Tinie Tempah might go to Claridge’s to do high tea and Leonard Cohen remembers you well at the Chelsea Hotel but only The Ritz has been immortalised in the OED as an adjective meaning ‘expensively stylish’.

‘Expensively formal’ might be a better definition of ‘ritzy’ in the 21st century, however. As it reopens today, following the end of lockdown, gentlemen must still wear a jacket and tie in the dining room, though no one is as dressed up as the staff, from the waiters in bow-ties and tailcoats to executive chef John Williams, the only man in London who still wears a chef’s hat, the pleated toque balanced on his head like a towering ramekin.

And then there’s the exquisite prettiness of the dining room itself, enclosed by a frescoed ceiling worthy of a baroque church and softly lit by a looping garland of chandeliers. There’s a lovely alfresco terrace in summer overlooking Green Park, but this is a dining room so beautiful you’d always prefer to sit inside.

As a spectacle, The Ritz Restaurant isn’t so much old fashioned as other worldly, as if you have stepped into the Grand Hotel des Bains of Death in Venice and expect to see half the crowned heads of Europe, tiaras twinkling by candlelight in the sepia glow.

The food delivers exactly what you want from such a fabulous setting: lashings of luxury. Ballotine of duck liver, pink and veined like a piece of Portuguese marble, is bounded by a deeply flavoured red wine gelée. It spreads on to warm slices of brioche like livery butter, a blob of damson cutting through the richness like tart jam.

Langoustines have the sweet, fresh flavour and tender texture that comes from using crustacea that are alive until just before cooking. They would make a superb starter served simply by themselves but are taken to a new realm of deliciousness thanks to a nage sauce of cream and white wine that envelops the langoustines in silky luxuriance.

The humble celeriac, meanwhile, is treated with the same reverence as salmon or sea bass, brought to the table entombed in a salt crust. Cracked open, the fragrant root is extracted from its bath of goats’ butter and given a dusting of freshly grated Périgord truffle. Minus the glossy veal and Madeira reduction, it is a splendid advert for the vegetarian menu.

Tableside service is still championed here, from an astonishingly good beef Wellington borne aloft with all the ceremony of a whole suckling pig to the star turn of crêpe Suzette. The caramelised sauce is a boozy, bittersweet treat, the pancakes gossamer-thin. If you’d rather the entire dining room didn’t turn round to stare as your pudding ignites on a trolley, take your Grand Marnier in a soufflé instead, with a cloud of vanilla Chantilly to spoon in for extra decadence.

The Ritz, of course, is most famous for afternoon tea, served in the fondant-fancy prettiness of the Palm Court and serenaded by a string quartet. Purists get terribly snooty about the hotel serving five sittings from 11.30am to 7.30pm but I think such an elastic concept of teatime makes perfect sense. Why skip lunch then be so stuffed that you don’t want supper when you can have scones and finger sandwiches as your main midday meal instead?

Stylish it may no longer be, but The Ritz remains defiantly unique. It’s an old-fashioned idea to have the name of the hotel, rather than the chef, over the dining-room door but John Williams, who has held a Michelin star since 2016, knows that it is his job to express the personality of the property on the plate. When you feel like puttin’ on The Ritz, there really is nowhere else like The Ritz.

Who to take

Someone to present with a diamond as big as The Ritz.

What to order

Dishes to share from the Arts de la Table menu: beef Wellington, hay-aged Bresse duck and crêpe Suzette.

The Ritz, 150 Piccadilly, London, W1J 9BR; theritzlondon.com

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