Fenix, a new Greek restaurant on Piccadilly in Mayfair, is very much part of what I’m calling the “maximalist” group of modern openings. See also Lilibet’s and Simpson’s-in-the-Strand. Financial downturn? Never heard of her.
While restaurateurs are all over the media turning out their empty pockets and pleading poverty, this new offshoot of a Manchester institution casually throws down another Sims-style pleasure palace. The photographs of the sumptuously ornate, Athenian-influenced interior can’t be real, surely? Well, it turns out they are. As you leave six lanes of moving traffic behind you and enter Fenix, eureka! You’re suddenly in a cross between an Aegean god’s haven and the White Company’s bedding department.
Why am I surprised? After all, the place is run by the people who opened Tattu, the six-strong chain of equally flamboyant Chinese restaurants owned by brothers Adam and Drew Jones of the Permanently Unique group. Kitsch, chaotic and turning a tidy profit, they are unforgettable. Tattu, which has sites in Manchester, Leeds, Birmingham, Edinburgh, London and Dubai, boasts multiple differently themed dining rooms, neon walkways, mock bridges, koi carp ponds, tableau tapestries, cocktails that billow smoke, a giant cherry blossom tree, bars that resemble burning cauldrons and incense pumped into reception. Tattu makes Gordon Ramsay’s Lucky Cat feel like Scandinavian simplicity.
In a world of earnest, single-sheet menus and Who Gives A Crap? loo paper hospitality, Permanently Unique says: “Hold my coat!” That’s all well and good in Manchester, people sniffed about Tattu, but it’ll never work in London. But people were wrong, and now the Jones boys have taken Fenix, which opened in Manchester in 2023, south, too.
That said, Fenix is 1,000% more serene than Tattu. It’s inviting, classy and, of a Monday lunchtime, the posh Greek small-plates menu is clearly quite the draw. They seat me in the second capacious dining room, because the first one is already full. Can taramasalata, hummus or moussaka ever be fancy? Short answer: yes. The moussaka, for example, which is somewhat deconstructed, is made with short rib, Cretan graviera cheese and caramelised aubergine; it’s a small portion, too, but very rich. The taramasalata, meanwhile, is smoked, and comes as a soft, white, silky, pungent pile of loveliness. The hummus is also great, scattered with paprika and served with warm pitta. We’re not quite able to let the last dregs of the taramasalata go uneaten, so we order more bread to scoop it up.
The food here feels serious, but the staging errs on the flamboyant. There’s a cocktail that tastes like gin and orange Fanta, and comes in a glass that looks like a Sputnik and is called, preposterously, an Aegean Smash, while most of the dishes seem to feature a dousing of cod’s roe or caviar. Does a king crab salad need to be truffled? This is merely playing to low tastes and deep pockets, but in its beating, fake Greek heart, Fenix does seem to care more about the food than it needs to.
As well as à la carte, there’s an all-day set menu – two courses for £34.50, three for £39.50 – and hearty-sounding sharing menus for larger parties. We stick to the main list, eschewing the sea bass fillet with smoked pepper cream, lamb shank giouvetsi, orzo with langoustine and feta, and wagyu stifado, and opting instead for some fried calamari and tuna, truffle and caviar tartare. The calamari is certainly elevated: crisp, light and tempura-battered with coriander, a lime and olive oil dressing and some spicy mayonnaise. The tartare is very good indeed: top-quality fish, beautifully chopped, though slightly over-egged on the truffle and caviar front. Which Greek god is in charge of truffle oil, and what did I do to invoke his wrath?
Fenix is the polar opposite of Impala, which I visited a fortnight ago and have thought about more or less ever since. Impala is groundbreaking, cool as hell and totemic; it’s dark, moody and certainly not for everyone. Fenix, by contrast, is big, bright, brash, dumbed down, shameless and open to all. There’s even a vanilla creme brulee on the dessert menu, for crying out loud, served to share and with crumble, caramelised apples and cinnamon ice-cream on the side. It is clearly from that famous part of Greece called, er, France.
But the point is that Fenix is essentially saying: “Who can resist a creme brulee?” Not me, for one. Sure, other, more Aegean-appropriate desserts are available – tsoureki with lemon cream and red fruits, say, or Greek ice-cream with loukoumades, or nougatine-studded chocolate Ion iced mousse named after the nation’s favourite bar – but I kept seeing this creme brulee pass by on its way to other tables, so needless to say I order it classlessly, wantonly and with no regrets. Fenix is fun and frothy, and it will infuriate many, but there’s no denying it’s thoroughly fit for purpose.
-
Fenix Stratton House, 80 Piccadilly, London W1, 020-3778 1986. Open all week, noon-1am. From about £75 a head à la carte; set menu Sun-Fri noon-5pm, £34.50 for two courses, £39.50 for three, all plus drinks & service
