The Builders Arms

It wasn’t a good start to the evening – a manic week travelling around the country and many late nights working and a day filled with meetings and pressure. As I raced out of the office and down to the tube station I was looking forward to relaxing over a glass of wine and a decent meal. The crowds gathering outside the closed tube station was not what I wanted to see. Deciding that I was not going to let this upset me I jumped into a cab. Big mistake. This was the Stirling Moss of cab drivers who’d obviously just watched Death Race 2000. Yes, we even had an accident on Marble Arch as he clipped a van full of tourists. Time was racing on and I so didn’t want to be late to meet my pal at Sloane Square tube station. I waited while they agreed – thankfully - that there was no damage (except to my stress levels) and the cab drove on. Relieved I had arrived at Sloane Square in one piece and I started to relax. Except, my friend was later than characteristically normal. Finally a voicemail came through – he had been struck with some bug and wasn’t going to make it. Whilst I felt sorry for him (he didn’t sound good) I was more than a tiny bit fed up as to why he hadn’t thought about giving me some notice about his bailing out….

A little foot stamping later and I decided to take that walk down the King’s Road anyway. I was not the sort of woman to let the absence of my friend deter me from honouring a booking in a pub restaurant. Also, it was a Friday night, the weather was fine, I was REALLY hungry and all of my other mates were no doubt having fun doing something else already.

Passing Markham Square I turned down Bursall Gardens. Residential home delight – beautiful town houses, jauntily bright painted cottages and a selection of prestige cars to die for. Had I gone to heaven? Not the sort of road to walk down if you have any likelihood of rage against rich people.

A couple of twists and turns in the road and I was beginning to doubt my iPhone GPS system. I paused a moment – taking in the charming floral displays of the stunning homes around me. And I could hear it – the distant buzz of beautiful people having a good time. I continued along the road, found Britten Street and gawped at the sea of happy, wealthy people swelling out of the front of The Builder’s Arms and onto the quiet residential street. I took a deep breath, battled through the well dressed and well spoken crowd and entered the restaurant to the left of the building.

The interior is charming and quirky. Bright colours and unconventional furniture in an effortlessly comfortable and welcoming space. Whilst it was 715pm on a Friday evening, there was space at a good number of the mostly larger tables (there were a few for couples but the majority of people appeared to be in groups of three or more) yet it was busy enough to feel like you were not alone. I stood a little uncertainly but smiling at the amusing artworks (including giant wall mounted cutlery) as the staff breezed over and didn’t bat an eyelid when I said that I would be dining alone as my companion couldn’t make it. They offered me a range of seats and I choose to go a little further into the back – this place appeared to go on forever. I choose a table that wasn’t so tucked away I would be on my own but not so centre stage that I would be gawped at as “the sad woman who’s eating alone”. Actually, I shouldn’t have worried as people were so busy enjoying themselves that I felt right at home immediately.

Feeling safe in the irregularly shaped restaurant area – but with groups of office guys and a couple of couples nearby, and numerous chatty groups a around the corner – I took in the environment. It was a bit like being at a (wealthy) friend’s house. The table tops were that chopping block wood – nice and sturdy. There were wall bench seats and squishy sofas with an assortment of cushions adding to the appeal. There was one of those area divider things containing a selection of books, unusual ornaments and neon ice buckets.

I felt I deserved a glass of something comforting and ordered up a Languedoc Chardonnay (£4.60 for a small glass) and some tap water to recover from my recent sprint along the King’s Road while I tackled the extensive wine list. It’s incredible for a pub restaurant – with helpful sections guiding you through aromatic whites, elegant cool whites, chardonnay lovers and friends, Louis Latour classic burgundies, rose, warm hearted reds, smooth traditional reds and Southern Hemisphere. The majority were priced between £15 and £23 so really good value for money – even in this part of the world – is pretty important. And I liked that there was equal attention to the old world as the new world wines. There were even some really nice, accessible tasting notes on the back of the wine list from the Master of Wine, John Clevely. I so like a wine expert who has left pomposity off the menu.

I turned my attention to the menu. For starters I was torn between the smoked salmon terrine salad (£7.50), the beetroot and mozzarella salad (£6.50) and the chicken liver pate with tomato relish and toast (£6). As it’s one of my signature dishes I opted for the chicken liver pate. Without much of a wait it arrived on a wooden block – a huge slab of pate with the relish in a white ramekin and some well-dressed (what else?) rocket leaves and onion slivers. Two pieces of warm chargrilled bread set attractively on the edge. The pate was truly excellent – lightly seasoned, firm, bold in flavour and delicious. Why isn’t there ever enough bread?

The main courses covered pan fried sea bass (£14), roast rump of new season lamb (£15.50), rib eye steak (£16.50), chicken ceasar salad with poached egg and bacon (£12.50) and tomato tart tartin with goat’s cheese £10). Being Friday, I choose the beer battered fish and chips with peas and tartar sauce (£12). Presented nicely with a piece of newspaper (FT of course) it was a huge hunk of fish on a mountain of fat, double fried chips. Sadly I think the peas were of the frozen variety and whilst the batter was crispy light, the fish was a little watery and rather tasteless. I devoured the chips with scant disregard to my cellulite. It was at this point that I wished I had opted for the special – whole plaice with lemon, capers, new potatos and samphire (£13.50) or pot roast guinea fowl with oyster mushrooms and mustard mash.

Whilst sipping a large espresso (perfectly produced crema) I browsed through a little booklet called “The Geronimo Summer season 2010”. Whilst promotional material it lists an eclectic assortment of events through August and September – who’d have known that there was a National Spongecake Day, a “more herbs, less salt” day, a National English Toffee Day and a Black Pudding Throwing Championship event? It was funny and I kept mine, wondering quietly to myself that just maybe Geronimo might be the G-spot of pubs – hard to find but well worth the effort.

So my conclusion is that off-the-beaten track haven in the middle of Chelsea is a treasure. Quirky but tasteful and restful, effortlessly trendy but low key, busy and raucous in a polite kind of way, it is the sort of pub that you’d love if it were your local. OK, the fish and peas could have been better but for ambience, clientele, friendly service, value for money and that incredible wine list you’d be hard pressed to beat it.

The Builders Arms

Food Served

Disabled Facilities

Children Welcome

Credit Cards Accepted

Music Played

Live Music Played

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