The latest opening from the Hawksmoor geniuses has been billed as something of a break from their established formula of enormous, male-oriented steakhouses and cocktail bars. Early word has been of a quiet neighbourhood restaurant, a more modest and humble undertaking than the big, brash and bold places that have made the company’s name.
Parquet floors, like steaks, require meticulous care. My grandmother knew this with clarity, and as a boy I used to visit her every Saturday to gorge on steak and chips.
You’ll hurt at Hawksmoor. If you don’t then you’ve failed. Aching, distressed, belly-burning protein poisoning. Covetous carnivores in their baggy shirts and lose-fitting trousers have declared Hawksmoor steaks the best in town.