Frederick’s is in pedestrianised Camden Passage, a cobbled street with antique stalls and continental-style cafés. But when you step into the rather plush eatery, you’re suddenly in a more sedate, enclosed world. It’s discreet, the service is smooth, there are white tablecloths and properly spaced tables.
Frederick’s is family-run, a local institution of 50-odd years, where they stick to their winning formula and maintain the same waiters for decades. Three generations of the Segal family have run Frederick’s. There’s a garden for summer nights, a light-filled conservatory and a private dining room.
The food is traditional, unpretentious and delicious. Nothing on the menu will wow you, but that’s not what Frederick’s is about, unless like me you fall in love with their pan-fried fillet of John Dory, crushed Jerusalem artichokes, and tomato salsa. It’s the balance and rightness of the whole dish that’s
a wonderful thing. A friend’s roast guinea fowl, trompette stuffing, and potato and pancetta dauphinoise had her beaming with delight; the wine was excellent, and all around us, clients were happy.
Frederick’s has resisted all the new-fangled fads, and offers up old-fashioned, classic London.