What is it with British men and their shirts? Scanning the dining room, I could spot the Anglo-Saxon city boys a mile off. Even when wearing a decently cut suit, the majority of them look like their modus operandi for shirt shopping is to get drunk then go somewhere with a 3-for-2 offer on. When the jackets come off at dinner, it’s a national disgrace. Then there are the other oh-so-heavy wings of the British style albatross. At the table next to me: Shoe Express loafers, partially slipped off, and four Blackberries face up on a table for two. Regardez: the English businessmen talking shop, on expenses.
Early on a weekday evening at Coya, there’s a fair bit of that kind of thing. But there are also tables of seriously dressy women, and men with perfect cuff lengths displaying heart-wrenchingly beautiful five figure watches and fresh manicures. The bar and private member’s club upstairs is “a scene”. This is, of course, Arjun Waney’s crowd. From Zuma to the rebooted Arts Club and this, his Peruvian-themed, pisco sour-flavoured venture, Waney really has the golden touch. And Coya is 24-carat.
Predictably, the “it’s all designed to share, pick three or four starters and two mains each” directive sets alarm bells ringing
This isn’t a restaurant that trades entirely on its looks. The expensively furnished main basement dining space might, in fact, be a quarter turn on the dial away from a well groomed Tex Mex chain restaurant, and noise levels are of the horrible, hard, loud variety. There’s some truly fantastic food being cooked here, and that’s something that doesn’t usually go hand in hand with “see and be seen” nonsense. (Critical dinosaur Zagat hailed Coya as one of the “10 hottest restaurants in the world” just a few weeks after it opened – a serious turn-off for anyone in their right mind).
If it’s Waney bringing the heat in terms of the Mario Testino entourage and the private parties, it’s chef Sanjay Dwivedi who’s forging the repeat business and longevity. Peruvian cuisine might be belatedly fashionable in London, and trendy enough to go – as a concept at least – straight into your personal Room 101 along with posh fried chicken (if there was ever concept that needed to be filed away under “get bent”, that’s the one!). But hang on. Yes, Peruvian’s a cuisine with one eye on Condé Nast Traveller hype and one on the profit margin: at some restaurants specialising in such things, you’d have to order an awful lot of ceviche to get full. But there’s more to Coya than marinated raw fish. Predictably, the “it’s all designed to share, pick three or four starters and two mains each” directive sets alarm bells ringing. In fact, it’s one of the few restaurants doing this kind of thing where it actually works – these are such good and varied flavours that you really do want to try a little of a lot.
The ceviches from the first page of the menu are sharp, fresh and excellent (in very respectable portions), and there’s a good squid dish fried in quinoa with ocopa, a striking Peruvian mint and yellow chilli sauce. But it’s what’s coming off the grill that’s most exciting. The octopus I had, cooked on the Josper (the culinary world’s favourite barbecue plaything of the moment) and served with olives and potatoes, was the best I’ve had outside of South America. It was, in fact – and let me just grab a dustpan and brush for the namedrop – better than the octopus I had a la plancha at Garzon, Francis Mallmann’s hideaway in Uruguay. This was the perfect, softest serving of tentacle – my beastie at Coya had certainly been flogged or dashed off some rocks at just the right point, seconds after its catch, to ensure the best texture.
On the waitress’s suggestion I ordered a follow up main of spicy beef. It triggered another instant comparison with the best of the best: this dish, in my opinion, trumps the cow at Viet Grill in Shoreditch as the best spiced beef dish in London. It’s a super soft cut of Hereford cattle that you could cut with a spoon (as, of course, they are so partial in doing in South America – the showoffs). There was a delicate char to the taste, the chilli heat element was just right, and there was a lovely crunch and bitterness from some onions on the side.
I’ve never, to the best of my knowledge, eaten a Peruvian dessert before. So at Coya I ordered three of them. A chocolate fondant dish was the usual hey-ho, here we go, run of the mill, half baked goo that you probably first had at the Admiralty a decade ago. Perfectly nice in its own way, but there was so much better to follow: an Arabica parfait, cut into quinoa-crumbed wedges and served with poached pear and chocolate milk, was splendid – slightly gelatinous and silky, with an unexpectedly light but moreish coffee flavour. A corn sundae was, warned my waitress “one of those love it or hate it” dishes. It’s a sweetcorn ice cream, with a corn meringue and popcorn. If you’re a lover of the last component, you’ll be a lover of the lot. As I was. It was an unusual and quite fantastic end to an evening full of high points.
A friend of mine – whose opinion I respect absolutely – remarked shortly after it opened that “Coya is Arjun Waney’s first mistake”. Her reasoning was largely based on geography: “It’s the wrong end of Piccadilly… the Hard Rock Café end.” Based on my visit, I’d say that its low-key façade (one would barely know it’s there), minimal passing trade and weekday 7pm packed-to-capacity basement only underscore quite what an unfailing Midas touch Waney has. Crucially, he seems to appreciate that more than any consideration of a fickle “scene”, a restaurant is only as good as its kitchen. And Coya is very good indeed.
Coya, 118 Piccadilly, London W1
020-7042 7118; coyarestaurant.com