Not to be confused with the late un-lamented “Pharmacy” run by Damien Hirst and his gullible pals [there is Pharmacy 2 for the terminally desperate], this one is “run” by the equally celebrated Camilla Fayed, daughter of the erstwhile Mohamed of Harrodsburg and Princess Dianna fame.
All the restaurants in Notting Hill [Brighton-on-land apparently] are full of thin, willowy young women – aspiring models presumably – but this one exceeds the quota. Maybe 150 covers (who’s counting?) with 3 blokes, one old lady (sorry dear) and the rest in the aforementioned young and willowy bracket. Oh, and their dogs. Lots of very small pocket-sized things on four legs. We thought this place was the holy grail of “clean” eating? Still, they didn’t bark – or if they did they couldn’t be heard above the chattering. It’s not so much it was loud, but the higher proportion of women’s voices created a bigger din. There, we’ve said it.
There are definite positives: you definitely don’t feel as full for your money as, say, Macdonald’s (whatever that is…ed); you do feel virtuous about eating “clean” food (smug more like) and they do serve a rather lovely Italian red called Bandita from Piemonte.
Marina (whilst still at the Guardian) hated it; Grace (whilst still at the Standard) didn’t but wasn’t gushing. Lots of less-than-helpful Guardian comments from people who like their steak “the breathing side of blue” didn’t put us off trying it. Yes we’d go back. For all the comments about it being full of people with more money than sense, isn’t watching them just part of the charm of London? Wait a minute, does that mean we’ve more money than etc etc…?