Food is where the money’s gone. Menus are brand new, and eminently easy to follow — nothing where what sounds like a cream for athlete’s foot turns out to be a fashionable cheese. This is a restaurant of bone marrow crumpets, Welsh rarebit fries, of steaks and lamb chops, suet puddings and whole pig heads. I could eat it all. A restaurant for smart dates and overdue catch-ups; but also, I suspect, of a few afternoons that descend happily into fogginess. Not much for veggies, true, but come on. You don’t go to a Chop House expecting a decent line in couscous.
