Thursday, February 16, 2012 - First impressions were good. The layout recalls the French House, only with more space. Downstairs it's all dark walls and taxidermy, speciality beers and post-ironic bar snacks: roast bone marrow, pickled eggs. It's cosy, and will be cosier still once the spanking newness has been scuffed off...But, oh dear, this place has none of St John's subtlety or inventiveness. The duck livers in my starter were soft and sanguinary but served on a wodge of sappingly bland white toast. Mackerel pate tasted supermarket-y. A decent slice of black pudding came with an egg that had been coddled solid, and imperceptible tarragon. A terribly oversalted pig's head terrine was a foretaste of what was to come.