Soane's Kitchen, London W5, restaurant review: That old Ealing feeling

As a result of my offspring returning to their respective seats of learning, last week, I too found myself succumbing to September Syndrome, aka New Pencil-Caseitis. Coincidentally, this mood was enhanced by an email suggesting I visit a restaurant in the Queen of the Suburbs, Ealing – where, from 1971 to 1981 (enthusiastically in the Prep, more reluctantly in the Sixth), I went to school.

It is impossible to untangle my feelings about Ealing in general – my fealings, if you will – from those about my school. Vast swathes of west London smell to me of freshly-waxed parquet with top notes of boiled potatoes and Charlie by Revlon, soundtracked by a mash-up of The Clash and “Thy Hand, O God, Has Guided”. I cannot, then, in conscience, be expected to cope with these complex *fealings* without assistance from someone who understands – as well as having something joined-up to say about a free lunch.

There are a few contenders – but it had to be Nicky S. Thing is, after trading in her enviable wardrobe of Kickers and Fiorucci sweatshirts Nicky became wildly successful running her own globe-straddling colossus of a business. And in my admittedly limited experience, globe-straddling business colossi-runners aren’t usually available for lunch at 24-hours’ notice. Whatever: “Lunch in Ealing? Tomorrow?” “I’m literally cancelling everything else RIGHT NOW! See you there!”

To Soane’s Kitchen, then – a newly-opened café/brasserie inside the walled kitchen garden next door to London W5’s Pitzhanger Manor in Walpole Park, formerly Sir John Soane’s country weekender, currently being refurbished. Soane’s has been (I am reliably informed) brought to us by “the team behind Social Pantry”. Nope, me neither. However, this turns out to be an events catering business with a social conscience and a very pleased-with-itself website (vast portraits of “The Team”, all about 12, a “Brand Recipe” (Mission Statement, 2.0, presumably) and various wangings-on about Understanding, Enjoyment, Fairness, Sustainability and Creativity – though not so much about Food).

First impressions on the ground? Very pretty. You weave your way among raised wooden beds in the walled garden towards the bi-folded and bedecked restaurant-caff/gaff – large, light, glassy with mid-century-style furniture interventions and entirely inviting-looking even before I spotted Nicky waving from our table.

She and I proceeded to find each other so fascinating and hilarious (the best sort of girlfriend date) that an entire 30 minutes passed without a single staff member approaching our table. Which, under normal circumstances, would enrage me, but today it was nice not be interrupted. When someone did arrive, we dived into glasses of rosé and ordered from a menu with just enough trendiness to appeal to young coolish suburban avocado-goobers without ­alienating, for random example, a pair of loudly guffawing ladies of a certain age.

I ordered the starter of “shredded ham hock and cheddar croquette with pica­lilli” on the grounds that before I’d even swallowed a mouthful this would almost certainly tell me exactly what Soane’s is about. Afterwards, the “tempura shrimp and squid ink burger with aioli” (chips extra) would fill in any remaining blanks. Nicky, meanwhile, went for a “Cornish white crab taco with avocado” followed by (bafflingly) “charred cauliflower steak with tahini and toasted almonds”.

When it eventually arrived, the croquette did indeed tell me all I needed to know: this ovoid tube of ham-and cheesiness was very much caterin’, not cookin’ – and while it didn’t smell of Charlie by Revlon the vibe was quite Seventies, nonetheless. At Soane’s Kitchen one’s guest and its setting would have to make up for the food – a *fealing* exacerbated by the arrival (45 minutes later) of a nasty-looking black brioche containing deep-fried prawn tempura, slathered with garlicky mayo. I couldn’t bring myself to touch the bun while the “shrimp” barely touched my sides, chased swiftly by rosé dregs. The fries were firm and fine, though.

And then – blimey, what were the odds? – through the window I spotted the only person I know who actually lives in Ealing, and flagged him down. “Are you reviewing this, then?” Simon asked, quite loudly, after which the service improved dramatically – though, happily, never quite enough to interfere with one of the most pleasurable Saturday afternoons I can recall.

We passed on dessert because it was nearly 4pm. Distracted, I’d forgotten to ask her opinion, but Nicky messaged me her review later on: “Family-friendly, Waitrosey, middle-class Ealing-as-it-wants -to-be. The taco-thing was easy and light, with crispy (in a good way) pastry – while the griddled cauliflower was the imaginative vegan option. I’m far from vegan but I’d have it again.”

She’s kinder than me. Nonetheless, if you bypass the food – expensive for a café – Soane’s is a great destination. On the way home, I detoured via my old school. I took a couple of snaps for old times’ sake, got back in the car, cranked up – yes! – "My Old School" by Steely Dan on Spotify and drove away from the Seventies about as fast as the speed limit would allow. The next time I meet up with Nicky, it might have to be in the 21st century.