Ms Batterhams

Perfect for lunch. The food, atmosphere and especially the service were excellent. Loved that it catered for Gluten Free diet. Very special place.

Ms. Batterhams – A Saturday Night in February. Some places wear their history like a second skin. Ms. Batterhams is one of them. Solid red brick, no nonsense. A dark, smoked-glass door, the only hint that behind it lies something worth stepping into. The kind of place where, once you’re inside, the outside world stops existing. You descend—not literally, but in a way that feels like slipping into something deeper, richer. Inside, there is a hum in the air - —the unmistakable sound of a room in full swing. Laughter, glass-on-glass, the controlled chaos of a kitchen at peak service. A space built for long nights and even longer conversations. Walls the color of midnight, soft velvet couches like a lover’s embrace, rich leather seats that make you want to linger. The kind of dim, golden lighting that makes everyone look about 20% more attractive than they actually are - this certainly works for me! It’s a Saturday night in February, and the place is full—shoulder-to-shoulder with the kind of crowd that knows good food and drinks are worth showing up for. The bar is a monolith of polished stone, stretching long enough to park a goddamn Isuzu Truck on top of it. Behind it, bartenders move with the kind of cool confidence that comes from knowing they own the room. Sharply-dressed, handsomely poised, effortlessly knocking out cocktails for a crowd that drinks like they mean it. We’ve arrived early eager to get thing going with a Negroni on my mind. Ellis the Maître d clocks us from the other side of the room reading us immediately—a bunch of riff-raff, hungry, thirsty, and ready to raise some hell. Beardy’s birthday. A table of eight. The table is not ready, does it matter, No! Ellis and his team don’t flinch. They descend on the table like a Formula 1 pit crew—stripping, flipping, resetting—by the time we reach it, it’s pristine, waiting, glassware like diamonds under the warm lights, plates like heavy river stones, cutlery solid enough to shank someone with. And just as we settle, Annabelle, that absolute legend, has already set the tone. A bottle of local 2017 vintage fizz lands on the table. Tall flutes, fine bead, tight and racy, Chardonnay fruit laced with honeyed toast. A local sparkling that could rip the throat out of any big-name French house’s NV. Thanks Annabelle. Negronis for the boys. Cocktails for the wives. The bartender doesn’t just make drinks—he crafts them with the quiet confidence of a hitman assembling a sniper rifle. The Negroni is textbook—bitter, rich, seductive. But then comes the "Winefried". A signature cocktail that walks the line between classic and unhinged—Navy-strength gin, lime, mint, but with a wicked left hook: earthy, sweet cinnamon. Served in a coupe, it lands with authority. Then comes Madeline. The kind of server you want—quick, razor-sharp, warm but in a way that tells you she could handle a table of drunken bankers or a celebrity meltdown with the same level of poise. She doesn’t just take an order; she orchestrates an experience. We opt for the Chef’s Selection menu - because when the kitchen knows what they’re doing, you let them take the wheel. But we come with a challenge: a vegetarian, a couple of gluten-free "Glu-Tards," and a collective appetite for excess. No eye-rolls, no hesitation—just a cool, effortless nod from Madeline. “No problem.” Then, the kitchen whispers. A gift. An amuse-bouche to set the mood. Olives locally foraged for the Glu-tards, and something golden, crunchy on the outside and melty and delicious on the inside... cool! To Be Continued.