I’ve sat in the company of no one but a Pino Grigio at the ME hotel before. The 5* digs looks very beautiful again as I sit beneath its curved, monochromatic interiors and next to what I can only presume to be a mini fire pit, as I’m not brave enough to get close enough to find out. But this time, I’m not just here to slouch and flick through a photographic book of Helmut Newton’s, I am here to visit the STK London restaurant.
Stepping into the STK is how I’d imagine stepping through the wardrobe in the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe is. An unchartered minefield of the unknown, housing a circus of different characters. A woman dressed for a roller disco is on the hosting station with canary yellow, acrylic talons, long enough to pluck your eyes right out of your skull should you dare query your reservation time. Some staff dressed in purple, some in black. To pick out a manager here is a demanding task. To demonstrate this confusion, a customer approaches me to ask if she could push her reservation back to 8pm. Considering I tried to stick to the dress code of “dress to impress”, I felt a little deflated…but maybe that’s just a testament to how much I do not fit in here.
We sit down to the ambient sounds of Car Wash by Rose Royce. Please don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of Shark Tale as much as the next guy, but it’s not really what I like to be distracted by as I’m trying to read a menu in a moodily lit room. The vibe here is confusing, and I can’t tell if we’re expected to get up and dance after our three-courses. The place is similar to a multi-functional room you might find in a midlands pub where you can drink your ale and then take five steps forward onto a vinyl, makeshift dance floor, bound down by duct tape. Except I’d argue that the STK London is less fun.
For starters we went for their signature Lil’ Brgs. The meat you pinch and juicy liquid from the wagyu beef envelopes your fingers, mixing with their “special sauce”, which I’m assuming is a dressed up alternative for burger sauce. I’m into it. Everyone loves a miniature version of something, don’t they? Perhaps it’s because it makes us feel mighty to hold tiny things. We also decide on a starter of Scallop Ceviche from their raw bar menu. Scallops arrive thin as cling film, florally arranged on a plate and embellished with tiny gemstones of blood orange, as if by tweezers.
A main of lamb, gnocchi and tomato arrives shortly after. None of the ingredients appear to understand why the other is there. The gnocchi is plain and wasted, struggling and upset by the gravy I’ve poured over it, turning the dish into a minestrone mess. However, if there is highlight to draw from STK, it is that they do cook meat very well, but man cannot live on meat alone.
The Lobster Thermidor is the dish I am most looking forward to, mainly because I have never tried it before and also because I wanted to entertain this retro, untimely addition to the menu of such a modern building. Melty, pale meat cups acid-washed coral shells, with a bubbled, mature cheese coating on the top. The lobster hugs one piece of ravioli. Yes, one; a cushion of thick pasta with a creamy, salty filling. This admittedly is an acquired dish, but was to my liking. I’d imagine that is because I am a 23-year-old going on 60.
I must mention the truffle chips. An ostentatious take on cheesy chips, but oh my word was I was a fan. The perfectly cut chips were arranged in a Jenga pile. Hunky chunks of potato cooked just enough to produce golden armour, protecting a velvety cloud of potato and with just enough truffle as to not overwhelm my inexpensive palate.
Unfortately the night descended into disappointment with thanks to a dessert resembling a chocolate, gelatinous sausage – otherwise known as the STK Snickers bar. If life has taught me anything, it’s that you shouldn’t compare yourself to something you aren’t half as good as because it’s embarrassing. The STK Snickers tastes like it should be a vegan alternative without the need to be vegan. It’s chocolate taste overwhelmed by a swampy, jellied filling.
We also ordered a lager and lime parfait and jelly. More jelly. Jelly a dish often associated with the impoverished being served at a 5* hotel on the Strand. I chose this dessert because it looked attractive on Instagram. A planet of alien-green parfait cratered on rocky, lager jelly cubes. You know when you crack open a Carling that’s been rolling around your tent at a festival for three days and the warm, claggy taste invades your mouth as you pretend to enjoy it? Well, that is what I can compare this to, except without the enjoyment of getting drunk.
The STK London appears to be more style than substance. Although it has all the credentials on paper to offer a night out for those who enjoy the finer things, it seems to act as more of a blemish on the side of an extraordinary hotel than a gift.
Address: ME London, 336-337 Strand, London WC2R 1HA
Phone: 020 7395 3450
