The Wright Brothers were aviators, credited, in the frenzy of experimentation at the turn of the last century, with inventing the world’s first successful airplane. But Wright Brothers, the restaurants, are definitely all about fish. From Sea to Plate is their catch phrase and the restaurant has a gentle under-stated marine theme: the odd bit of rope, a mosaic of crabs, brass “scallop shell” light fixtures, nothing overdone, not so as you feel you’re in a Whitstable pub or anything. And set in the midst of Soho’s busy streets, with their noodle bars and nail bars, it offers the opportunity for serious dining among the many more casual drop-ins and coffee shops.
Jo rowed in from her office just the other side of Oxford Street and was waiting in the bar for me. She works in the head office of a large construction company of some 6000 employees, with branches around the country. So, with plenty in common to gossip about, we settled into a comfy, softly lit corner and instantly got into conversation about children and animals, bosses easy and difficult and the endless challenge of trying to get them to keep you in the loop.
Our waiter was tall and loose-limbed with a cheerful, easy manner who kept an attentive, informal eye on us. The wine list was broad. We chose a bottle of utterly lovely Hungarian Pinot Grigio and had a little competition to try and describe it: light, fragrant, silky. “Gooseberry” was what Jo came up with. He kept the wine bucket at the other end of the room, and managed, rather wondrously, to pour the very last of it, just as we came to the end of our meal. Quite a feat, I thought.
Each Wright Brothers is slightly different, the Soho restaurant offering dishes with an Asian influence, miso, mirin and soy featuring prominently. Now I love seafood, whether fish or crustacean, served whole with staring eyes or minced into fishcakes. I am not, however, a fan of oysters. Neither, it turns out, is Jo. Our waiter was very insistent about the oysters, pointing encouragingly at the really quite long list. It is definitely A Thing at Wright Brothers and I was beginning to feel a bit guilty, when I noticed one section headed “dressed and cooked”. Why not? I chose a dish of three with tomato, olive oil and preserved lemon. The oysters, still in their shells, were just warm and the salsa strong on the preserved lemon, which is a useful lesson to me as I tend to be a bit cautious using it. Quite a powerful palette-cleansing combination of flavours with a distinct metallic tang, but very pleasant. My first foray into oyster was – A Success!
Jo chose Atlantic prawns. Our waiter brought her a finger bowl and another larger one for the debris. As she worked her way through them, the shells piling up and her fingers dipping in and out of the lemony water, they were she said, “succulent, with a real kick of chilli”.
Then Jo chose crab. Back came the waiter, this time with two bowls for the shells, another finger-bowl, an array of tools, a scented wipe and a large white bib. “Now it gets serious”, he said and it occurs to Jo that she has chosen the two messiest dishes on the menu.
The crab came in a steaming heap, the shell already cracked for easy access, liberally scattered with herbs and toasted almonds. “My goodness!” she gasped, raising a large slab of shell. “How many legs has it got?”
Her meal was like an archaeological excavation and Jo a Time Team expert, selecting her utensils and probing, scraping and digging away to uncover as much she could in one evening. Among it all, among the tools and the shards of shell, the bib and the bowls, Jo was enjoying every mouthful. “It just melts away”, she murmured. The guy at the next table, engrossed in conversation with an invisible friend, was eventually distracted by the activity and looked across at her plate. “It looks good”, he commented. “It’s wonderful”, she replied.
I love skate wing: there is something very satisfying in the way the white meat rolls away in long tender strips, from its pink ribby bones. It came with a blackish mat of chilli jam spread across it. “Uh-oh” I thought, “they’ve overdone that a bit”. But in fact it was slightly caramelised and acrid, a good foil for the sweet flesh of the fish, leaving a pleasant tingling around the lips.
By 7:45 when our waiter returned with the pudding menu, the restaurant was pretty much full and buzzing comfortably. Jo’s choice was chocolate fondant with Greek yoghurt and a sesame tuile, which oozed its warm chocolate as she cut into it. Mine was orange pana cotta, a delicately flavoured dome flecked with orange and trailing a tail of lavender-scented crumb, like a comet. Something in it reminded me of my childhood, which I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but it was very light and fresh and a great end to the meal.
Afterwards we took a look downstairs at what is known as The Cage. This slightly quirky space, the single large table surrounded by metal bars, is a semi-private dining room with views of the chefs at work. A different take on the Chef’s Table concept, which seats up to 18.
