Darby's

Review by Grace Dent of the Guardian. 21 June 2019

En route to Darby's, Robin and Sarah Gill's new project in south London, it struck me that for many years Vauxhall's nightlife did not focus much upon dining. The Hoist nightclub, for example, despite serving prime, leather-wrapped beefcake, never offered sustainably sourced small plates. Likewise, no one ever joined the 2am queue at Brüt in search of a pleasant soufflé.

For these reasons, and more, Vauxhall seemed a peculiar place for the Americans to unveil their shiny new embassy back in January 2018. Until then, our American friends were ensconced in a highly desirable Mayfair spot where US diplomats could choose from a host of local Michelin-starred restaurants - Kai, Murano, Umu, Gymkhana - without the need for a motorcade, or adding to their government's current £12m in unpaid congestion charges. Regardless, the American attachés and envoys now find themselves a 10-minute walk from Vauxhall station, in a gargantuan, purpose-built, space-age fortress set 100ft back from the road, prettified by ornamental ponds, yet essentially resembling a cross between the Pompidou Centre and the Premier Inn Reading Central.

Bringing some decorum to this melée are the Gills, known for The Dairy and Sorella in nearby Clapham, and well-respected among food types for genuine, heartfelt, hard-earned reasons. Yet while The Dairy is fancy-modern and Sorella tipsy-Italian, Darby's is a culinary bear hug for Robin's dad, the late jazz musician Earl Darby Gill. It's a nod of the head to Gill Sr's adventures while playing trumpet in Chicago and New York in the 1950s and 60s.

Darby's is an Irish-American eating palace that serves a fine yet wholly non-befuddling menu that features Dooncastle oysters and Guinness, native lobster brioche roll with roe mayo, grilled Dexter sirloin with green peppercorn sauce, pappardelle with veal ragù and gildas made with smoked eel (and called "little perverts" on the menu). On my first glance at the list, my eyes lingered on the fresh brown butter waffle with Exmoor caviar, Secret Smokehouse salmon and cultured cream.

This is a menu you could whisper into someone's ear as a niche form of ASMR therapy. Croissant with tonka bean ice-cream. "Seriously buttery" potato mash. How about turbot in seaweed butter with a side of buttered jersey royals with soft herbs? Do you want me to stop now? Did I mention the Tia Maria affogato?

Darby's is one to have up your sleeve for a multitude of eventualities: crowds, client dinners and date nights alike. It's a large space with subdued lighting and high ceilings. It's classy, with fast, excellent, knowledgeable service. There's a bakery, an oyster bar, an open grill and a large sun terrace.

But what is it like to eat dinner here on a Friday night in the shadow of the American embassy? Is it full of full-throated Trump fans demanding their steak well done and their portions bigly? No, it is not like that at all. Darby's reminded me of good, elegant but boozy dinners I've had in Washington DC, where people arrived perhaps intending to talk politics but had forgotten all about that by the second martini.

From 5pm until 7pm, six Blackwater Wilds oysters and a pint of Guinness will cost you a tenner. A decadent, airy cloud of well-seasoned chicken liver mousse with an unforgettable jerusalem artichoke and truffle "jam" is £12. Fresh slices of fig and walnut sourdough arrived with melted, truffled Baron Bigod, which may well be Britain's greatest soft cheese. Darby's winning formula may be a well-worn one, but it's one that never bores me: and that is simply to take incredible produce and serve it carefully. Or, as Gill puts it on the restaurant website: "Our single philosophy is: 'We have a wonderful product, let's try not to feck it up.'"

A plate of dayboat monkfish fillet, again in seaweed butter, is heroically good. A side of crisp, beef-fat potatoes turns out to be those thick, crisp, SpongeBob SquarePants-shaped, concertina-style slices of heaven. Two glasses of chablis down, I declared: "This is my favourite restaurant this year." "But you said that about Xier," Charles said. "A woman can change her mind," I replied, while pushing that affogato into my flip-top head, slightly high on the potent shot of espresso poured over malted milk ice-cream.

I left Darby's so jubilant that even the armed security guards holding semi-automatic 10-inch-barrel gas-piston-operated rifles outside the embassy seemed like "a great bunch of lads". Thanksgiving started early. God bless the USA.