The Cadogan Arms

Another review of mine in The Arbuturian.

I’ve walked past The Cadogan Arms on the King’s Road many times. I’ve briefly peered through the windows, but never stepped inside. Little did I know that the interior is a shrine to taxidermy and that the gastropub was nominated for Restaurant magazine’s R200 Pub Company of the Year Award. Those two facts alone should make you want to walk through the doors.

So when I finally did, I had the ever gentlemanly Jonesy as company, and we immediately liked what we saw. A hunting lodge interior with antlers adorning the walls might be too much if you’re a vegetarian, but since we’re not, we didn’t mind. Rather, it gave off a snug feeling that you would desire come cold winter evenings.

I figured I should go for something robust as I suspected this is The Cadogan Arms’ forte, so I went all out. “Bring on the 35-day aged rib eye steak with hand cut chips and bone marrow jus,” I said like a caveman to the accommodating waitress who, I might add, was chirpy and keen to assist throughout the meal.

Jonesy, who for a second considered ordering a whole guinea fowl, settled with the pork belly, which came with white and black pudding, glazed carrots and hand cut chips. To start with I ordered almond crusted veal sweetbread with turnip and chicory jus, and my company went for the caramelised onion and spinach tart with poached duck egg and hollandaise sauce.

The menu pays homage to the quintessentially English, and does it really well. You could take a tourist to The Cadogan Arms, divert them from Piccadilly Circus, and have them sample anything on the menu to get a real taste of Lizzie’s land. Instead of the Eros statue they could take a photo of the stuffed bison that looks out majestically over the tables.

The restaurant, which sits adjacent to the pub, doesn’t feel like part of a boozer. We went on a quiet Wednesday, but there was still activity in the pub and we weren’t bothered the slightest. You don’t want your 35-day aged rib eye steak to be spoiled by someone who has had too many jars of London Pride.

Read the rest of the review here at The Arbuturian.

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