Review at a glance: ★★★★☆
Town. As in — they’ve gone to it. Boy, has money been funnelled into the place. Wowee. Pricey Drury Lane address, big name chef in Stevie Parle. And look at it: acres of glazed claret tiles, a low-slung ceiling, the kitchen’s WhatsApp-green frontage. Town is somewhere of dark wood and furniture lifted from the office of a particularly successful Sixties ad man. It’s the sort of place that years ago would have filled with men in black tie and women in silk, for parties where getting your eye poked out with a cigarette holder posed a significant risk. I walked in and didn’t know if I’d boarded an ocean liner or fallen into a lava lamp.
