In an earlier entry on cheap eats in London I made passing reference to the institution of the set lunch. They are great theatre at their best, when someone with a Sears Roebuck upbringing (raise your hands with me) can mutter French phrases off the menu to someone else who is pretending to be your servant for an hour. Traditionally, the grandest London restaurants were a required stop-off for Parisian waiters, who spent a year here to complete their technique serving proper gentlemen and ladies. Or so I was told a decade ago. Now we’re lucky if the waiters, still mostly French, don’t spit in the soup the way fancy waiters did in Orwell’s Down and Out in London and Paris. 

If simmering social resentments exist, you’d never know it when the curtain goes up in my favorite gastronomic playhouses. The net price in each is between $100 and $140 per person for three courses once wine, tip, and tax are added, starting from a base menu price of $55 to $80 (less if you choose only two courses). I suppose you could get away asking for tap water instead of wine and skipping coffee and the cheese course, but everybody would hate you. On the other hand, the proprietors gouge the customer for mineral water, coffee, and that gorgeous cheese trolley, so I risk raised eyebrows and economize on those things pretty often. Wine by the glass costs $15 to $20 at the cheap end for basic Austrian, Australian, and Chilean stuff seen at the grocery store, where a whole bottle goes for the same price. Oh well, cry to your teetotaller friends. 

Setting all that aside, I’d like to point out four restaurants where setting, cooking, and theatre come together in delicious harmony. The tenor of the cuisine is French in all of them. 

Sketch: The place to go if you only go to one place, this London offshoot of Michelin three-star chef Pierre Gagnaire is full of surrealist whimsy. Serious money went into refurbishing the whole building so that Dali and Max Ernst would feel comfortable having a snack. Downstairs features a popular bakery and confectionary that fills up after work, along with a chic video gallery that doubles as a white-leather eatery for the very well-heeled and trendy. But the culinary center stage is upstairs in the Library and Lecture Room. Don’t be fooled by the fusty names. The dining room is decorated in nearly neon orange, yellow, and cerise – it’s like eating inside a Tequila sunrise. The wait staff is formal and rather aloof. The wine steward, however, prides himself on having found many inexpensive wines by the glass, a rarity. The food comes in tiny courses, each a marvel, followed by a main course and bits of froufrou before dessert (once they brought a hand sculpted from ice with a chocolate cigar between its fingers). No other set lunch is so aesthetically frivolous and fun.

Petrus: Named after the grandest of crus in Pomerol, the room is wine-colored, classic, and sumptuous, as befits the main eatery in the perfect Berkeley Hotel, where supermodels go for drinks when they don’t want to think so much. Luxury is the key to lunch here, and the polished but friendly staff silently whisk each course away before you see them. Gordon Ramsay is the owner, and having eaten in all the eff-word master’s prime places in London, I find Petrus the most impressive. The price is a fraction below his namesake, the flagship Gordon Ramsay on Hospital Road, but there you feel a bit suffocated by formality, or I do. Also, every dish wasn’t a knockout there but was at Petrus, from the tiniest bonne bouche to the concluding apricot Tarte Tatin. I’m not going to tempt you with dishes you’ll never meet when you come here, but suffice it to say that “impeccable” isn’t misused, for once. Be warned, however, that this set lunch winds up costing closer to $150 than $100 unless you are inhumanly disciplined. 

The Capital: Skip the overpriced, overcrowded food hall at Harrod’s and try the Capital, a small, elegant dining room installed in the boutique Capital Hotel. Both are a connoisseur’s treat, truly handmade in all respects. You will likely be shown to one of four window tables, almost half the seating in the entire place. The decor is muted beige and blue with discreet modern touches. Not fusty but calming. The kitchen is so small and close by that you hear noises, but they are professional and reassuring noises, because what comes out is exquisite fare. Miniature herbs and veggies are no longer a novelty, but the Capital picks theirs almost before they are visible. Main courses are just as original as the starters (they can be dull in even the best places – chefs like to shine with their hors d’oeuvres), and only the cheese cart is something of a gouge, delicious as its offerings are. I’d rank this the most discreet fine lunch I’ve eaten in London. A place where Mrs. Simpson and Dickie might have met on the sly before the abdication.

The Square: Not the foremost name among fine dining places, maybe because of the absence of a celebrated chef, The Square feels spare. You face white walls, white linen, neutral floors, and little else except for a row of bright abstract paintings. The wait staff are young – they look like a squad of French cadets barely out of the academy -- but properly trained and overseen. The crowd is also young and includes all types, not just the officially well-heeled and upper-crusted. Come when you want to be in a sunny mood or have lost one. The food is lighter and brighter in tone than in many top-tier places, but ingredients and preparation cannot be faulted. The absence of ceremony clearly pleases the informal clientele, so don’t expect high theatrics. On the other hand, The Square inspires personal fondness and costs at the bottom of the set lunch price range when the tab arrives, generally spot on $100. 

Near misses: I wouldn’t disagree with anyone who was a fan of Tom Aikens, Gordon Ramsay at Claridge’s, the Ledbury, or Pied à Terre, all fine establishments with notable set lunches. It’s just that my one or two meals at each had a marked flaw: gluey brown sauce, underdone risotto, frosty waiters, a dull or overly finicky dish --something off-putting enough to inhibit enthusiasm. Along the way I’ve admired the chic bar-seating restaurant, Atelier de Joel Robuchon, despite tiny portions and high, high prices. It feels like a diner for millionaires. I also intend to follow up a friend’s suggestion and eat at the new Ducasse restaurant at the Dorchester, on the assurance that food and setting are fantastic. Just let me dissolve my trust fund first.