas, or narrow skewers of salt marsh lamb. It is a menu to share. “Two is perfect,” said the affable Walters, crouching at the table. “It means you can just order it all.”
We endured unfathomably undercooked cappelletti
So we did, after promising cocktails — a very decent vesper and saffron-scented Auguste negroni. What followed was very up and down: there was intensely garlicky oil we pawed at with so-so ciabatta; we devoured expertly sourced, pungent and potent pecorino; and little pucks of potato rosti with blue cheese and marjoram were gleefully oily, almost comically tasty. Had I had 15 of these with the not unfairly priced aligoté, I would have left rhapsodising.
Instead, we endured unfathomably undercooked cappelletti, wished the morels stuffed with wild boar weren’t so dry, and generally shuddered at all the salt. “I don’t,” said my friend, raising his eyes to mine in apology, “think I can keep eating.”
The full bill was just shy of £300, which both flabbergasted and horrified us — the menu cunningly makes it look, at a glance, like the place is reasonable. Not so. There is more, but in truth I don’t feel right giving it a kicking. It has enormous promise, and Bagnall and Walters are extremely easy to admire. Auguste will never be the Ledbury but, well, I think it was having a wobble. An off night. Time will tell if I’m wrong.
Meal for two about £300; Auguste, 373 Mentmore Terrace, E8; @auguste__london
What you say
Joe Rooney: “Sit at the counter, order everything and soak it in. Food is exceptional with drinks and service to match. Auguste is a wonderful addition to the neighbourhood.”
Alina Dusu: “We sat at the chef counter. Great food and atmosphere. All the dishes were really tasty (meat and veggie), but the lamb arrosticini/skewers were our favourites.”
James Baldwin: “The food was fine, but not particularly mind-blowing or noteworthy — we left thinking the food would’ve been better than it was. This is a restaurant for vibes.”
