Upstairs Bar and Restaurant

Appeals to snobs

16 Jul 08, 03:31 Well below expectations

My lovely lady and myself recently dined at the “Right Up My Back Stairs” eaterie in Brixton. Gritty ghetto-chic? Tres bon. What an incongruous delight it is, sandwiched between such proletarian banalities as a “laundromat” (whatever that is) and a Pakistani purveyor of news. Who uses these quaint little mercantiles I've no conception. You certainly feel special, and we are special aren't we, as you are ushered in through the discreet side door, unsignposted as it is, cleverly deterring passing trade, local coloureds, ne'er-do-wells and the London poor.

“I'm surprised they bothered really”, I confided to my partner, “putting a restaurant for our class of people here”, as we entered the bijou Victorian attic, a room artfully accessorised to look like a salon of the French Renaissance (or something, we don't really know but we love feeling like we're in an exclusive clique where only people like us know to what we refer. Apparently it used to be a cupboard).

I surmised the intended ambience is ultimately that of what some might call Fin de Siecle Neoclassique, but... “does it pass the acid test of our refined sensibilities” my English Rose was want to enquire. Well, we shall see.

Ensconced at a window table we were able to observe omnibuses and passing ethnics in the street below, certainly a diverting pre-prandial human zoo I mused, while quaffing my somewhat recidivist champagne. Our waitress was an apotheosis of sneered disdain as she took our order. Her indulgence of our guilt a titilating frisson. The menu? Extensive, if a little derelict – a nod to the inner city locale mayhap?

We alighted on an eighteen course repast – a snip at £3095 (excluding fawning, which customers are required by the owners to do themselves). Our starters were a liver and lager consommé (a tad aggressive) and a pate of lemur heart (authentically Madasgascan but rather perfunctory, Mrs Posh was quite upset). For main, I had guinea-pig tongue in a rhubarb hollandaise sauce (exotic, erotic, sumptuous), and my partner in culinary and topographical posturing optioned for the warm mousseline of mallard imprisoned in a marzipan sarcophagus and drizzled in sputum, pavement-matured in the environs. (They don't tell everyone about this for fear of overwhelming demand, it is organically harvested). She says it didn't deliver in the flavour department. “How was it in the haberdashery department darling”, I quipped. I am so funny and erudite.

To follow; a simple peasant sausage each (an homage to the native population), garnished with a bounteous arabesque of crème fraîche and Pickled Onion Monster Munch. Impressive, especially when one is distracted by attempting to appear familiar with the vacuous etiquette of the aspirant classes, isn't one. The other sixteen dishes, suffice to say they were insouciant, adequate, perchance to dream, even a little insolent. Cheeky chappies all – rather like the adorable piccaninies begging for scraps outside. Mrs Posh says that something else she had was also “very nice thanks” which adds much to this review I feel. What a cherubic little poppet she is. I do love her so.

Our fellow diners were a teasing compote of hee-hawing nonentity, racism and wasted education. “This is absolutely what Brixton needs” we chirruped (for we never disagree), now stuffed like gluttonous dictators in our eerie perched high above Chav Street. Somehow it was all so deliciously reminiscent of the sacking of the Jewish ghettos during the 1939 45 war, I ruminate retrospectively as I pen this now, at this moment, myself, here.

“Right Up My Back Stairs” must be the best kept cliché, er, secret, in south London. A soupçon of the Third Reich on our doorstep! We are such lucky, lucky people. “Chacun a son gout” I conclude. Whatever the fuck that means.

By Hubert Vibrant-Hubb

French food at its unfussy best

07 Nov 07, 15:31 Above expectations

Upstairs has immaculate friendly service, beautiful food using seasonal ingredients, a sexy, intimate atmosphere (and even if it is quite small in the dining room, you never feel as if you’re sitting on someone else’s lap), and is very well priced (£70 - £80 for three courses for two people with wine and service).

And all this in the culinary wasteland – of fried chicken, pizza and kebabs – that is Acre Lane. Amazing.

Possibly my favourite London restaurant

07 Nov 07, 12:41 Beyond expectations

I have to agree with both the reviews above, this place is wonderful. The decor is beautiful and simple - I love their brown and turquoise paisley wallpaper, which I promise is better than it sounds.

It is tiny upstairs, but then that's what you'd expect from a converted terrace flat.

The food is always from a set menu, with three choices for starters, mains and desserts; there's usually a couple of specials too. I can't remember exactly but its about £20 for two courses, and £25 for three. Something like that.

I had pumpkin soup, followed by duck breast with red cabbage then hot chocolate pudding to finish. Yum yum! it's all seasonal French food, so the menu changes very regularly.

Oh and the service is great. x

Size isn't everything

03 Aug 07, 17:47 Beyond expectations

Agree with the previous post. This place is excellent. You'll miss it as it's so hidden.Book well ahead as it is tiny inside and since the evening standard gave it good reviews some time ago it's become increasingly popular. The food is fantastic. Only fault? The proximity of the tabels can make for interesting eavesdropping. But then the cosiness is part of the appeal.

Good things, small packages

02 May 07, 09:09 Beyond expectations

The discrete black door tucked away up Brixton a side street gives little indication of what lies within: a chic, petite, perfectly proportioned cocktail bar and restaurant. Although its mismatched furniture seems de rigueur these days, Upstairs is far from an identikit eatery. It has the relaxed feel of the sitting room you?ve always wanted, but with the added bonus of charming bar staff serving up perfect cocktails. (There are only six to choose from, but well researched ingredients, like the flavoursome oak-aged rum in the Mojito, and inventive recipes mean every taste will be catered for.) In the restaurant, the menu is short but to the point, and flawlessly executed. Dishes change daily ? expect a hybrid of fine French/English fare with good local ingredients. There is little to find fault with ? except for this restaurant?s growing popularity. Be warned, you?ll have to book in advance.