Bar Finch Review: Another Gem in Mayfair's Dinner-matic Universe

When Charles Finch opened Chucs Bar and Grill on Dover Street in 2014, I was under his employment, and therefore contractually obliged to think it was marvellous. And to be fair, it was: a sloop-cabin-size restaurant with touches of its eponym’s taste everywhere.

Stepping into the new Bar Finch with only fond memories of Finch’s Quarterly Review and the occasional “What ho!” across Mayfair streets to tie us together, I could be more objective with my opinion of his latest venture. But Charles has never lived in the objective – he is a dreamer who invites us into his wonderland. Even A.A. Gill described Chucs as “a fantasy made real in miniature". Part of the Finch magic in general is that everything you see in his orbit is a breadcrumb to a well-lived life, and this time, it is not so miniature.

Bar Finch could be anything. It could be the bistro he stumbled across while trying to escape the bustle of Cannes with Minnie Driver. It could be a fish dish that he once prepared himself on the deck of his boat in Barbados. It could be a distant memory of a pasta he would eat with his nanny in Positano. I made all of these up, of course, but the Charles Finch schtick is that if it could be true of anyone, it is him.

I showed up with my gang of four; we are enthusiasts of Mayfair’s newest offerings, and rumours of the excellent burger at Bar Finch sealed our date in the diary. Of course Charles was there, acting as le patron mange ici in the style of Gavin Rankin and Simon Parker Bowles, and had Harvey Keitel, Mrs Keitel, and documentarian Nick Broomfield as his guests.

I suppose it was never going to feel new, drawing upon so much nostalgia that this itself is part of his brand of time travel. So were the names of dishes on the menu that were personal and tantalising, but you daren’t ask for a translation, as frankly, you should have been eating the Spaghetti Bar Finch for decades. Others could only realistically be ordered by Katharine Hepburn or Gary Cooper, like the "Peaches and Cream", or the "Well-Dressed Sweetheart".

Romantic? Yes, but does it taste good? Well, here’s the thing. Bar Finch requires its own classification, as what Charles has done is quite brilliant. Restaurants in Mayfair tend to be one of two things: either so special that you could only go a few times a year no matter what colour your Amex, and others that you could go to every day and be very happy, like The Wolseley or Cecconi's.

Bar Finch manages to be both of the above. Is it the best burger in London? No, but it’s sumptuous enough for you to like eating it regularly. Is there a small plate in sight? Only if you want the croque monsieur or Oysters Rockefeller at the bar. If you want big, then the unbelievably large heaping of tiramisu (which, annoyingly, I couldn’t try because of its booziness) is the best looking I have seen in London. The untidiness and indulgence of the cream is much more interesting than something sculpted and ramekined. At Bar Finch, you get the sense there is an in-house Nonna downstairs, armed with a large spoon to plate it all up.

I have been back twice since I went with the gang of four, and will have been back again by the time this piece is posted. I don’t envy anyone who opens a restaurant in Mayfair – the government are hostile to any such brave souls – but whenever I hear of someone having just gone to Bar Finch, I'll invariably feel a twinge of it.