The bad habit of calling dishes and drinks 'famous' has been getting out of hand in the UK of late. "Come and try our famous fish supper/chicken curry/Bloody Mary!" it says outside half the suburban pubs and restaurants you see. But the Dukes Hotel Martini really is supportably and demonstrably famous. Say 'Dukes' to most Londoners and 'Martini' is the Pavlovian response — followed by a kind of pained sigh. They can't remember how they got the hotel and what they did when they were there, but they do remember having a Martini or two.
The obscurity of the location and the excellence of the Martinis combine to make this Georgian townhouse something of a Brigadoon among London hotels. You remember it appearing one night out of the mist as you wandered around in the backstreets between the Ritz and St James' Palace. But you never could find it again and couldn't swear on the Bible that it really exists. Especially if you had a couple of Alessandro's Martinis.
An editor acquaintance of mine must feel this way. As a New Yorker, she knew her Martinis (she told us) and had no problem coping with three of Dukes'. Now, an elephant couldn't cope with three Dukes Martinis. She was later discovered half naked, locked in a lavatory in the Groucho Club. It took three women half the night to get her home.
Now Dukes is trying hard to be known for something other than its cocktails. It has always had a restaurant, but it's been mainly used by visiting American guests who either don't know London very well or don't want to be seen.
So they have done it up. The general manager, Debrah Dhugga, made her name at The Samling and Seaham Hall, the two most northerly outposts of high-luxe hospitality in England. She has tempted her former chef, Nigel Mendham, down to The Big Smoke (note: only people outside London call London 'The Big Smoke'). Oop North (only people outside the north say 'Oop North') he had a star and a following, so they have put his name over the door — or rather, just under the sign — at the newly-renamed Thirty Six restaurant at Dukes.
The main advantage of the restaurant is that you can't get lost looking for your table after a Dukes Martini — unless you've had three. It's downstairs in the part of a hotel where they usually keep spas or meeting rooms. It is still very discreet. You shuffle across polished stone floors into the Perrier Jouet champagne lounge, which is very green. Then you're ushered in a post-canapé state of gastro-titillation into a highly hushed space of grey and silver with auburn highlights — rather like the hairstyle of a visiting lady powerbroker from Washington or Madrid.
The hush allows you to treat the excellent British-via-Larousse-Gastronomique food with all due solemnity. I bowed respectfully at the way Mendham deconstructed Provence with his 'All things Nicoise' red mullet starter, and quietly applauded the balance of fruity and fatty in the Goosnargh duck. The sommerlier-ing was top drawer.
I only wished I'd had a bailout to negotiate or a merger to hammer out. Thirty Six feels too discreet and important for something so trivial as a mere night out.
Nightly rates at Dukes London start from £235 in a standard Dukes room exclusive of breakfast and VAT. For more information on the hotel and/or a special Dukes Package please call +44 (0)20 7491 4840 or visit dukeshotel.com.
