Sri Lankan Soul Meets Mayfair Chic: Chef Larry Jayasekara Redefines Fine Dining At The Cocochine

It was a crisp autumn morning when Chef Larry Jayasekara ushered me onto the lush grounds of the sprawling Rowler Estate in Northamptonshire. “This,” he said, sweeping an arm across the rolling landscape, “is where it all begins.” Soil so alive it’s practically buzzing, Sika deer grazing in the distance, and kale standing proud like soldiers in fertile fields, it was a scene that felt more like a storybook than farming. Rowler isn’t just a producer for Larry’s first solo venture, The Cocochine; it’s the heartbeat of his creative process. 

Regenerative Roots

Larry’s cooking, much like the estate itself, thrives on cycles, natural ones, regenerative ones, even emotional ones. “The farm pushes you to listen to the land,” he mused as we walked past wildflowers used in his dishes. That ethos permeates his Mayfair menu. Hyperseasonal isn’t a buzzword here; it’s gospel. From Rowler Farm, Sika deer paired with cocoa’s bitter notes to native lobster hugged in banana leaves, his dishes feel like an edible memoir, equal parts Sri Lanka, his heritage, and Britain, his home. “Cooking is an ode to the land, and here, we have a lot to say,” says Larry. With 1100 lush acres in Northamptonshire and the untamed beauty of Tanera Mòr, a private island off Scotland’s west coast, the chef’s approach practically writes itself. “Our farm is a living ecosystem, fruits, wild berries, honey straight from the hives, barley, oats, even flowers for the table, it’s like painting with nature’s palette. We only feed our animals what’s grown on the farm, no chemicals, no shortcuts. It’s slow here, but just right.” Seafood comes wild, from the waters around Tanera, through local fishermen. Massive langoustines, plump scallops, the ingredients are as bold and rugged as the coastline itself. “I marry my Sri Lankan roots with French discipline, to turn ingredients into stories. What we grow, or source feeds the plate, but also the soul. Sustainable? It’s non-negotiable. It’s life.”

Mayfair’s Culinary Masterpiece

Across four stylish floors, boasting velvet-clad dining rooms and a top-level gallery-like space, every detail is meticulously curated. Each plate is a masterful ode to ingredients, where chic Mayfair meets the vibrancy of Jayasekara’s unique heritage. Fine dining isn’t just elevated here, it’s completely reimagined. Welcome to Mayfair’s freshest culinary masterpiece. It’s part fine dining, part performance art, the kind of place that reminds you why we venture out to eat. Not because we’re hungry (though, let’s be honest, we are), but for the pure pleasure of being transported. At The Cocochine, every detail whispers that you’re in the hands of a master, nothing rushed, nothing overwrought. It’s like a Michelin-starred symphony, perfectly orchestrated. Perched on one of the eight coveted seats at the chef’s table, I had the best view in the house, the rhythmic flow of the open kitchen, where the team glided effortlessly, fire flaring under charcoal grills, pastry being rolled like edible silk, and mandolined vegetables falling as gracefully as confetti.  And then there’s the food itself.

First, a puff of something seemingly simple, a single, golden gougère. It’s warm to the touch, impossibly delicate, with a Gruyère crown that shatters pleasantly between your teeth. The first bite of Rowler Farm’s garden salad was like stepping into a summer memory, 64 ingredients, each whispering a story I didn’t know I’d forgotten. Utterly transcendent.

Dough Meets Dreams

Served theatrically warm, yes, bread with its own moment of theatre, it came in unexpected form, a petite, golden boule of sourdough, accompanied by whipped yellow butter dusted with smoked salt. It was one of those quiet ‘aha’ moments. The crust had just the right crack, echoing that satisfying crunch you remember from childhood when the bakery bag would split at the seams on the way home. Inside, it was an airy, tangy swirl of wild yeast dreams, a loaf that could bring poets to their knees. Our server whispered that the flour, milled just days before at Rowler, includes wheat plucked from elder-rich hedgerows, and somehow, that made sense. It tasted alive. It tasted of place. The bread acted as an anchor to what followed. The amuse bouchée was a single, faultlessly grilled Tanera Mor hand-dived scallop, the sweet flesh whispering smoke and salty Hebridean air. Paired with two dots, one a lush apricot purée, the other a speck of bone marrow jus, it was succinct but extraordinary, like the best haikus, leaving me lingering in its afterglow. The whirly brioche buns, sticky glazed and weightless as clouds, seemed to rewrite the laws of physics as we lifted them; steamed into feathery submission, they unravelled caramelised onions, whispering curry and pandan leaves in their wake, aromatic poetry in dough form. Then, a crusty sharing sourdough loaf landed like a rustic masterpiece, its high hydration bringing a luxuriously creamy softness to the crumb. As I cracked it open, unleashing a puff of yeasty steam, it practically begged to be anointed with thick swathes of truffle butter, and who was I to deny it? 

Masterclass In Flavours

A sip of Austrian red and a philosophical pause later (good bread has that effect), we were handed knives, shaped to mirror the stairwell railings, no less, prepped for the next act. Rowler Farm lamb shoulder entered the scene, cooked to 48-hour tenderness, cloaked in crisp, golden skin and paired with fresh peas so vibrant they tasted like sunlight in vegetable form. A tomato fondant as deep as a midsummer dusk rounded out this ode to the season. And then, ‘hello,’ the flaky chicken and leek pie. Filled to order. Butter in every layer of the crust. Carnal, savoury chicken hiding in a velvet smooth sauce spiked with the caramel sweet mystery of Norwegian Gjetost cheese, a nod to Larry’s Sri Lankan roots, jaggery-like in its unctuous complexity. I’d fight for more jus and mushroom garnish alone, licking my spoon like a heathen. But wait, chips. Posh potato pavé fries, stacked like golden bricks and herb brushed to architectural glory. A tenner for fries? Sure. They were perfection, crisp and greedily good, tempting long after I was, admittedly, full. Then, watalappam stole the stage, Sri Lankan crème caramel, laced with nostalgia, paired with mango sorbet so bright it tasted like sunshine.

ELLE Gourmet’s Verdict

All in all, The Cocochine is a masterclass in ingredients, each dish whispering elegance and devotion.

Where: 27 Bruton Pl, London W1J 6NQ, United Kingdom

For Reservations, Contact: +44 20 3835 3957