Dabbous: Still one of the best ways London food lovers can spend £75

For the latest in our Famous London Restaurants series we visit Dabbous, a restaurant that looks like an abandoned school gym but one that, after five years open, still serves some of the most inventive food in London.

Update: it was sadly just announced the restaurant is to close at the end of June 2017. We thoroughly recommend going before it closes.

The backstory: Things seem to happen to Ollie Dabbous – “da-boo” – handfuls of days at a time. He once worked a week in the Fat Duck, another at Noma. His mentor, Raymond Blanc, once said he knew Dabbous would be a big name on the “first or second” day he met him. Fay Maschler walked into the restaurant on its third day, then wrote it up with five of her stars. Fay doesn’t really do five stars; bookings jumped so much the restaurant had to hire someone to man the phones. And there it was: after quietly sweating away in obscurity, Ollie Dabbous was it, and a Michelin star followed. Though his restaurant has just turned five, it remains magic, without any trickery.

What’s on the menu? Food is not what you might call “stunt cooking” – no dried ice and the like – but nor is is “classics done well” or anything so easily categorised. They push the eight course tasting menu, at £75. It’s not as cheap as it was, but it's still one of the best ways London food lovers can spend £75.

Why? Because there is genuine invention on the menu, and thinking, actual bloody thinking. Not a single plate is done by numbers: it’s as if Ollie Dabbous tastes, then relentlessly tosses the flavours about in his mind until he finds their perfect fit.

For instance, the scallop tartare is naturally meaty, but made bright and airy with eucalyptus. Or take the salad: salads represent giving in – you have them to be good, not because they are good. Not here, where the fennel with lemon balm and pickled rose petals positively vibrates on the plate, it has so much zing. Shame I wanted to break that very plate-bowl thing it comes in. Shaped like a Henry Moore but much more irritating. Ditto bread served in a brown paper bag. Good bread, but there was no illicit thrill the presentation suggested: I thought maybe it was a bottle of vodka they'd snuck onto the table.

Duck soup looks laughable next to the rest, until it arrives and is nothing like the guilty pleasure at a Chinese takeaway. It’s somehow as rich and filling as a piece of grilled duck breast, as moist as confit, and as hearty and reviving as the broths mums bring upstairs when kids have the flu.

The brightest spark of joy on this menu, though, is the new addition of charcoal smoked cassava. Cassava is a cheery nut-flavoured vegetable that apparently kills if you don’t prepare it properly; a bit like blowfish, I suppose, except it’s hard to believe anything that looks like sweet potato can kill, except a mud covered rock. This dish is both rich and bracing, looks oily but isn’t, has a sweetness that cuts against the charcoal. Of which, it looks like someone covered a Nokia 3310 in soot. Can’t win ‘em all.

My long time drinking pal and I roughed up the wine list and left it for dead. We stole what we could, and what we did was intriguing, different, far from prosaic. Charles Pashby-Taylor, the frustratingly-youthful looking sommelier (what’s your secret, Charlie?), works alone, and seemingly has excellent taste. He darted through the list with ease, working to our likes, dislikes and indifference. There wasn't a disappointment. One, maybe: Taylor's 10 for cheese was a touch boring, but my friend opted for it, so there we go. More fool him. If you have questions, ask Charles: he’s rather fun if you get chatting. If you're after a cocktail, Oskar's Bar downstairs – named for Oskar Kinberg, Ollie's business partner – is easily one of the finest bars in London.

Atmosphere: Recently, and probably because it’s easier to get a table than ever before, some whispers are saying this place doesn’t live up to the hype. Sure: I mean, it couldn’t do. The hype is absurd. But I need to assure you the food is still extraordinary, and those who say otherwise are like men who who insist Scarlett Johansson isn’t that beautiful, and anyone could do a Tim Peake if they just wanted to.

Perhaps it’s the Michelin star: this place doesn’t look like the Ritz. It has the same aesthetic as a sawn-off shotgun. The floor is concrete: that they even polished it is a bit of a surprise. It’s mostly understated – the lights, actually, are so understated they’re almost off. Conversely, the music is too loud. It’s always been too loud. They haven’t got the message yet.

If you’re expecting fine dining, Dabbous will disappoint: it is about fine eating, about trying something different, about having something you can’t get anywhere else. To that end, it remains invigorating, exciting, stimulating, and, five years old, still new. There aren’t so many imitators because it takes serious talent to rip this place off – though there are others who've moved their cooking in the same direction, like Fera, and there are hints of it at Native. Dabbous is still ahead of most of the pack, but can it can't still change the scene the way it did when it opened – and anyone asking for such a thing is unreasonable.

If you’re looking for a comfortable night with a big name in the kitchen, try Shaun Rankin’s Ormer at Fleming’s Hotel, or Marcus Wareing at the Berkley. Both are excellent. Their cooking is exemplary. Neither plate up anything as inventive as this place.

Who goes? Everyone with insatiable taste buds: it draws the real stars, the Instagram stars, the bloggers, the critics, the rich, the ones who’ve saved up and everyone else too. Pets would probably form gangs to come if they were allowed in. Your mates’ uncle who thinks “good and proper” food is grey roast beef with Bisto and Aunt Bessie’s four-minute Yorkshires won’t get it, but just about anyone else will.

Cheque out: £75 for the tasting menu, £59 for set menu, wine from £26 a bottle. Cocktails around £10.

Find it: 39 Whitfield St, Fitzrovia, WIT 2SF, dabbous.co.uk