Not a big room, Jackson Boxer’s new place, which is tricky as there’s already an elephant in it. This Paris-inspired bistro — wanting to be ooh la la, va va voom On-ree, not claret-at-the-golf-club Henry — is the sixth restaurant Boxer has on the go. Between this, the advertising irons he seems to keep in the fire, and, well, his lengthy Instagram essays (beautifully written all, but still), it’s a wonder he has the time. Is the chef spreading himself too thinly? There are murmurs.
Well, let’s see. Lunching during the soft launch, for free — don’t worry, I went back and paid last week — there was no hint of a man on the brink of burning out. Boxer smoulders, of course, but that’s another thing altogether. Here he was, chipper as anything. “Covent Garden used to be anathema to me,” he smiled. “But I wondered if I might be able to open a restaurant here I’d want to go to.”
