There are team dinners that feel like calendar obligations, and then there are team dinners that quietly turn into stories you keep retelling. Ours landed firmly in the second category, thanks to Mr. Nice, sitting coolly and confidently in Mayfair, as if it knew we’d all show up hungry.
Mr. Nice has the kind of room that instantly resets the group chat energy. Crisp tablecloths, soft lighting, glasses that sparkle before you’ve even ordered anything. The atmosphere feels polished without being precious, which is exactly what you want when work colleagues are about to start ordering like friends who haven’t seen each other in a while. Jackets came off. Phones went face down. Someone said, “Shall we just get a few things to share?” and nobody believed them.
The food arrived with purpose. Burrata, creamy and composed, sitting centre stage like it knew it was about to be photographed. Delicate plates of crudo that disappeared faster than expected. Vegetables that somehow tasted indulgent. Bread that did not survive long enough to cool. Butter applied with enthusiasm and absolutely no restraint. Each dish felt generous without being loud, confident without showing off.
Drinks flowed in that easy, conversational rhythm where glasses are never empty but nobody’s counting. There was laughter that started polite and grew increasingly unfiltered. Mr. Nice seemed to encourage this progression, holding the room steady while we slowly unravelled into our best versions of ourselves. The kind that order dessert even when full and insist on “just a taste” of everything.
And dessert, of course, happened. Citrus, chocolate, cream, clever little constructions that made everyone pause briefly before diving back in. Forks crossed. Plates were shared. Someone declared something “perfect” with real conviction. What made the night land wasn’t just the menu, though that did some heavy lifting. It was the ease of it all. Service that felt intuitive. Timing that never rushed or stalled. A sense that we were welcome to stay exactly as long as we wanted to be there.
We came for a team dinner. We left well-fed, slightly giddy, and already talking about the next excuse to return. Mr. Nice lived up to its name, then went a step further. Delicious, indeed.
