One of the more diverting trends emerging in the capital’s culinary circus is the proliferation of chef partnerships and ‘residencies’ – that elegant blend of creative dalliance and culinary showmanship where lauded chefs set up temporary shop in each other’s kitchens. Claridge’s has done it with aplomb, curating one-night-only affairs like they’re hosting gastronomic speed dating. Philip Howard’s Elystan Street plays regular host to visiting talents, and even the pubs are getting involved – I recently had an unexpectedly delightful evening courtesy of Bombay Bustle’s curry pop-up in a Notting Hill boozer. Curry and cask ale, eh? Why has no-one ever thought of that before.
Which brings us neatly to a residency not to be sniffed at: the marvellous seafood bar Faber, temporarily decamped from Hammersmith and holding court in the Holborn Dining Room at Rosewood London. It was over one such lunch that Larman and I found ourselves able to settle an old culinary score. He’d been to Faber, I hadn’t. I’d graced the bar at Rosewood London more times than is strictly respectable; he, never. Balance restored. And so, with this pairing, no battling over a lunch venue – it simply made the decision for us.
If you’re unfamiliar with Holborn Dining Room, imagine a hybrid of New York power-lunch glamour and Edwardian swagger: dark wood panelling, oxblood leather banquettes, Art Deco flourishes and statement chandeliers that wouldn’t look out of place in a midtown Manhattan steakhouse. We’re ushered through the main room to a glowing copper counter, a stage in the round, where a seafood drama in the form of their ‘From British Shores’ tasting menu is about to unfold.
Flutes of Billecart-Salmon are swiftly pressed into our hands; a fitting opening to a seafood cornucopia. Behind the counter, our chef greets us with a warmth and calm confidence that reassures you things are about to get very, very good. “We are, mercifully, in your capable hands,” Larman offers, ever the diplomat. A waiter asks if we’d like water. “Just tap, thank you,” I reply. And here’s where things get charmingly Rosewood: a bottle appears. I politely decline. “It is tap water, sir,” the waiter assures me. “Twice charcoal filtered and chilled.” Well, they do things differently at Rosewood London, don’t they. One wonders if they massage it, too.
We begin with a seaweed and lava bread amuse-bouche, nothing to write home about, but a clever way to calibrate the palate. Then comes a tray of oysters, each meticulously dressed. One with pickled rhubarb – a tart, vegetal brightness, elevating the traditional vinegar and shallots. Another with crème fraîche, wild garlic and cornichons – creamy, briny, crunchy – and the last ‘torched’ with nduja butter and oregano oil; smoky, spicy, a rogue wave on the plate. It’s an overture, a taste of what’s to come. Larman and I trade knowing glances.
Next, a dish that defies simple categorisation: chalk stream trout done three ways – tartare, sashimi, and cured – less ‘deconstructed’ sushi, more like a remix. Horseradish cream adds British bravado where wasabi would traditionally sit. It’s clever without being disingenuous. Chapel Down’s Kit’s Coty sparkling plays chaperone, each sip a polite nod to the course’s clean, cold precision.
Then, a twist: scallop crudo paired not with wine, but sparkling Darjeeling tea. “Tea?” Larman says, cocking an eyebrow. But it works; floral, herbaceous, drawing out the scallop’s sweetness in unexpected ways. Surprising, yes. Inspired, certainly.
Now the lobster. Fermented in sourdough (I know, but bear with me), served with a buttermilk and daikon ‘slaw. It’s funky, lactic, faintly wild, but in that precise, Nordic way that suggests somebody has been reading a lot of Noma cookbooks. A glass of Gusbourne rosé is the lobster’s perfect foil, giving the dish a fruity lift and a celebratory flourish.
Then comes the crab – and suddenly the whole tone of the meal shifts. Gone is the light, breezy promenade along the shoreline. This is substance. Depth. Devilled crab with just the right back-kick of heat, crowned with a crumbled cheddar biscuit that adds crunch, richness, and a touch of playfulness. “British surf and turf,” Larman murmurs approvingly. “If Cheddar were a person, it would be applauding.” I nod, mid-mouthful.
The ‘main’, such as it is, is a beautiful slab of John Dory – Faber’s namesake, no less – Josper-grilled and lacquered with a smoked eel reduction. The fish itself is purposefully unseasoned, letting the salty, umami-rich sauce do the heavy lifting. And what accompanies this aquatic punch-up? A cocktail. A sweet one, no less. Odd? Maybe. Brilliant? Undoubtedly. The sweetness cuts through the smoke like a silver knife, rounding the dish with almost surgical precision.
And just when you think it’s all over, they bring dessert. A single madeleine, nestled in a scallop shell, with a small jug of warm, glossy chocolate sauce. A little ritual unfolds – one must pour it oneself, naturally – adding just a touch of theatre to what is, in essence, the most elegant of endings. “That, old bean,” Larman remarks, as we pass back through the dining room, “was one of our best yet.” I couldn’t agree more. “It’s just a shame it’s not a permanent fixture,” I reply, “otherwise I’d suggest it become a regular outing.”
So, yes, restaurant collaborations are fleeting. Ships in the culinary night. But when they work, they offer that rare thrill of the unexpected; the pop-up that punches above its weight. Faber at the Holborn Dining Room is one of those rare birds – and the migration only lasts the summer, so don’t wait too long to witness it.
The Faber Seafood Counter collaboration at Holborn Dining Room will be available throughout summer 2025. For reservations, please visit www.rosewoodhotels.com.
