Food and a flutter at the Palm Beach Casino
Bored of the same-old gastro-pubs and stuffy city centre eateries? In need of some high-stakes entertainment along with your sirloin? How about fine-dining followed by a flutter at your local gambling haunt?
This is the thinking, at least, behind a new breed of casinos in London that are beginning to promote themselves as dining destinations in their own right. An unusual destination for a relaxing meal out, you might think, but some of these gambling cum guzzling combos have even started to attract plaudits from the capital’s foodies. Critics swooned over the exquisite Italian cooking of famed former Harry’s Bar chef Alberico Penati at the private Mayfair gambling club Aspinalls, although with much goggling at the prices and general mink-coated blingingness of the clientele.
Those in search of the casino-dining experience but without a Russian oligarch’s bank balance to plunder could take a punt on the recently refurnished Palm Beach Casino restaurant on exclusive Berkley Square. With a new fusion menu to sample from recently appointed head chef, David Laval, london eating paid them a visit to see how the odds were stacked in their favour. Plus, with a free gambling lesson thrown in, along with £25 to spend on the floor of the casino after dinner, it was a chance to release the inner Daniel Craig from beneath the critic’s paunch.
Despite the high-falluting postcode, just opposite celeb sushi stop Nobu, the welcome from the Palm Beach staff on reception was warm rather than snooty, and there was not a DJ in sight on the punters crowded at the dingily lit bar. After a brief ID check (it’s compulsory so bring your passport) we were ushered through to a private room off the main reception for a glass of champagne. Here, the casino’s amiable manager Richard Poyner treated us to an interesting pep talk on the ins and outs of the industry, including how to spot a problem gambler (their “agitation” will become obvious to the staff and fellow punters, apparently) as well as scaring the assembled foodies with the amount of hidden recording paraphernalia on display. These places have more bugs than a doctor’s waiting room.
Lecture over and we were wafted across the cavernous palm-fronded gambling hall towards the restaurant on the other side. It was an arresting scene that greeted us. Standing at the various roulette, black jack and poker tables dotted about the dimly lit hall, straight-backed croupiers in natty waist coats practiced their dark arts of card shuffling and chip stacking to an eager looking crowd. At one table, an elderly woman in tinted dark glasses like Cruella de Ville in ray-bans clacked her chips nervously in a taloned hand. At another, two portly middle-aged men whooped excitedly over a sudden win, dealing each other a high five. My excitement mixed with apprehension as I contemplated competing against these hard-nosed gambling pros after dinner. I was shaken, perhaps, but more than a little stirred.
In contrast to the tense atmosphere outside, the restaurant itself turned out to be a curiously muted affair. High backed black leather benches, muted lighting and plain white napery made for a rather corporate feel; only the huge bubbling fish tank in the corner and peculiar white fronds dangling from the lofty ceiling gave the appropriate sense of eating in a Bond baddy’s underwater lair. If its understated taste and sophistication you are looking for, why bother coming to eat in a casino, after all.
We were joined at our table by Richard, who guided us through the restaurant’s eclectic menu, divided into four regional varieties - Chinese, Indian, Middle Eastern and “modern international” - to cater to the diverse tastes of the Palm Beach’s international clientele. Resisting the temptation to ask for chips with mine, I contemplated the Chinese section, but Richard steered me towards the “modern international” cuisine; it’s the most expensive menu and the one I suspected he would most like to show off the ambitious “fusion” style of his new head chef Laval.
My starter of “steamed scallops and panfried foie gras topped with black bean and orange condiments” - each fishy morsel served in its own individual retro scallop shell - certainly ticked all the fusion boxes going, and then some. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite cohere into a successful dish. While the scallops were tender and worked well in their punchy black bean sauce, the solid rectangle of foie gras sat uneasily with the predominantly oriental theme, and the accompanying salad of melon, an unidentifiable grain, and what I could have sworn was broccoli (although I couldn’t be certain in the murky light) was frankly a bit odd.
I nervously contemplated the arrival of my main of roasted rack of lamb and comfit of lamb shoulder with ginger and star annise, worried it would be a similar uneasy marriage between continents. Fortunately, this partnership was carried off with a little more finesse. The lamb was suitably rare and well-seasoned and complemented well by a rich winy jus. The ginger and star anise were no more than background notes in the salty, buttery confit that accompanied the lamb in its own dinky little jar, along with a delicate medley of wintry veg.
Over a silky bottle of Marques de Piscal Spanish Rioja 2003 I got talking to Richard about his seemingly glamorous role. With over 22 years experience in the gambling industry, first as a croupier in the provinces and then as a casino manager in London, he was a mine of information on a business well known for its shady side, and the knowing glint in his eye suggested there was more to his experiences than he was perhaps prepared to let on to a table full of sensitive foodies. He did, however, reveal one startling fact: as regulars at the casino 65% of the restaurant’s customers don’t pay for their meals. No wonder, therefore, they were making an effort to pull in the punters.
Our table were soon familiar enough to share a selection of desserts prepared by the casino’s resident patisserie chef, Vincent Bleurois. They were rather good. A dense rich slice chocolate tart was partnered by a dinky pot of eggy crème brulee, scattered with delicious nuggets of crunchy caramel. Best of all though was a boozy tiramisu, the sponge and cream encased in a delicate white chocolate basket and accompanied by a glorious passion fruit fool. Betting or not, I would come back for this.
Dinner over and it was time for our gambling lesson, so we waddled off across the casino to another private room off the main hall. Being something of a gambling novice, I found even the rules for the roulette wheel difficult to follow, despite the patience of our charming croupier, Amanda. As for the black jack, I managed to grasp that the aim is to beat the dealer and that 21 is the score to get, but I kept getting my hand movements confused so I dealt when I should have stayed and stayed when I should have dealt (“not twist and stick – that’s Pontoon,” Amanda chided). Not so much Daniel Craig as Frank Spencer of the card table.Finally, we were handed our free £25 chip and released onto the floor of the casino itself. I nervously surveyed the hall wondering what table to join. Sensing my hesitance, Richard sidled over and offered to lead me out among the late-night gambling crowd. Fearing a round of black jack might be beyond my meagre skills, I gingerly approached one of the roulette table and placed my chip tentatively down on my lucky number sixteen. “No more bets, please,” the croupier hollered as the tiny ball clattered around the wooden bowl. I held my breath as it rolled agonisingly to a halt … it landed on number one, two tiny slots away from my sweet sixteen and a £1,000 jackpot. “Oooo close!” Richard beamed, a sly smile playing on his mustachioed lip. I shrugged reluctantly and decided it was time to call it a night, despite what had been an enjoyable evening with some surprisingly good nosh.
So why not give casino-dining a try? It certainly makes a change from your average London eating experience; and if the chef has an off night there is always a chance to win the price of your meal ticket back. Not many of the capital’s eateries would be so generous.
Words & Pictures: Mark Day
