Coya

www.coyarestaurant.com

118 Piccadilly, Mayfair, London, W1J 7NW 

+44 (0) 20 7042 7118

Closest Tube: Green Park, Hyde Park Corner

Saturday 16 March, 7pm

Verdict: Neutral

It’s a bit like New Year’s Eve. Sometimes the expectation of having a good night sets you up for disappointment. You don’t have to be an avid reader of Shakespeare to know that expectation is the root of all heartache. Coya is Arjun Waney’s latest culinary venture and being a fan of both Zuma and The Arts Club I had been eagerly awaiting my chance to dine there.

First impressions are good. The restaurant is housed in the basement of one of the lost mansions of Mayfair. We walk up the steps to the front door to be greeted by two smartly suited gents protecting the entranceway. We are deigned to be acceptable enough to be granted access.

Steps down open up into a bar area besieged by beautiful creatures, and a reception desk for the restaurant. I feel like I have walked onto the set of a James Bond movie. We are greeted by the blonde equivalent of an Amazonian princess and at 5’7 with heels on I am craning my neck to look her in the eye.

We are seated at a table in the middle of the restaurant with leather banquette tables watched over by Inca masks to the left and the open prep area to the right, adorned with large glass bowls full of peppers and onions. The mood music is a rhythmic mix of percussion and lute.

We decide to order a selection from the leather-bound menu and share everything. The best way to taste as much as possible from the extensive selection. My wine-educated friend orders a bottle of white wine with no objection from the sommelier. Our starters all arrive in a hurry. The tuna ceviche is bursting with flavors of sesame, spring onions and chili and there is lime in there somewhere. Spectacular.

The scallops arrive and what we are presented with is unspeakable for sharing; three pieces for two people. The shellfish is lightly undercooked, probably five seconds too short, but the salad garnish of red onion and herb leaf makes up for this. I taste nutmeg, black pepper, dried tomato and something else, akin to polenta.

Our waiter is a smiley South American. I discover he is from Ecuador. I am assured that while many of the waiting staff hail from all corners of Latin America, the kitchen is dominated by Peruvians. Our plates are swapped out so we don’t have to put our dried monkfish on the same plate as the cerviche juice. 

The monkfish, on a stick, clears my nose. It is succulent and intentionally cold. The lime and chili battle with the fish for prominence. In terms of heat, it is on the verge of acceptable (on my scale). The combination of tastes and sensations is on the edge of genius, right on the cusp and it is heavenly. Any further and it would have been a complete disaster. 

Our main dish comes. Rib eye cooked rare-medium-rare flanked by two side sauces. The first accompaniment is tomato, chili and lemon. Its companion is onion, chili, parsley and lime. That second steak friend is hot!

Anyone who has eaten great steak in South America will recognise the expert cooking. While the sauces are tasty, it is cooked so well it could be eaten on its own. It’s a treat to be eating meat tasting of MEAT - not of blood - but close. It is slightly charred, not quite bitter, but heading in that direction. The interplay of soft meat with blackened edges is a harmonious contrast. It is crispy but not burnt.

We have sprouting broccoli with sea salt and a hint of vanilla. It’s been chili-fried in a light dusting of olive oil. All the dishes arrive on colourful fired clay plates and we eat off clean white crockery with Elia cutlery. 

We finish the bottle of Albariño and like notes in a score of music the wine and food we have eaten combine melodiously. As we make our dessert choices my tongue reminds me that I’ve taken a handpicked tour of a selection of the thousands of chilies of South America.

We share a tasty chocolate fondant delight with ‘Coya’ on top, and a creme brûlée packed with a fruit that is a somewhere between an avocado and a mango, with passionfruit on top. The caramelised topping has hints of toffee. We wash it down with a Hungarian Tokai dessert wine. I feel like I’m drinking syrup but my dining companion loves it.

So why the neutral rating you may be thinking after my the pleasing description of the dishes? It may be that my view is influenced by the champagne absinth cocktail I’d enjoyed earlier as a pre-dinner aperitif at Cafe Royal’s Grill Room. I had felt inspired as a budding writer sitting in the very same place where Oscar Wilde and Virginia Woolf had taken their tipples many years previous. 

Perhaps a brain soaked in alcohol may be less able to discern the nuances of the culinary experience I had just had. But I think it is more to do with how I was feeling about the complete experience; it was good but not exceptional. As I said in my opening statement, it was all about expectations and I felt like mine had been mismanaged. Sure, they were sky-high given that Coya is being billed as one of the ten hottest restaurants in the world right now, but I was left feeling like a kid who had been given an amazing toy for Christmas but my parents had forgotten the batteries. I’m sure you will want to check it out for yourself, however I don’t think I’ll be going back, unless Mum buys those batteries to make the gift complete.