Restaurant of the Week: Ormer, Mayfair

If you weren't in the know, an ormer is a peculiarly shaped, iridescently shelled snail, typically found in Jersey. While the restaurant may have some eccentric tendencies, the name wasn't plucked from thin air – rather, it was on this Channel Island that its original, late sister restaurant of the same name began. Today, through both its produce and its experience, Ormer carries the specificity of its name into the glossy streets of Mayfair, hidden away from the pace and stress of city life.

Meandering through the hotel, where everything from vibrant green and decadent gold to moody navy and ruby red splashes the walls, Ormer is found at the back of the Georgian building, down a few unassuming steps. Here, beneath the hotel, a low, softly lit ceiling, slender, muted table lamps, and the background hum of diners lingering together bring a sense of calm. As we arrive on a weekday evening, I feel as if we've slipped into a different era and place entirely, perhaps aboard a ritzy ship from the '20s, gently rocking us away from the dramas and strains of the modern world one sway at a time.

With our jackets whisked away and my handbag propped onto a plush, mouse-brown stool, we find ourselves seated at our table for the evening. It's a grand, round, marbled piece, as if it must carry all the courses we'll be enjoying at once. Naturally, next up is our discerningly dressed sommelier, carting over a trolley alight with half a dozen champagnes to choose from – we're treated a light and airy Rathfinny as our welcome. Raising his hands up high, he gives us a sommelier's pour, and we transfix on this for a moment as the bubbles serenely flow into the glass in one long, smooth stream.

The menu itself, while focused on hyper-local produce and ingredients gathered from its own eco-friendly garden in Essex, leans heavily on influences that you couldn't put into one sentence. There are Moroccan and North African hints, and Irish too, drawing on the dual heritage of Executive Chef Sofian Msetfi – which makes for a menu that's both boredom-proof and not easily replicable. Translating to a dish, this comes as spiced lamb and prune bundled in an exquisite ball of dough, with a whipping of smoky cream of onions and herbs perfectly poised on its head. We receive one each, both guarded – as if sacred – by a pair of cinnamon sticks.

Next, purple bowls arrive that look like a berry smoothie – but turn out to be beetroot foam, concealing a smoked radish within. It has a refreshing kick, earthy and bright all at once, and we simultaneously tuck into the semolina and barley sourdough with decadent butter and argan oil, expertly poured tableside from a Moroccan cask that captures every last drop of flavour.

Newlyn turbot Marocaine follows, with lemon gel, fried curry leaves, green chilli and khourabi, as well as roast duck with a parcel of zaalouk sauce from confit duck leg and Moroccan yellow wine topped with delicate flowers. Each spicy, fragrant accent enlivens the richer, more able-bodied produce.

To finish, we enjoy a zingy frozen marshmallow that cleanses the palate – acting as a small, playful reset before things turn indulgent again – followed by an English saffron and nadorcott dessert, beautifully encased in glazed orange. I admit this final plate was much too sugar-coated for my liking, but after the tasting menu of 11 courses I may have simply been sufficiently fed at that point.

Unashamedly elaborate, there's a clear sense of spectacle at Ormer, with each waiter fully embracing the part. A pristine box of N25 Oscietra Caviar had arrived with one of the courses, with our waiter announcing a “drum roll please” before opening. But there's a lightness to the atmosphere, one which thankfully spares the British need to retreat into a rigid shroud of pleasantries.

Something you wouldn't see in the elegance of the room at Ormer is that every week the kitchen prepares around 60 meals for nearby homeless people, who it describes as too often invisible.

Is there eccentricity? Maybe... but is there depth? Most certainly.