You know you’re in for something special when the lift looks like a wicker basket straight out of St Tropez and the dining room hums with lazy upbeat French pop. Riviera, a refined dining destination tucked above St James’s Street, leans into its South of France inspiration with elegance, ease, and just enough eccentricity to be memorable.
It’s the sort of place where you might expect to feel underdressed if you’re not in head-to-toe linen and statement jewellery, and yet, somehow, I arrived in flats. Stylish flats, mind you, but flats all the same, forced into practicality by a long day on my feet and the slow recovery of my post-surgery ankle. Would I be turned away? Judged? Whispered about behind artfully crumbling baguettes?
Reader, I needn’t have worried.
Riviera is classy, yes – all neutral stone tones, burnished and solid sculptural pieces, and soft lighting, with nods to decadent beach esplanades that double as catwalks, but it’s also effortlessly welcoming. That paradox of laid-back luxury runs through everything, from the atmosphere to the plates. Several dining rooms and an extremely decadent lift and escalator situation in the lobby scream opulence, but the highlight for the summer will certainly be the roof terrace, where sunsets linger and the drinks keep flowing.
On top of all this sensory delight, Jaume, our host for the evening and the operations manager of Emerald Hospitality (also behind Zuaya and Como Garden), greeted us with such charm and polish that I forgot all about my footwear within minutes.
Food & Drink at Riviera
We began with glasses of crémant d’Alsace from Jean-Baptiste Adam, a dry, celebratory fizz with just the right amount of flair. Alongside came a mini ritual of bread and butter, not an afterthought, but a feature in its own right. The French do, after all, take both bread and butter very seriously indeed. The half-seeded, half-white baguette was served warm and crunchy, with whipped butter that was simultaneously creamy and cloudlike. I’m a firm believer that restaurants should be judged by their bread baskets; Riviera’s passed the test with flying colours.
To start, a lightly tempura-coated courgette flower arrived stuffed with a tart melting goat’s cheese sauce, delicately laced with honey and truffle. This was the vegetarian option, a smart and thoughtful substitution, and it sang of summer. The balance was just right: crisp shell, rich cheese, earthy truffle, a whisper of sweetness. It disappeared quickly.
The raw artichoke salad was a surprise highlight too – a mix of finely shredded artichoke, creamy avocado, and bold shavings of salty Parmesan. It felt almost like an Eton Mess, though greener, woodier, and very savoury. Each forkful delivered crunch, creaminess, and umami, with the artichoke’s subtle bitterness pulling everything into sharp focus. It’s the kind of dish that makes you lean forward and ask, “Wait — what is this?” in a delighted whisper, especially if you’re a meat-eater expecting veggie food to be dull…
We shared a plate of trofie with pesto Genovese, which was textbook in the best possible way. Trofie is one of my favourite pasta shapes because of the nutty bite that it provides, and this serving was perfectly al dente, the pesto vibrant and rich with basil and pine nuts. A reminder, perhaps, that simplicity, when done well – needs no embellishment. We also received an excellent tip from the kitchens of wise Italian grannies about adding a little ice when making pesto in a blender at home, to retain the bold green colour. Grazie, nonne!
The drinks, too, had a sense of the eclectic theatre of the French Riviera. My partner’s L’Heure Verte cocktail came in a cheeky tiki-style cup and packed a punch of absinthe that felt surprisingly at home among the Riviera chic. Mine, the Paradis de Mangue, was a gentler affair – very sweet and lightly boozy, topped with a whisper of cream. I’ll be honest: it was dangerously close to dessert in a glass, so I would save this one in case you need a sugar hit!
Then came the main event: a fillet steak with café de paris butter, served alongside rough-cut skinny fries and a salad strewn with more Parmesan (because if there’s ever a time to overdo the cheese, it’s at Riviera). The steak was exactly what you’d hope for – seared and succulent – while the butter melted into a velvety, herby sauce with whispers of mustard and anchovy. The fries had crunch, as a good fry ought. The red wine – a Saumur Rouge, La Cabriole, from the Loire – was light enough to cut through the butter but structured enough to stand up to the beef. It’s a classic pairing done with elegance and style, and it worked.
Dessert arrived in the form of a vanilla crème brûlée, topped with a lavender shortbread biscuit. The custard was silky, the caramel top crisp, and the floral note subtle enough not to overpower. It was a delicate end to a meal that had offered boldness where needed and quiet confidence elsewhere.
As we lingered over the last bites, the soft murmur of delighted diners continued around us – couples sipping rosé, friends sharing plates, all with a kind of understated glamour. Some guests were dressed to impress; others, like me, had leaned into comfort. But that’s the Riviera effect: whether you’re in heels or flats, stripes or linens, it wraps you in a kind of easy elegance that doesn’t require performance.
I left Riviera with a full heart, a full stomach, and the feeling that I’d just taken a mini holiday – one where the sun always shines, the butter is always whipped, and your joie de vivre will be perfectly indulged.
Riviera
23 St James Street
London SW1A 1HA
London
United Kingdom
