If the website of L’Oscar is to be believed, it is “a food lover’s lair.” On reading this, I reached for my dictionary and was reminded that lair means “a place where a wild animal, especially a fierce or dangerous one, lives” and alternatively, in Scotland, “a burial plot in a graveyard.” Neither is perhaps naturally associated with a dining venue. Sure, there was wild animal – in cooked form – to be consumed. Meanwhile, the combination of a low ceiling with oppressively dark lighting did bear some resemblance to a mausoleum. It’s hardly an enticement to dine.
Were this the Academy Awards (popularly known as the Oscars) then this restaurant would win no prizes. The attempt to create an impression of opulent decadence somehow falls flat. There’s no shortage of velvet drapes and plump sofas, but the atmosphere felt both stilted and funereal with the serving staff distinctly lethargic if not outright disinterested. Maybe the food might promise more?
Certainly head chef, Allan Pickett, boosts an impressive CV which includes stints at The Orrery as well as working in various Galvin and Roux properties. Against this background, the angle at L’Oscar is taking classic French and adding a more contemporary twist. What my comrade and I ate was certainly solid, but far from ground-breaking. To the extent the meal was memorable, it would be for failings rather than successes. While a set lunch menu is available at a competitive £26.50 for two courses or £29.50 for three, we ventured a la carte, where starters come in at £10-15 and mains at around £25. A pig’s head croquette struck me as a novel option with which to begin. While it was tasty – dense and textured – it was utterly overwhelmed by a somewhat heavy-handed sauce gribiche, which tasted more like a 1980s tartare that might accompany a scampi, rather than something that a high(ish)-end restaurant might consider serving. A similar criticism could be levelled at my main. The pheasant was delicately cooked such that the flavour of the meat could sing, and the peppercorn sauce acted as a great match, but why ruin the dish by serving some crisps (in a gravy boat – yes, seriously) alongside it? Again, the comparison with pub culture of yesteryear seemed unfortunately appropriate. Sides of broccoli and carrots were redeeming features, but the battle had already been lost by this stage. Unfortunately, Holborn remains a culinary no-man’s land.