An indulgent lunch at Bob Bob Ricard Soho: A Champagne Button, a Red Booth, and the End of My Kitchen Era

Complete with caviar, champagne buttons, and flaming crème brûlée took me back to my childhood kitchen in Istanbul and gently marked the end of an era.

I grew up in kitchens. Not the kind you scroll past on Instagram sleek islands and brass taps, but the warm, chaotic kind where hands moved fast, laughter echoed off tiled walls, and dinner meant something was being created from scratch.

I was always helping. Mostly getting in the way, I’m sure. But my nanny, legendary for her manti, let me. Dough rolling, shaping, filling. Manti takes ages to make, but I never minded. It was our ritual. Prepared with mincemeat inside and a generous swirl of garlicky yoghurt, a fiery sauce poured on top.

And it wasn’t just ours. Everyone on Burgaz Ada, one of Istanbul’s Princes Islands, knew her manti. My mum’s friends, my uncles, the neighbourhood kids we hosted for dinners on the beach. That dish became legendary.

Blue booths at Bob Bob Richard Soho

So you can imagine the odd little emotional memory lane I felt when, at Bob Bob Ricard Soho, I was accidentally served a plate of mushroom dumplings. Not what I’d ordered, but I’m no longer one to fuss. I love mushrooms. I was at a long table of creatives invited by my friend Tim, who now consults for restaurants, and I was happy to be there.

Those dumplings? Technically, the Truffle, Potato & Mushroom Vareniki. They didn’t taste anything like manti, but they looked just enough like them to pull me down memory lane.

Lunch began with caviar, served ceremoniously on the back of the hand, as tradition dictates, followed by a shot of vodka served at –18°C. I sipped politely. These days, I’m more “coffee and a good walk” than vodka shots at lunch. But I still pressed the button.

Champagne at Bob Bob Ricard London

Yes, the Champagne Button. Bob Bob Ricard’s claim to fame. Ours was pressed just once for the experience and champagne flowed from a magnum bottle.

Next came seafood platters, stacked like sculpture: lobster, prawns, oysters, clams. I’ve always been a seafood girl. Maybe because I grew up eating it by the sea. Did you know I am happiest by the sea? If you are following me on my Instagram, this may come as a surprise to you.

Oscietra caviar linguine pasta & flaming crème brûlée at Bob Bob Ricard

Back to lunch. And then… the pasta. Oscietra caviar linguine. Creamy, indulgent, beautiful. I rarely eat carbs anymore, but I devoured this. Every briny, buttery bite. Maybe it’s age. Maybe nostalgia. Maybe it’s knowing when something is worth breaking the rules for.

Even dessert got a yes. A flaming crème brûlée, dramatically torched at the table. I’ve never been a dessert person, more nuts than cake, but this one? I ate it all. It was beautiful. And delicious.

Red booths and Wes Anderson style bar at Bob Bob Ricard Soho

We ended the lunch downstairs at Marseille Bob’s, the bar beneath the restaurant, where the bartender wore a red fez and dropped cherries into cocktails with Wes Anderson-level deadpan seriousness. The bar glowed in pinks and reds, equal parts cinematic and surreal.

I suppose what I’m circling around is this:

This wasn’t just a meal. It was a memory prompt. A gentle reminder that I’ve entered a new season, one where I no longer feel compelled to finish the vodka shot, or skip the pasta, or correct the waiter who brings me the wrong plate.

I used to be the one cooking, hosting, feeding teenagers with bottomless appetites, thinking ahead from breakfast to dinner, trying to stock the fridge with the right snacks, the right meals, the right everything.

Come September, those questions: What’s for dinner? asked at breakfast, lunch, and tea, will stop echoing through the house. My daughter will leave for university. The kitchen will be quieter. And I suppose… so will I.

But that doesn’t mean the hosting ends. It just means the guest list is different.
Now, perhaps, it’s time to cook and pour and host for ourselves again. Or not cook at all and take a long walk home after a beautiful lunch that feeds the soul just as much as the stomach. To be seen…. We’ll discover it together.

More soon,
Rita