Restaurant of the Month: Town House at The Kensington.
There’s a certain kind of hush that falls over Kensington at dusk - the quiet confidence of old money settling in for another night of effortless indulgence. And nestled among the Georgian façades and Range Rovers the colour of melted butter sits Town House Restaurant, the beating heart of The Kensington Hotel.
It’s the sort of place that whispers rather than shouts; where soft jazz hums through the air, the lighting flatters everyone over 35, and the decor makes you wonder if Nancy Meyers has been moonlighting as a consultant.
Before the main event, we detoured into the K Bar, a sultry little hideaway that feels like a Bond villain’s study crossed with an art deco speakeasy. The menu itself is theatre - literally. What appears to be a simple black jewellery box opens to reveal an artisanal cocktail list, reflected elegantly in a mirrored lid. It’s equal parts alchemy and illusion - and yes, it’s impossible not to coo over it. The Pangea, all dusky Mount Gay Black Barrel rum, banana, pandan, and coconut, was a tropical fever dream with a Cambridge degree - rich, smooth, a little flirtatious. Meanwhile, the Shibuya, with its Busker Single Malt, sesame, and Sakura vermouth, strutted in like a Japanese salaryman on a London exchange - polished, precise, and beautifully balanced.
By the time we glided into the dining room, we were primed for seduction. Town House’s interior hums with low-lit grandeur - wood panelling, velvet banquettes, and chandeliers that glow like a flattering Instagram filter. The crowd was an elegant mix of hotel guests and locals.
We began with the British Burrata - a lush, creamy moon of dairy decadence lounging among heritage tomatoes so ripe they seemed to blush at the attention. The pesto sang in grassy soprano, while the focaccia crostini provided a toasty, chewy bassline. A dish that managed to be both comforting and couture. My companion’s pumpkin soup arrived like autumn in a bowl - silken, golden, and perfumed with nutmeg. It was a hug in liquid form, if the hug came from someone wearing cashmere and impeccable cologne.
For mains, the black cod was a minor miracle - all smoky-sweet miso glaze and gently quivering flesh, propped up by sticky jasmine rice and a whisper of dashi that gave it quiet depth. The slow-braised lamb shank, meanwhile, was a different sort of theatre - the meat collapsing at the mere suggestion of a fork, steeped in a heady puttanesca that tangoed with Mediterranean rice studded with capers, raw garlic, and olives. The accompanying Durigutti Malbec was a brooding, velvety partner - dark fruit, smoke, and just enough swagger to keep up with the lamb’s drama.
A side of sautéed Tenderstem broccoli offered crisp reprieve - the palate-cleansing green friend who keeps you from making terrible life choices at 11 p.m.
Dessert, however, was pure seduction. The Strawberry & White Chocolate Fraisier was a pastel daydream - layers of sponge, chantilly, and berries performing a delicate ballet of sweetness and restraint. But the Caramelised Banana Flambée was the showstopper - molten banana, glossy chocolate sauce, caramelised pecans, and ice cream that melted just slowly enough to make you blush.
By the end, we were replete, mildly giddy, and entirely in love - with the food, the setting, and our own reflection in the mirrored glass. Townhouse doesn’t shout to be noticed; it purrs, seduces, and makes you wish you’d worn something with a little more silk. Kensington class, indeed - the kind that never goes out of style.
Reservations: www.doylecollection.com/hotels/the-kensington-hotel/dining/town-house