The deal is that you have to be invited by a member and I’ve no idea how to become one, or indeed if I really want to be one. I can’t actually afford to hang out in places like this on a regular basis though I did enjoy being in the enigmatic owner's rather gorgeous apartment for the night, all velvet chairs, darkness and candles, and a very sexy jazz singer crooning away on the stage. Staff are benevolent, oozing a warmth that is rare in the service industry, while the place itself packs a lively, groovy vibe. One that makes you feel quite bad and wicked, which is rather lovely.
OK. So, you enter the building, announce yourself and get buzzed upstairs where a room opens up to reveal an old-fashioned bar with a well-worn Chesterfield and matching armchairs that look like they should be filled with men with slicked back hair and gals in flapper dresses. They are not—they are filled with the band, but that’s by the by. The menu is clad in red velvet, the wine list is European and expensive, as is Mutis’s particular brand of jet-set cooking, which is all oysters and lobster and foie gras, followed by more lobster, monster steaks and slabs of tuna. Oh well, having made it through the door in for a penny in for a good many pounds, as they say.
We had a simply, yet superbly cooked lobster salad with green apple vinaigrette—lobster nearly always leaves me disappointed, this one didn’t—and the house special described on the menu as fried egg carpaccio. Hmm—how does one resist such a delight? It sounded horrid but, as it turns out, is irresistible and Bar Mut’s signature dish of fried eggs over-easy and oozing golden yolks onto a plate piled with delicate sticks of fried potato and scattered with prawns. Mix it all together, gobble it down and glory be—yes, it is indeed one of the most delicious creations ever. This curious combo we ate with a bottle of Lurton y Belondrade Verdejo—one of my favourite whites on earth, so I was a happy bunny.
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