David Ellis reviews Sessions Arts Club: Chef Florence Knight’s superb return is a place to see and be seen

This fairytale of faded Regency-era glamour has the sense of being a secret to treasure, says David Ellis
Fantasy room: the main dining space at Sessions
Adrian Lourie
David Ellis @dvh_ellis1 September 2021

The best restaurants feel conspiratorial; they are in on it all. They are both hosts and witnesses, watching laughing lunch parties and unfurling love stories — but also catching the confessions, eavesdropping confidences, noticing the furtive glances. You cannot design a feeling, but you can discover them: it’s there upstairs at the French House, downstairs at Andrew Edmunds and now — take the lift to the fourth floor — here at Sessions Arts Club.

Sessions — arty, yes; a club, no — has that sense of being a secret to treasure. I mean, too much of a secret for its own good to begin with: it took three walk-bys to spot its little red door left ajar. But that could just be me; sadly, I suspect, I wouldn’t have figured the wardrobe was the way to Narnia.

As it happens, this dining room is all fantasy: it is a fairytale of faded Regency-era glamour, worn green paint and crumbling pink plaster, ceilings as tall as giants, great arched windows breathing light. Appealingly modern-ish art is dotted about, though I could have done without the two pairs of plastic mannequin legs dangling from the ceiling, which made me wonder if someone had ransacked the local BHS when it went into administration. But the room is its own gallery; even the tablecloths are covered with white sheets of cartridge paper, the kind idle minds doodle on. Rarely do I feel nostalgia for a Nineties-era Beefeater, but I wanted waiters arriving with a pot of crayons, just like they did when I was little.

Though being run by St John co-founder and semi-professional suit collector Jon Spiteri, a delight, the headline act is Florence Knight, returning to a London kitchen after six or so years away — family had beckoned in the meantime. It is a joy to have her back. Knight’s irritatingly unstructured menu — direction is handy sometimes — is sort-of Italian, sort-of French, definitely seasonal, and mostly all simple stuff at prices that in certain instances seem comically high, as though just to confirm to outsiders that yup, London takes its lot for a ride sometimes (a single crab croquette, yours for a fiver). The wine list, put together by Noble Rot lads Dan Keeling and Mark Andrew, is terrific, but tyrannically doesn’t get going till the mid-£30s. And yet, and yet… well, we left stuffed and gloriously happy. Money is for spending. I’ll not prattle on: you know your own budget.

Deliciously sea-fresh: the mackerel with datterini tomatoes
Adrian Lourie

The way it was, those croquettes were beautiful little spheres, crispy and potently crabby, while a mackerel arrived deliciously sea-fresh and gently salty, the flesh sweet under a cover of datterini tomatoes and the tang of capers. There were squishy lamb sweetbreads among a moreish marsh of lovage and lettuce; one to remember as September flickers chillily. Sea bream with fig leaf and sorrel was bright and sharp, a Kooning palette of greens and white. We smiled at them all.

With the space the thing, this is a room to see and to be seen in, and our lunchtime was noisy with gossip. In the evening, one can wander in for a drink; if the piano gets going, I’m struggling to think of a better spot to do so. But whatever you’re in for, have pudding. A sweet melon slice was carved for a joyfully stuffed wedge of lemon sorbet was a dream summer finisher.

Dream summer finisher: melon with lemon sorbet
Adrian Lourie

Chocolate torte tends not to be the sort of thing to bring on the raptures, but here it was enough to cause a sly argument: a couple below us were ostensibly sharing, but the bloke kept taking bigger and bigger forkfuls. Cheeky bugger, I thought, but then my mum wasn’t keen on giving me a try, either.

If you’re booking off the back of this review — and do, despite the grumbles, I’m about to go back for more, I really did enjoy it — don’t tell your date about the puds, save them for yourself. Ask the restaurant to keep schtum. There’s your secret; they’re in on the rest of them.

24 Clerkenwell Green, Old Sessions House, EC1R 0NA. Meal for two plus drinks, incl service, around £150. Open Wednesday to Friday, noon - 2.30pm and 5.30pm - 10pm; sessionsartsclub.com

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