J Sheekey: ‘As glamorous as you could hope for’

If pre-theatre dining is defined by eating early before a show, it’s a daily occurrence at my place. We’re talking more fusilli and cheddar than a nimbly executed prix fixe, but like clockwork we sit down at half past five every day before an unscripted performance from my children that might involve the playing of a penny whistle, the stealing of chocolate spread and the dressing of the dog (now an old man) as a Disney princess – all in the name of putting off bedtime.

I’m not alone in eating earlier than ever before. A 2025 report by the hospitality tech company Zonal UK found that the average preferred start time for dinner is now 6.12pm: almost two hours earlier than the traditional 8pm – and prime pre-theatre feeding time. For this reason, I wasn’t surprised to discover, on visiting the West End stalwart J Sheekey just before a trip to see Paddington, that it no longer had a pre-theatre menu, but instead offered the whole shebang of its celebrated fish and seafood menu from noon until late every day.

It’s a popular affair. At 5.15pm, we bag the last table in the house – or rather, outside it, on the heated terrace overlooking Saint Martin’s Court, aconduit between Charing Cross Road and Covent Garden. With crisp tablecloths, weighty silver cutlery and attentive service redolent of a bygone time – not to mention framed images en route to the bathrooms of its most famous patrons – it is as glamorous as you could hope for.

That is, before my children – who are particularly challenged in the arses-on-seats department – arrive, asking for advance notice of the ice-cream flavours. Our waiter seats us knowingly, with crayons, at a booth in the back before promptly taking a drinks order. He asks if we’re seeing a show, and what time we need to be there. “HAVE YOU GOT CHIPS?” bellows my carb-loading seven-year-old, tucking into the baguette and butter that arrives along with their lemonades and the glass of champagne I proceed to mainline. “I’m going to burp in a minute,” announces my son, five, who wiggles his fingers at the menu, which I read aloud at a crescendo, hoping to obscure what inevitably follows.

“This is a such a lucky day,” he squeals, fingers wiggling rapidly now, as a platter of fruits de mer arrives. Ours is officially “for one” but feeds plenty more – a vessel groaning with shellfish’s greatest hits, plus whelks. Does anyone like whelks? My five year-old, it transpires, likes whelks. My husband digs one from its shell; the boy licks his lips and sucks it from the seafood pick, then zealously attacks the mussels – his favourite – a miniature Henry VIII in Hot Wheels merch.

Meanwhile his sister, repulsed by seafood, has backed herself into the corner of the banquette with a look of horror. My son rips the head from a prawn and splatters his eye with brown juice. My daughter wails. “Ooooh!” I sing, wiping his face, “This is fun! Who’s having fun?”

“I’m not having fun! He’s disgusting. Don’t touch me!” she yells as he sucks the head dry, closes his eyes and waves at her. We hardly need the theatre for drama. Thankfully, other diners seem unaware of the commotion, serenely enjoying their shellfish bisques and lobster thermidors.

J Sheekey should, of course, be this good, but it doesn’t have to be. A mainstay in Theatreland since 1896, its reputation precedes it; even in the London of today, with a hospitality crisis at one end of the spectrum and countless new competitors at the other, it remains an obvious choice for those making an occasion out of going to the theatre. A twice-baked Keen’s cheddar soufflé is a delectable, perfectly formed treat; we have it with a simple but considered side of spring vegetables in tarragon butter. A main of pan-fried sea bass with slow-roasted datterini tomatoes, wild garlic and asparagus announces the changing season, while the Cornish fish stew with garlic mayo – a classic brought back to mark the restaurant’s 130 years – is a cosily indulgent massage of a dish. The girl finally gets her chips and the boy segues to a shrimp burger, also with chips, which he dips into my buttery mash as if it’s ketchup.

The restaurant may no longer have a formal pre-theatre menu, but it does have a Post-Theatre Club, offering two small plates and one cocktail for £21.30, from 9pm until close. Late-night trade is a shrinking phenomenon in London, but here J Sheekey is sweetly coming full circle: the eponymous Sheekey was, after all, a seafood stallholder who was purportedly allowed to open a restaurant with the proviso that he offered post-theatre dining for the landowner, Lord Salisbury.

For now, we’ll be sticking with pre-theatre, although I can’t promise any giant profiteroles at home, which my daughter – who has, frankly, been waiting for pudding since we arrived – is licking clean of chocolate sauce. There’s no proscenium arch at J Sheekey, but it’s a grand performance of the most delicious sort.

J Sheekey 28-32 St Martin’s Court, London WC2N 4AL; daytime set menu £32; Post-Theatre Club £21.30; wine from £10 a glass, £47 a bottle