Pete Wong
Google
As we approached the entrance of Marceline, the door gracefully swung open – and for a fleeting moment, I thought it was an automatic door. Turns out, it was the hands of the ever-charming team, warmly ushering us into the fold. The first person to greet us was all smiles - great start.
Marceline sits cozily tucked in the centre of the humdrum of Canary Wharf’s corporate buzz. But it pulls you into the very chic hum of a French brasserie. The exterior whispers class, but it’s the interior that bellows sophistication, like a true Parisian brasserie.
We were promptly escorted to our table by the lovely Adama, who floated us past the sea of tightly packed tables. Yes, they are close enough to engage in unintentional eavesdropping, but let’s be real – this is what you sign up for in any self-respecting French brasserie. You’ll get over it once the food arrives.
Our waiter, Abe, was the epitome of charm – the kind of person who could talk you into ordering everything on the menu, and you’d thank him for it. With the air of someone who’s served at a Michelin-starred joint, Abe was not just attentive, he was downright enthusiastic about our dining experience.
First up: the Escargot de Bourgogne. While it didn’t quite whisk me off to the France, for London standards, this was among the top-tier snail experiences, buttery and garlicky in all the right ways.
Then came the Onion Soup. Rich, decadent, and sporting a melted cap of Gruyère - delicious. It’s a generous portion too, so do yourself a favor and share it—unless, of course, you plan to nap under the table.
Moules Frites arrived, looking like a mussel wonderland. Let me start by raving about the frites – crispy, golden perfection served with an equally perfect aioli dip. The mussels, drenched in a glorious bath of white wine, garlic, parsley, and butter, were divine. But here’s the problem (our fault): we left them sitting a tad too long while we tackled the escargots and soup, and they cooled off. Rookie mistake! Take note – devour them immediately!!
Next, the Steak Frite. A medium rare onglet steak, perfectly cooked. While I found the Maître d'Hotel Butter a little heavy-handed the quality of the meat shone through. As a steak lover, I personally would have preferred a sprinkling of quality sea salt.
Then there was dessert. The Mille Feuille wasn’t even listed on the website, but our trusty Abe insisted we try it – and we were powerless to resist. Layers of puff pastry cradling a whisper-light fruit cream, paired with a mango sorbet and pineapple chunks anointed with passionfruit sauce. It was a symphony of tastes and textures!!
Naturally, this indulgence was washed down with *three* Espresso Martinis, each with a foamy top so perfect, it was still there long after the last drop. And yes, they were adorned with the holy trinity of 3 coffee beans – an essential touch. I refuse to trust any establishment that dares serve an Espresso Martini without those beans - sacrilege!!
Before I forget – the bread and salted butter. For £2 per person, this is a steal. The bread arrives warm, the salted butter is a revelation.
And just when I thought the night couldn’t get any better, out came a handwritten birthday card and a demi-sized bottle of champagne, a kind and thoughtful gesture - Thank You!
Final verdict? Marceline is not just recommended – it’s required. We will most certainly be back, and this time, I’m not waiting for the mussels to cool.
