A creche for nepo babies: the River Cafe Cafe reviewed

The River Cafe has grown a thrifty annexe, and this passes for democratisation. All restaurants are tribal: if dukes have Wiltons, ancient Blairites have the River Cafe. It is a Richard Rogers remake of Duckhams oil storage, a warehouse of sinister London brick, and a Ruth Rogers restaurant. Opening in 1987, it heralded the gentrification of Hammersmith, which has stalled now that Hammersmith Bridge is closed to traffic and sits dully on the Thames, a bridge of decline. The River Cafe appears, thinly disguised, in a J.K. Rowling Cormoran Strike novel where a literary agent murders her client because he writes Swiftian pastiche, and it is a good place to watch the Boat Race.

It is intensely disorientating until sunset. Windows – the cafe has a wall of them – are underrated

Now there is an annexe, which is called the River Cafe Cafe. As names go, this is just lazy. I thought it would be impossible to get into – so many restaurants run on fumes of spin – but when I arrive it is almost empty. If the River Cafe has an interior made for Star Wars – like any glossy restaurant in an industrial space it feels remote, untethered, mad – the River Cafe Cafe is more so. It feels like a nursery designed by people who have never met real children. The carpets are blinding blue; the walls are bright white and soaring; there is a long, shocking pink curtain; what I think are acrylic flowers climb up the walls; the staff are so courteous they seem just born. It is intensely disorientating until dusk falls on the Tideway and a London sunset comes. Windows – the cafe has a wall of them – are underrated.