The Travel Critic

There’s a category of modern establishment that sets off the klaxon in my head before I’ve even seen the menu. You know the sort: places described not as restaurants or bars, but as “lifestyle destinations.” La Cantine bills itself as “a vibrant all-encompassing lifestyle destination with Mediterranean dining.” Which, translated from the marketing guff, means: we’re not really sure what we are, but we’ve got fairy lights, Instagrammable cocktails, and we’ll keep the music loud enough so you can’t hear how average the food is.

“A pool, bar, restaurant, café, lounge, rooftop, and concept store!” — oh do shut up. That’s not a dining experience, that’s a nervous breakdown with a logo.

These places always claim to “cater for everyone” — and, as I’ve noted in the Notes app on my phone (where I also keep a list of Things I Hate, currently topped by men who have “007” on their number plate, adults who go to Disneyland without children, and doormats with phrases like ‘It’s Prosecco O’Clock!’) — any establishment that says it’s “perfect for families, couples, and solo travellers” is absolutely perfect for none of them.

Because no, Sandra, I don’t want your toddler howling his lungs out next to my burrata, or Gareth the weary dad doing laps of the pool with a pram while I attempt my fifth Negroni in peace. You can’t have sexy low lighting and chilled Balearic beats and then fill the place with Peppa Pig sound effects. That’s not ambience — that’s chaos.

But then.

I turned up one evening — just the dinner, mind, I wasn’t tempted by whatever “immersive daytime experience” was on offer — and bugger me if they didn’t actually pull it off.

La Cantine, despite all the marketing twaddle, does dinner really well. The setting is beautiful in that international rich-person-on-holiday kind of way. You could be in Mykonos, Miami, or Marbella, depending on which way you’re facing and how many margaritas you’ve had. The lighting is moody and flattering, the music’s dialled down just enough to murmur over, and the service is warm and relaxed, without the faux chumminess you get in these places that call waiters “hosts” and menus “journeys.”

The food? Legitimately delicious. I started with a salmon tartar that came perched on a rice crisp, which sounds wanky but wasn’t. It was fresh, clean, a bit of zing — exactly what you want when you’re easing into a warm evening with a glass of something cold and white.

Then a beef tenderloin — I know, I know, basic, but sometimes you want a steak and they didn’t cock it up. Deeply beefy, with a jus so rich it should’ve had a private banker. Cooked properly. Not sliced into fiddly slivers or smothered in foam. Just a big, bloody, excellent piece of cow.

Finished off with profiteroles, which were everything profiteroles should be: obscene amounts of cream, thick glossy chocolate, and no attempt to make them look modern. Thank Christ.

Look, I still don’t know what “all-encompassing lifestyle” means. I don’t want a daybed or a scented candle or a DJ while I eat. I just want good food, a bit of vibe, and no one under the age of ten within a fifty-metre radius. La Cantine, at least in the evening, gets that right.

So maybe — maybe — the rest of it’s good too. Maybe during the day it really is a sun-dappled dreamscape of grilled octopus and poolside serenity. But I’m not risking it. I’ll leave the “concept brunches” and “curated pool experiences” to the TikTok lot.

I’ll be back after dark, when the lights are low, the kids are in bed, and the lifestyle has finally decided to shut up and pour a drink.