Laudable: the sustainability-focused Apricity in Mayfair
(Picture: Adrian Lourie)Near the bottom of Apricity’s website — deep in the relegation zone of small print that’s presumably only looked at by restaurant critics — there is a telling detail. Not the bit about it being a dog-friendly restaurant (though that feels, in its own way, reflective of a city increasingly in thrall to its furry overlords). No, next to that, there is a note on opening times. One that explains the observance of a 9pm closure and 11pm curfew so the team can “finish before midnight and can safely take public transport home”.
It is a piece of quietly radical common sense; a heavy hint that this venture — a new sustainability-focused spot in Mayfair from ex-Treadwells chef patron Chantelle Nicholson — is about challenging all manner of outmoded industry norms. However, if this commendable prioritising of staff wellbeing feels like it runs contrary to the prevailing, hellraising spirit of many openings in these supposedly roaring 2020s, then that, for better or worse, is also another form of clue.
Apricity which, beautifully, means “the warmth of the sun in winter”, is a laudable endeavour run with thoughtful confidence and charm. Many of its heavily plant-based dishes conceived by Nicholson and head chef Eve Seemann are gorgeously rendered. And yet, something about its polite seriousness and haloed sense of mission, left me feeling measured admiration rather than unbridled joy. Apricity can feel a little like being made to eat your vegetables.
Still, did I mention that most of those vegetables are just very, very impressive? Having plumped for the five-course taster menu (there is also a la carte and a seven-course option) we settled in the stark, hemmed in space on a Friday lunchtime. Things began with a sinful unbilled snack: a deep-fried, teak-brown gobstopper of sweetened chickpea dough with a gooey, caramelised fava bean centre and the sense-memory of West African bofrot. “They knew you were coming,” grinned my cousin Tenne.
Drawing out vegetable sugars through robust cooking — especially evidenced by a dish of sticky, crisp-edged little boats of Isle of Wight aubergine — quickly established itself as a recurring, highly effective theme. Happily, this deftly wielded flavour intensity, and note of surprise, applied to the omnivorous dishes too. Rosy, fleshy hunks of sugar-cured chalk stream trout stood up to a luscious dribble of sea buckthorn; slivers of braised ox tongue dissolved dreamily in a hugging broth of oceanic depth.
It was only around the meal’s third act that things started to fray a little. A sliced steak of Devon pork presa, dribbled in a lurid green wild garlic sauce, was solid if unmemorable. Meanwhile, a dinky little pre-dessert of diced rhubarb and crumble topping on, I think, a vegan cashew cream struck me as a little puritanical in spirit; one of those plant-based puddings that almost becomes an inadvertent bit of dairy industry propaganda.
This is the broader issue, really. Righteousness can be its own blindspot. And in trying to do something trailblazing — in employing everything from a QR code menu to staff uniforms spun from recycled bottles — Apricity can occasionally feel like it loses sight of fun and basic diner enjoyment.
There is hope though. A pair of absolutely outrageous, showstopper desserts — a moodily dark and honeycomb rubbled plant-based chocolate pudding; plus the “chouxnut”, a Nicholson signature comprising a ridged, sugar-dusted ring of deep-fried choux pastry — work primarily because they feel unrestrained, distinctive and indulgent. Honing in on them, and maybe reordering the room so it feels more convivial and less cramped, could help bring Apricity the lasting audience its admirable ethos and considerable skill deserves. Virtue is all well and good. But here and there, a little bit of vice is not the worst thing in the world.
