Mark Hix is an of-the-moment serial restaurateur, famed as much for his well-prepared British proteins as he is for his love-it-or-hate-it scenemaking. The art, by the latest contemporary names, is, let’s confess it, atrocious—avert your eyes from the miserable-looking stuffed flamingo ensnared in neon hoops. The food, though, compels. Fish, be it sea trout or Bideford Bay sole, is beautifully cooked and ample, the steak tartare gloriously citrusy, the Pimms jelly a thoroughly British dessert idea whose idea is long overdue. If you can’t snag a table, the upstairs bar serves the same menu. The cellar cocktailerie, Mark’s, is often busier than the restaurant, and its leather chesterfields and tin ceiling attract young media types who crave a sassy vibe: The Stiff Upper Lip, to take one drink, is made with Beefeater gin infused with green peas. If you’re not eating upstairs, there’s a £1.50 cover. Hix is also at Selfridges and Brown’s Hotel. Reservations suggested.