Ganymede review: an out of this world British gastropub

Ganymede is the new

Ganymede is the new local on Belgravia’s Ebury Street. Nestled
among the white-stucco houses, it’s a modern twist on the British
gastropub, and set to be a firm neighbourhood favourite. Naming it
after the largest moon in the solar system – the only one
known to have a substantial magnetosphere – possibly sets it
up for unrealistically high expectations, but I was open to being
dazzled.

It was a Tuesday when I visited but there was a warm buzzy
atmosphere, and the restaurant was full. We were led through the
stylish bar down into the intimate dining room; the wood panels and
dim lighting reminded me of Noble Rot on Lamb’s Conduit Street.

The two tables nearest to us were from the area, loudly
extolling how pleased they were that Ganymede had landed on their
doorsteps. It’s run by the team behind Kensington’s favourite, The
Hunter’s Moon, and has a similar air of elevated dining.

The blonde accompanying me – hereafter known as the
Lapsed Vegetarian – agreed that it was a cocktail^[1] kind of evening, so we
started with an espresso martini, and carefully picked off most of
the classics on the menu (the old fashioned was particularly good).
The menu is a fine example of rich, seasonal cooking that changes
monthly, weekly and sometimes daily to reflect what produce is
available, and they mostly source from the UK in order to support
British farms.

I started with the guinea fowl and truffle lasagne, which came
with a button mushroom puree and lyonnaise onions. The Lapsed
Vegetarian decided to go full tilt with the roast duck breast and
foie gras (do different rules apply in outer space?). A
stratospheric leap from the Quorn spag bol she is used to, the
indulgent – and, for many, controversial – dish
was the culinary equivalent of Theresa May’s cornfield bonanza.

Ganymede gets its foie gras from a specialist boutique
French supplier called Gourmet, who, I’m told, only source the most
ethically produced Grade A products from the south and west regions
of France. The meat was accompanied by a rich gravy, complemented
with a sharp blackberry jus and pink peppercorns. My stone bass was
cooked well and came with that favourite fish accompaniment:
creamed polenta. The crispy cavolo nero offered a lovely salty
sharpness that melted into the saffron sofrito leek heart.
 

Did we have room for pudding? Not an inch. But the selection was
too good to pass on. The Lapsed Veggie went for a chocolate cremeux
tartlet with vanilla ice cream and pistachios dusted in cocoa nibs.
I sampled more than my fair share; the light creamy mousse, encased
in a crisp basket with those cocoa nut explosions, was divinely
moreish.

I had a fig and hazelnut tartlet with praline parfait. It was
transcendental. Whole hazelnuts coated in a biscuity-crumb added a
crunch to the honey-warm fruit, which I’m always delighted to see
on a menu. I may be biased (I’m a fig obsessive) and was almost
certainly drunk by this point, but it was one of the best desserts
I’ve ever had.

Looking up from our earnest conversation and heavenly puddings,
we realised we were the last customers left in the joint. Rather
than dropping heavy hints to hop it, our gracious waitress
suggested we upgrade our espresso to an espresso martini. When in
Ganymede…

I’m not sure if it was the six cocktails or the meat-heavy meal
but I woke up the next morning with a queasy sense of guilt. We got
rather carried away in more ways than one. But isn’t that the sign
of a great restaurant?

Ganymede, 139 Ebury St, London SW1W 9QU; ganymedelondon.co.uk^[2]