There are restaurants you visit for the food, restaurants you visit for the ambience/decor, and some where the pleasure lies in the whole performance. The Ivy Cardiff has always understood that. Jennifer and I were invited to the opening a few years ago, when everything was pristine, the brass gleamed with intent and the place carried that unmistakable electricity of a new restaurant determined to make an entrance.
We loved the décor then and, walking back in this time, we loved it still. It is indulgent, theatrical and gloriously unafraid of itself – pattern, colour, polished surfaces and flattering light all working together to make an ordinary afternoon feel like an occasion.
If you look very closely, there are tiny signs of wear here and there now. We look. It is what we do. Most people probably would not notice and, frankly, nor should they. The important thing is that the wow factor remains. The Ivy still feels like The Ivy, and that matters because our history with the restaurant has not always been flawless. Over the years we have had visits that were excellent and others that were a little more hit and miss. I mention that not to rake over old coals, but because it gives some context to what followed. On this occasion, from the first drink to the last spoonful of dessert, The Ivy Cardiff was pretty much on the money.
The people make the place
Maria looked after us, and she was lovely. Portuguese, with a gorgeous accent and that rare hospitality instinct that cannot be taught from a manual, she gently mothered us through the meal. Never intrusive, never absent, always appearing at precisely the right moment. Another gentleman who attended to us was Romar, originally from Peru but away from South America for some thirty years. Somewhere between plates, the conversation wandered towards Peru and the wider continent, and suddenly we were talking travel, places and lives lived elsewhere. Fascinating stuff, and a reminder that the best restaurant experiences are rarely just about what arrives on the plate. Sometimes the people carrying those plates become part of the memory.
We began with warm sourdough and salted butter – delicious – alongside a bottle of sparkling water, while I went slightly off piste with an Old Fashioned. A good Old Fashioned is a simple thing only in the same way a good omelette is simple: there is nowhere for mistakes to hide. This one did not disappoint. Jennifer started with a Margarita before later moving on to a lovely deep Malbec to accompany her steak. Maria, meanwhile, had recommended a rhubarb and raspberry mocktail to me. I am always slightly wary of mocktails that arrive tasting like a sweet shop dissolved in a glass, but this was excellent – cold, refreshing and, crucially, not too sweet.
For starters, Jennifer chose the twice-baked cheese soufflé. Rich, deeply cheesy and generous in size, it was not some timid little cloud apologising for taking up space. She rated it perfect. I went for the roast Queen scallops, a very pretty dish served with crisp potato rösti, truffled crushed peas, spinach and a light Parmesan emulsion. The scallops themselves were small and beautifully cooked, just seared enough to give them a little character without losing that delicate sweetness. It was an elegant plate and a very good start.
Then Jennifer spotted the rib-eye
Now, Jennifer is, in certain matters, something of a one-trick pony. I say that with love and with nearly three decades of supporting evidence. If there is a rib-eye on the menu, the rest of the page becomes largely decorative. The Ivy’s version was a 12oz rib-eye on the bone, 21-day Himalayan salt wall dry-aged and grass-fed. There was, however, a complication. Jennifer did not want chips. Nor did she fancy the usual sides. What she wanted was scrambled eggs.
They were not on the menu. She asked anyway.
And the kitchen, to its considerable credit, obliged. Out came a dish of buttery, golden scrambled eggs alongside the steak, and suddenly the whole thing made perfect sense. The rib-eye, though, was the star. Beautifully cooked, properly rested and carrying an aroma so extraordinary that I noticed it before I had even tasted it. Naturally, I had to try some. This was research, after all.
What a steak! Jennifer said it was one of the best rib-eyes she had tasted in years and I could not disagree. There are moments in restaurant writing when reaching for another adjective simply gets in the way. We both rated it a perfect ten.
A taste worth remembering
My own main course brought back a memory. Years ago, Jennifer and I used to visit Strada in Cardiff Bay, and I would often order the seafood linguine. I loved it. It became one of those dishes that lodges itself somewhere in the memory and quietly turns into a benchmark. Since then, I have ordered seafood linguine in restaurants all over the UK, hoping for the same hit, and nothing has ever quite come close. Some have been perfectly pleasant, others very good, but none scratched that particular itch. Until now.
The Ivy’s Queen scallop and prawn linguine arrived with capers, samphire and red chilli in a rich lobster cream sauce, finished with coriander and lemon zest. It was fantastic. The sauce had richness without becoming heavy, the chilli brought warmth rather than aggression, the capers and samphire gave it that essential salty edge, and the lemon kept everything bright. It reminded me immediately of those old Strada meals in Cardiff Bay and then, rather inconveniently for the memory, may actually have been better.
My only complaint was that I would have welcomed a slightly larger portion, although I accept that wanting more of something excellent is hardly the most damning criticism a restaurant can receive.
By this point, sensible people might have stopped. We did not.
Jennifer chose the flambéed crème brûlée, which arrived with that crisp, golden caramelised top giving way to sumptuously creamy custard underneath. There is something deeply satisfying about the first crack of a spoon through a proper brûlée, and this one delivered exactly what it should.
I ordered the strawberry and Chantilly pavlova with macerated strawberries, vanilla cream and baked meringue. The cream and strawberries were divine. The meringue, for me, was a touch too crisp. This is personal preference rather than prosecution evidence – I like a pavlova with a little chew in its heart, that soft marshmallow texture beneath the shell. This one snapped where I wanted it to yield.
Did I leave it? Of course not.
What does value really mean?
There is a lazy habit of dismissing places like The Ivy as expensive simply because they are not cheap. Those are not the same thing. Value is not a synonym for low price; it is the relationship between what leaves your wallet and what stays in your memory.
We ate in a beautiful room. We were looked after by people with warmth, personality and stories of their own. We drank well. Jennifer had a steak we both rated ten out of ten. I finally found a seafood linguine that matched, and perhaps bettered, a dish I had been remembering for years. The kitchen cheerfully rustled up scrambled eggs because Jennifer fancied them. That, to me, is value.
And if you want to sample The Ivy without committing to a full lunch or dinner, something else caught my eye. The Ivy Cream Tea was listed at £11.25, with freshly baked fruit scones, clotted cream, strawberry preserve and a choice of teas, infusions or coffees. For a taste of The Ivy experience in those surroundings, that struck me as remarkably good value.
Perhaps this visit resonated because The Ivy Cardiff and I have history. Not all of it flawless. We have seen it on better days and lesser ones, which makes praise easier to trust when it is genuinely earned. Restaurants do not need to be perfect every time to be worth returning to, but when the room is glowing, the staff are on form, the kitchen is cooking like it means it and the person opposite you, who, after all these years, you still happen to be madly in love with, is as happy as can be eating a magnificent rib-eye with an entirely unofficial side of scrambled eggs, you would be foolish not to recognise the moment.
This time, The Ivy got it right. Very right.
The Ivy Cardiff
69/70 St David’s
Cardiff CF10 1GA
029 2233 8940
Reservations, menus and further information: Click Here
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Click here for a review of our visit.
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