In 1757, the same year that Admiral Byng was executed pour encourager les autres, Simpson’s Tavern opened in the City of London at 38½ Cornhill. It became a popular chophouse in Georgian and Victorian London and people think it’s where Ebenezer Scrooge has dinner in A Christmas Carol. Simpson’s survived wars, pandemics and downturns, but couldn’t get through a rent dispute in 2022. At some point in that 265-year history, someone thought it was clever to outsource the job of landlord to a group of companies in Bermuda.
Four years after the tavern shut, the site was bought by the restaurateurs behind Cloth, an English brasserie in Smithfield that opened in 2024. The new owners weren’t allowed to reopen the place as ‘Simpsons’, so they’ve had to call it ‘Cloth Cornhill’, which sounds like the name of an American management consultant with false teeth who would fire you over lunch here.
Walking through the City, I sort of want to hug all of these hardworking net contributors. You’re keeping everything going. Don’t listen to what Andy says! I never come here, and am reminded of the fantastic architectural incoherence: a Wren church there, Lloyd’s of London round the corner. Down the alley to the restaurant, I inhale a cigarette’s worth of secondhand smoke. No one appears to be working from home, even on this Friday lunchtime. We sit at the bar: they’ve been lovely and squeezed me in asked nicely. I look around and hope every single lunch here is being put on expenses.
For most of Simpson’s history, women weren’t allowed to dine in the tavern. For the first quarter of our meal, it seems feasible that the policy is still in place. We start blokey, with what the menu calls ‘The Sausage’ (£6). It’s given a definite article because it was always on the Simpson’s menu; unfortunately though, it’s merely A Sausage, and needs the sharp mustard. We also get excellent devils on horseback (£9), which are pleasingly moody and helped out by black pudding. My companion, an FT writer who should really be eating here five times a week, highly recommends the Bloody Mary.
Then comes a Dorset crab cocktail (£19). The white meat is saline and bright and sits on top of some of its pulped-up brown meat, along with pickled celeriac, apple and chervil. This is pretty good.
Hot smoked ham and celeriac remoulade (£16) is less successful. The remoulade should be sharper, perhaps missing mustard, and no matter how nice you make it, smoked pork will always have the whiff of the hot dog about it.
No matter how nice you make it, smoked pork will always have the whiff of the hot dog about it
A Hereford sirloin with bone marrow and caper butter (£38) is cooked well but crumbed pollock with tartare sauce (£35) is more confusing. Kudos to them for using a fish that’s actually sustainable instead of cod, but if you are going to promise me ‘crumbed pollock’ with tartare sauce, you can’t get my hopes up for a fried piece of fish and then give me a tranche with some crumbs scattered on top. I felt teased, but at least the chips were craggy and excellent.
I wanted to like Cloth Cornhill more (especially since they squeezed me in), and I like that the owners have rescued an important building. But I’m just not convinced by the food. For its location, though, its quality matters less than the simple question: would I like to spaff my employer’s money in here? And the answer to that is always, always yes.
Cloth Cornhill, 38½ Cornhill, London EC3; tel: 020 4568 1530; opentable.co.uk
Comments