E, who works in ‘apparel’ and therefore knows about such things, recently explained that although the cost price of their tee shirts is probably 5 Euros, Balmain can’t really sell them for anything less than about 300 when they retail alongside jackets in excess of 1000 Euros.  ”It would undermine the brand” he said, managing to sound both apologetic and slightly patronising simultaneously.  I was reminded of this logic recently at Royal China Club who have seemingly enlisted the help of Balmain to determine their own pricing policy.  

For delicious (if not exactly photogenic) as the sea bass was, in its delicate broth of soy and chillies, £36 is a hefty price for a main course for one, especially when rice is almost a fiver on top.  Given the prevailing restaurant trend to accompany ingredients with a birth certificate and family tree, there’s something borderline obtuse about Royal China Club’s refusal to offer any clues as to the sea bass in question’s provenance.  No country of origin, no mention of whether it was farmed or line-caught.  Even Balmain are obliged to disclose “100% cotton, made in Turkey” before relieving you of 300 Euros.  Royal China Club, however, offers no such reassurances, presumably because £36 tells you all you need to know.

So with the sea bass setting the high water mark for mains, it was unsurprising to discover that a starter of Crispy Aromatic Duck with pancakes cost almost double what it goes for at trusty faithful and personal favourite YMing.  I wouldn’t have minded if said duck was twice as tasty or prepared with double the culinary ingenuity.  But it wasn’t.  It was the same quality of duck you can get down the road for half the price, accompanied by the same bog standard pancakes, spring onions and Hoi Sin sauce. 

Don’t get me wrong, they were still very good pancakes (bad crispy duck pancakes being rather like bad sex; plausible but still nothing to complain about).  It’s just that I personally believe there’s a ceiling on just how good they can be (and how much they cost to prepare) in any restaurant.  Measured against a range of criteria, I’m certain the pancakes at Yming would emerge equal to those at Royal China Club but, in the latter’s case, they’re twice the price.  And that’s because the sea bass is to Royal China Club as jackets are to Balmain; justification for charging ridiculous margins on your everyday items so they don’t look incongruous alongside your top-end offerings.

Overall, Japan was the unlikely winner of the evening as my Japanese Silken Tofu Hotpot was delicious and discernibly superior to the to common or garden variety.  ”It’s made with egg” the waiter helpfully informed me and its inclusion certainly proves that tofu needn’t necessarily be all texture and no taste.  No such clarification was required for the green tea and wasabi ice creams which where a triumph although, at that price, they ought to have been.  And I don’t believe for one minute they were home-made, but then Royal China Club wasn’t even trying to pretend otherwise; the same Balmain-esque insouciance in effect again.  

All of which is not to say I didn’t enjoy my meal at Royal China Club.  The mixed seafood dim sum were a reminder of just how mediocre the offerings at Ping Pong et al really are and the 70s Bond film interior was beguiling.  There was an intriguing post-it on the lobster tank (written in Chinese characters) which I like to imagine said “The one with the red bands on its claws is reserved for Mr Blofeld” but, in reality, probably said “If anyone asks for lobster invent a market price and go high”.   

I suppose I was just thankful that, despite the name, Royal China Club weren’t trying to charge me for membership, on top of everything else.