Before visiting Punk Royale, which has just opened in Mayfair in London on the site of Carlo Scotto’s old Amethyst restaurant (RIP), I enforced something of a digital blackout on myself. Having initially been booked in, in the first week of opening, I succumbed to a short but violent cold, which left me horizontal and, though I consider myself something of a trooper, unable to handle 20-plus courses in a restaurant that doubles as a rave.
Why hadn’t I spent my convalescence scrolling and reading up on all there was to know about the restaurant in meticulous preparation? Because a restaurant like Punk Royale is always going to be divisive. Having lightly probed a Swedish journalist I know about what to expect from the new arrival, alarm bells were, if not shrill, lightly ringing: Punk Royale was loud, brash, an ‘experience’ that required significant diner participation. ‘Interactive’ (shudder).
I knew the basics: that the restaurant had first opened in Stockholm in 2015; that they had expanded to Oslo and Copenhagen, with London being their first venture outside of the Nordics; that they were famous for caviar bumps; and that it was one big party where they lock your phones up for duration of the meal so you can be more present (even if you’re hating every minute and would rather be anywhere else).
It was either going to be a triumph or a disaster, and I wanted to come to that decision alone rather than submerging myself in the opinion soup of social media. If I accidentally came across content that mentioned it, I would avert my head dramatically like a child in a high chair who has no desire for another spoonful of pureed vegetables. I was hoping, at least, for some good food.
So, two weeks after my aborted first booking, I was there, being ushered into the small, already full dining room, with the feel of everyone, staff and diners, limbering up – COO Kat Bont says the team at Punk Royale, “a mix of the core team from Stockholm and some new talents from the UK”, feel as if they’re “going on stage” at the start of every high energy service. I spotted nerves, excitement, and drunkenness on the faces of my fellow diners. The music was loud. Here we go.
First things first, that caviar bump, which is delivered at the counter by a friendly chef who spoons a huge dollop of glistening black sturgeon eggs onto your hand and slings you a shot of ice-cold vodka to wash it down with if you’re drinking. I wasn’t, but sitting down the next table clearly had been already and as the experience unfolded across two or so hours, as the music got louder, as the lights grew dimmer and as the vibe got wilder and wilder I thought to myself how back when I did drink, this would’ve been the perfect place to come for a late raucous dinner with friends after sufficiently oiling ourselves first in the pub around the corner.
