Cyndi Himmelstiere on the ambitious, possibly reckless decision to treat a month-long dining festival like a sprint
When I heard more than thirty restaurants across Chelsea and Knightsbridge were doing exclusive menus for Plated London, my very first thought was not “how lovely, I’ll pace myself sensibly across the month.” My first thought was “how many can I actually fit into one weekend.” The answer, it turns out, is three. My stomach would like it on record that three was too many.
Restaurant One: Saturday Lunch
Started sensibly enough with a beautifully composed lunch menu that leaned heavily into seasonal veg, the kind of plate that photographs well and makes you feel, briefly, like a responsible adult who eats vegetables by choice. I should have stopped here. I did not stop here.
Restaurant Two: Saturday Dinner
By dinner I had convinced myself that a full tasting menu was a reasonable follow-up to lunch, which is the kind of decision that seems entirely sound at six in the evening and considerably less sound by course seven. The food itself was genuinely excellent, rich, confident, clearly the kitchen’s best foot forward for the festival. My waistband had opinions it did not keep to itself.
Restaurant Three: Sunday Brunch, Against All Advice
I want to be honest and say that by Sunday morning my body was sending very clear signals that a third exclusive menu in under twenty-four hours was not a good plan. I ignored these signals entirely and booked brunch anyway, because apparently I have learned nothing about pacing myself in twenty-plus years of loving this city’s restaurants.
What I’d Actually Recommend
One restaurant per day, genuinely, spread across the full month the festival actually runs rather than crammed into a single ambitious weekend like I did. The food across all three places was properly worth experiencing, but experiencing it responsibly rather than as an endurance event would have left me considerably more able to enjoy it.
Am I Doing It Again Next Weekend
Yes. Obviously yes. I have already booked two more restaurants and made zero adjustments to my clearly flawed approach, because if there’s one lesson twenty years in London has actually taught me, it’s that I never learn from good advice, including my own.