The Wolseley

  1. Oh dear. Avoid at all costs.
  2. Below expectations.
  3. OK. Met expectations.
  4. I really enjoyed this.
  5. Amazing. Would unreservedly recommend.
  6. rating

160 Piccadilly, London, W1J 9EB

The Wolseley is a café-restaurant in the grand European tradition located in St James's on London's most famous of boulevards, Piccadilly. 160 Piccadilly is a Grade II Listed Building. The cuisine is of a high standard, the wine list extensive and the service efficient. Booking in advance is essential.
Nearest Transport
Green Park (Underground)

Reviews for The Wolseley

I’m a great admirer of Chris Corbin and Jeremy King and what they did particularly with Le Caprice and J Sheeky were textbook case studies in the London Restaurant market.

Their comeback to the capital probably post the end of a non compete period is another story.

The Wolseley on the other hand is probably closer in execution and positioning to another of their great success stories , The Ivy. The common theme here is that the food at both is no great shakes in fact for me the food at The Wolseley just does not cut it.

Hand on heart I cannot recommend anything on the menu and say it is good or even average be it the Salade Nicoise, Steak Tartare, Salt Beef, Hamburger, Weiner Schnitzel, Steak Frites or any of the deserts with the possible exception of the Banana Split.

If the food is not the basis of your decision-making when selecting a restaurant in this price bracket then you may find that you can have a pleasant evening in another David Collins Architects restoration.


RUMOUR HAS it that ‘The Wolseley’ turns over £10million a year. A few days ago I swapped £20 for breakfast. It takes that every minute. On the matter of money, this site spent 70 years as a Barclays, although it is better known for how it started - as a showroom for Wolseley cars. The upmarket British marque was founded, fin de siècle, by Herbert Austin, then manager of the Wolseley sheep shearing company. Where there’s wool, there’s a way (and here, a golden fleeced flock too).

The sharp design details of the original 1920’s commission still make a grand impression: chandeliers, chinoiserie and symmetrical brass staircases. Propped by dark, doric columns, the vaulted ceiling rises 30ft. The floor is a bold stracciatella marble web. This is a temple with tables: Venetian, Florentine and Viennese all at once, nipped, tucked and preened by the same designers who redefined nearby ‘Fortnum & Mason’. One of the first things I saw (or smelt) was the altar of homemade pastries, a celebration of saucy sounding ‘Viennoisserie’.

The minds behind are Jeremy Corbin and Chris King, the restaurateur double-act best known for rejuvenating ‘Le Caprice’ and ‘The Ivy’, amongst other hot spots designated safe for celebrities. When The Wolseley opened in ‘03, The Ivy’s imported doorman was the face greeting the glitterati…

The open plan seating encourages that curious sport of ‘see and be seen’. Our almost miniature, irritatingly low table was unfortunately sited, however. Being opposite the busy bar dispense, I was forced to follow the staff’s albeit intriguing complaints about a bad tempered customer. They are a diverse looking bunch, by the way, but broadly happy. Waitresses, from svelte to bulging at the belt, wear air hostess style cravats; supervisors are shoehorned into tight (and very tight) suits. Whilst most zigzag like pinballs, service can be sloppy: you, like I, may need to prompt for forgotten orders.

I doubt many make the pilgrimage for the plates. Despite the location’s link with tyres, The Wolseley will never turn the head of the homme Michelin. It seems that the stars shun stars, preferring comforting food rather then culinary couture. The sartorial equivalent of the menu (Salt Beef Sandwich, Leeks Vinaigrette) could be a tastefully worn, Saville suit (patched at the elbows). It might be worth pointing out that I once cancelled a booking at another Corbin and King venture, ‘St. Alban’ (Regent St.). I didn’t know the pedigree of the proprietors, and dare I say it, the menu looked dull at face value.

I cannot resent pastries. My tall, beeswax flavoured Cannelé Bordelaise looked like it had been jauntily shaped in a jelly mould. It came straight from the oven with a chewy, chocolate like crust and a centre which suggested dense panettone. Having made no masochistic New Year’s resolutions, I greedily rinsed this with ‘The Wolseley Imperial’ (bitter mandarin peel liqueur, cognac, double espresso, hot milk, chocolate powder layered with whipped cream). It tasted like a luxurious, liquidised Chocolate Orange. I chased this with a shot of fresh, bright, bitty orange juice.

To really set me up for the day I shunned the sordid sounding, lavishly priced Caviar Omelette (£52.50) in favour of a snug dish: Fried Haggis with conjoined Duck Eggs on fried toast. When burst, the large, molten, mustard coloured yokes stickily combined with the haggis. Moistly fatty, peppery, with notes of sweet spice in the finish, the pluck was minced into an earthy softness. A battered, highly burnished silver pot of lean Darjeeling cleansed with its gentle aromas of Muscat grapes. Feminine without that overwhelming aroma of, for example, Earl Grey, which for me is like drinking perfume.

My companion met ‘Arnold Bennett’ for the first time. An opulently creamy, Gruyère softened, smoked haddock studded eggy creation, named in honour of a long-term writer in residence at ‘The Savoy’. How ironic that his eponymous omelette outshines his novels. A transparent pot of what looked like a whole mint plant, including stalks, smelt brisk and brought colour to our table.

I rarely bother with a big breakfast. And half an hour after the fork hit the plate for the final time, I remembered why. Call it another type of morning sickness. As blood hurtled to my stomach to break down the early bombardment of artery addlingly rich food, a kind of fry-provoked nausea begun.

As the large station like clock passed 11:30, I spied the first frosty martini triangle take to a tray. Brightening linen landed on bare tables. Breakfast would become lunch, then tea and dinner until midnight. In excess of 1,000 famous, infamous and anonymous faces fed and watered.

Not content with having crafted several restaurants which are as much household names as their clientele, Corbin and King harbour seriously lofty ambitions. In October it was announced that they would be installing eateries over 13,000 square feet of the city’s unimaginatively titled, 288m tall ‘Pinnacle’ tower (under construction in the city). I prefer its nickname, the ‘Helter Skelter’. There is also speculation about a co-venture in New York with ‘Vanity Fair’ editor, Graydon Carter.

The original autos failed to sell. The Barclays bank transferred its funds elsewhere. But even amidst economic uncertainties, it becomes ever harder to book a space in Corbin and King’s Mayfair embassy of carefully cultivated café society.

Nearer Green Park station than Piccadilly and just a few doors up from the Savoy. Used to be a car showroom or something like that. This place is huge with alot of the trappings of elegance and romance. Wrought-metal spiral staircases sliding up onto another floor, drapes, wall hangings, and a hint of mystery. The mystery comes from the size, not just the decor - there's too much for your peripheral vision to take in and the eclectic mix of folk make it perfect for people watching. Food here is variable. Tumbling in at just under a tenner,the special Hot chocolate with brandy topped with thick-thick cream and powdered chocolate is pretty fine, the cheese on toast nifty - I'm coming back for the cucumber sandwiches. Food is secondary. The decor provides a good backdrop for peeping at the urban menagerie at play.

You get an eyefull here, and the food is wonderful. It's got a beautiful and complex vibe, partly traditional British but also a very relaxed decadence that you don't usually find in such an institution. It is only as pretentious as you want it to be... I was thoroughly disarmed.

the wolseley is a great restaurant. Lets just get that straight. It is by far the most grand place that i have ever dined at. There are impossibly huge ceilings and marbles floors and all that jazz. Doormen that are paid to remeber your face, it is more than just a restaurant it is a dining experience. But what about the food? The food is great, really tasty, some of the best in london i would go as far as to say. But of course it is not cheap. Oh no. It is expensive but not extortionate. That is to say there are plenty more expensive restaurants with lesser food on the menu. All in all a great restaurant.

The stunningly elegant interior provided the perfect relaxed ambiance for a special breakfast treat of Champagne, smoked salmon and scrambled eggs which were delicious. There was a good selection of newspapers to read and the waiting staff were efficient however if there was one critism they could cheer up a bit and offer service with a smile. Best to book in advance.

This feels like a big expensive restaurant. There is enough biege, black and gold in evidence to send anyone on a budget into a flat spin. However, the food and sleek service is excellent and surprisingly keenly priced.

We had a table with a clear view of the entrance and although my host was extremely good company, I could not help noticing that diners were entering and exiting as if on a catwalk. There was also quite a lot of hanging around tables, being seen. Some of the clientele are swishier than the waiters, who must be issued with special shoes.

I have been meaning to try this restaurant for a long while and thought The Wolseley might have lost its gloss this long after it opened, but I enjoyed the food and the incidental floorshow. We had a very good evening.

Lost for ways to entertain parents or in-laws when they visit you in London? I know, breakfast at The Wolsey. It's sure to impress. Beautiful space with impeccable service and the best chicken soup in London. As I recall, they are also very nice to ladies with morning sickness who happen to be sitting next the gentleman who ordered the pickled herring. Very nice, indeed.

Found The Wolsely on Piccadilly. It is expensive, but the place is amazing, the staff are great, and quite simply one of the best places for cheese on toast in London - enjoy..

They also make a mean cup of tea...

I LOVED it here. The Wolseley fits all sorts of occasions from breakfast through to high tea and the good old fasioned grandly done up dinner.

I didn't mind the black shirt/tie thing, it's just a uniform, and they weren't pretentious, they were just high end waiting pro's with sense of pride in their restaurant. We had a good laugh with our waiter who was happy to tell us anything was wanted to know, even getting us bits of stuff to taste before we made up our minds.

The food is good, and the building incredible, who cares if it was once a car showroom! What a showroom it would have been, it's exquisit.

I think this is what proper London dining is all about, sorry that Thriller had such a terrible time, but The Wolseley and it's ninja waiters tick all my boxes!

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