The importance of Corbin & King restaurants – and why they must be sustained

Adam Hyman, on Corbin & King’s enduring appeal

Jeremy King is one of a kind. He and his business partner Chris Corbin are two of the most influential restaurateurs in the UK.

They’ve been the driving force behind the London dining scene since they opened Le Caprice in 1981. Other greatest hits include The Ivy and J Sheekey and now their Corbin & King estate comprises restaurants such as The Wolseley and Brasserie Zédel.

A true restaurateur, Jeremy is found most days in his restaurants speaking to his clientele, making sure everyone is happy. Jeremy is the reassuring presence we often all look for in everyday life. You peer up from your table, see the tall man in his Anderson & Sheppard three piece suits and relax knowing that, for the duration of your stay, everything is fine. I’ll always remember Jeremy telling me that a restaurant cannot be run from the board room. Sage advice.

A mentor to me and many others in the hospitality industry, Jeremy has championed working in hospitality and doesn’t tolerate the sort of behaviour the industry is sadly too often known for. Staff and diners at Corbin & King restaurants will be all too familiar with the brand’s egalitarian approach to dining – anyone is welcome, and maitre d’s learn from the best on the importance of curating a dining room (never too many suits), and knowing when theatre performances start and finish. Staff are advised to read a broadsheet every day so they have a grasp of what’s going on in the world. I still haven’t quite worked out (or been told how) how they often know who you’re dining with despite neither of you telling them.

Jeremy invents stories around his restaurants – encapsulating the heart and soul of somewhere that not only allows him to channel his love of literature and theatre, but allows staff to become part of the story too. Solo diners are always offered a newspaper while waiting for their guest. When a server checks on your meal, “How is everything?” is replaced with, “Is there anything else I can get you?” (subtle but a far better way of checking all is ok). 

It’s almost unfathomable to imagine the Corbin & King restaurants without Corbin & King. It simply wouldn’t work. Quite upsettingly the fate of some of the best restaurants in London now lies in the hands of an administrator. I saw Jeremy last week at The Wolseley. As always, he was immaculate, regal and optimistic. 

Before leaving he quoted William Blake to me: “A truth that’s told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent.”

Josh Barrie on affordable tea

Adam has handily explained Corbin & King’s enduring appeal and the hefty contribution Jeremy and Chris have made to London’s meandering dining scene. We all know about the restaurant group – its fine service, all those impeccable settings, the telling graciousness of it all. 

Yeah, I would be worried we would lose all that were Corbin & King taken over by some other restaurateur who may or may not have the same humility and dignity as Jeremy and his legions. I would be justifiably concerned London would be left with a gaping hole once filled with important and affordable restaurants, where celebs collide with everybody else and omelettes arrive neatly rolled yet won’t set you back more than a tenner.

I greatly admire Corbin & King restaurants for many things, but most of all I appreciate their inclusivity and warmth. It is not easy to maintain lofty standards when prices are so accessible. To be able to swing into Piccadilly and sit down in Brasserie Zédel and devour a carrot salad and a steak haché – with peppercorn sauce and French fries, don’t forget – for £12.25 is close to absurd. The model is so welcome, because it allows for so many people to experience a buzzing dining room, full of marble and embellishments, and feel very much the 1920s bon vivant. 

Let’s not forget Bellanger, another pretty fancy French brasserie in a gilded part of town, with a similarly priced two-course deal, and plenty more besides. A tarte flambée and a glass of beer or house wine costs £13.50.

I’ll go on a little longer: The Delaunay is a wonderful place for eggs; Fischer’s is full of salmon, none of which is bank-breaking, and the concept there is rigid enough to feel particular but not afraid to deviate if it needs to to accommodate – anyway the £24.50 prix fix begins with a leek and gruyere tart and rolls onto a pleasant piece of grilled bream covered in a fairly silky sauce vierge. My mum’s a fan and I bet yours is too.

Of course money can be, and is spent in Corbin & King joints. After lockdown one, when indoor dining returned for the first time, a friend and I pitched up at Colbert, on the elegantly trashy Sloane Square, and spent much of what we had saved sitting about in our dressing gowns the months before. Not that we needed to – we could’ve had a decent mushroom velouté and a soufflé suisse for little over £20. Jeremy, who was there, obviously, said hi to everyone, however much they were spending.

I’ve not been to the new(ish) North London neighbourhood spot Soutine but I’ve no doubt it is excellent. 

Anyway, I think it is a tremendous thing to have restaurants – not just restaurants, lavish but casual, oh but can-be-for-a-special-occasion restaurants – that welcome all walks of life. I hope they stay in Jeremy and Chris’ capable hands. Let’s try not to think about what would happen if they were snatched out of them. 

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