Reviewed
2.98

There’s no such thing as the perfect restaurant. At least, not in an independent review. Prospero gets pretty damn close though.

It’s always been one of my private hobby-horses that restaurants in this country don’t provide you with bread and water automatically. It’s hardly the most expensive of courtesies, yet the grudging response that a request for a jug of water usually elicits would make you think you’d asked the waiter to crawl across the floor. Here, a basket of bread turned up immediately and a jug of water barely required a request. This was a good start.

The service in general was “relaxed”, but both friendly and attentive. An acquaintance dining the same evening said later that he’d found it a trifle slow, but he wasn’t really complaining. I wasn’t. I’m notoriously bad at reaching a decision on the menu. For once, the waiter was willing to stick his neck out (why is this so rare?) and recommended the steak over the rabbit. With apologies to vegetarians (but only just – my companion, a “fish vegetarian” expected no less), I like my steak to have been touched by the heat but little more. That means it’s got to be quite a good bit of meat. It was - and beautifully complimented by Juniper. And, at last, a restaurant that serves its “seasonable vegetables” crisp and crunchy!
I’ll spare you the lengthy ritual rhapsodies about the sea-bass, the cheese board and the tarts – it would only make your mouth water. (But, the tarts were rather good, despite the “dubious” apology on the menu to the effect that due to circumstances they were unable to provide their own tarts and had had to procure some from outside…).

For anyone who hasn’t found Prospero’s yet, it lurks above one of the High Street entrances to the Covered Market, near the High Gym. If this brings back memories of its forebears, Hemmingway’s or Atta’s, be reassured – the décor has been transformed into a light and comfortable elegance. And I stress the comfortable aspect of this (elegance doesn’t have to mean “minimal”): the tables are well spaced, the chairs have arms, the cutlery is really rather nice – and potentially tacky elements such as the be-ribboned scroll that is the bill are carried off with aplomb. Perhaps the music didn’t quite go with the rest, but it wasn’t intrusive.

One other thing – and if others can learn from this, then Prospero’s will have done us a real service. Now, I’m what serious tobaccophiles derisively call a “social” smoker. My companion of the evening is not so superficial. I’m not sure either of us really appreciate people smoking as we eat though. Prospero’s strikes a neat balance on this tricky issue: patrons are asked not to smoke at the table; instead, there is a lounge upstairs, with candle-lanterns, sofas, armchairs - and ashtrays. Usually I decline coffee and have it at home. Here you can simply retire upstairs and collapse in an armchair with your coffee for as long as you like. Bliss. Now, where are the cigars…?

I suspect it’s too late – but if you haven’t worked out where to take that special person in your life this Sunday, you could do far, far worse than plead with Prospero to squeeze just two more in. Failing that, just treat yourself, sometime soon.

J.P.