Maroush St John's wood | Crockers Folly

Just what London needs - another Lebanese restaurant masquerading as an upscale dining destination. When I heard Maroush St John's Wood had taken over the historic Crockers Folly building, I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly sprained something. The affluent denizens of NW8 hardly seemed desperate for another place to spend their hedge fund bonuses on hummus.

And yet, here I am, reluctantly penning what amounts to a love letter to this surprisingly magnificent establishment. The moment you step through the doors of Maroush St John's Wood, you're transported from London's rain-slicked streets into what feels like a fever dream of Victorian grandiosity meets Beirut elegance. The restoration of this Grade II-listed gin palace is, and it pains me to admit this, absolutely stunning.

The marble columns and crystal chandeliers could easily veer into tacky territory, but somehow they don't. It's like walking onto a Wes Anderson film set, if Wes Anderson developed a sudden passion for Lebanese cuisine and Victorian architecture. The main dining room, with its ornate ceiling and original features, makes most of London's "grand" dining rooms look like a Pret A Manger in comparison.

Let's talk about the food because that's where my cynicism truly began to crumble. The mezze selection is extensive enough to make your head spin, but unlike many places that offer quantity over quality, each dish here feels deliberately crafted. The hommos beiruty arrives with a subtle kick that doesn't overwhelm the nutty tahini base. The batata hara - spiced potato cubes that could easily be an afterthought - are crispy little nuggets of perfection that I found myself reaching for long after I should have stopped.

The mixed grill, which in lesser establishments often resembles a sad parade of overcooked meat, here becomes a masterclass in charcoal grilling. The lamb kofta maintains its juiciness, the chicken shish is actually seasoned (imagine that!), and the rice beneath soaks up the meat juices like it's being paid to do so.

Yes, you'll pay handsomely for the privilege of dining here. The prices reflect both the postcode and the setting, and you might experience a moment of cardiac arrest when the bill arrives. But unlike many of London's high-end establishments where you're primarily paying for postcode and pretense, here you're getting something tangible in return - exceptional food, genuine hospitality, and an atmosphere that makes you feel like you've stumbled into a secret corner of history.

The service manages to strike that elusive balance between attentiveness and hovering - a feat so rare in London that I'm tempted to suspect some sort of dark magic is involved. They're knowledgeable without being condescending, present without being intrusive, and - most surprisingly - actually seem to enjoy their jobs.

For those seeking to minimize damage to their bank accounts, the set lunch menu offers a more accessible entry point to the experience. The wine list includes some excellent Lebanese options that pair beautifully with the food, though again, be prepared for St John's Wood pricing rather than Beirut bargains.

The restaurant accommodates both intimate dinners and larger celebrations with equal grace. Families are welcome, though parents might want to keep a close eye on little ones around all that marble. There's outdoor seating for those rare London days when the weather cooperates, and the bar area serves as a sophisticated spot for pre-dinner cocktails or a light mezze.

Maroush St John's Wood has achieved something I thought impossible in London's saturated dining scene - it's created a space that feels both special and genuine. The building's history hasn't been sacrificed for modern convenience, the food hasn't been dumbed down for Western palates, and the service hasn't succumbed to the mechanical efficiency that plagues so many high-end establishments.

So here I am, eating my words along with my baklava. If you're going to spend an obscene amount on dinner in London (and let's face it, in this city, when aren't you?), you might as well do it somewhere that delivers on its promises. Book a table at Maroush St John's Wood. Just don't blame me when you can't stop thinking about those potatoes.