The Holy Birds restaurant review: Poultry takes wing

As the crow flies, the Holy Birds is halfway from the City of London to Shoreditch, a mere flap of the wing from Spitalfields. Philosophically, too, it comes home to roost somewhere in between the natural habitat of the banker and the hipster.

Its decor is a study in retro-futurism - and very, very orange. In fact, the late-1960s pastiche is almost too perfect for comfort. Could it be for real? Might we have slipped through a time warp on our way from Liverpool Street?

A promotional flier for a bottomless Babycham brunch lays that fear to rest, as does the menu. Roast pigeon may have featured on swinging London's menus, but shoestring roots and kale most certainly did not. Rest assured, then, that a meal at the Holy Birds comes with a healthy portion of irony.

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As you would expect, poultry is the main event. Pigeon is joined by duck, poussin and several varieties of chicken, the unluckiest of which has been roasted with a can of beer up its bottom.

We start with chicken livers that are not-quite-yet on the menu but will be soon – and so they should be, given their rich, pink moreishness. Just as rich and pink is the first of the official starters: duck breast carpaccio. A hen's egg shirred with blue cheese and spinach equally leaves you scraping the plate.

The arrival of the main courses heralds more duck, this time roasted and served with a bittersweet chicory tarte tatin, while the pigeon, preserved confit-style before roasting and full of flavour, is darkly reminiscent of the chicken livers.

We forego puddings for a second tilt at the cocktail menu, which runs to 73 choices, by my befuddled reckoning. More than enough for even the booziest bankers' lunch.

The Holy Birds is certainly well set up for client entertainment. Beneath the orange emporium lie two private dining rooms: the Negroni, which cosily seats nine, and the Manhattan, with space for 45 and furnished to flatter the City's power-brokers – it simply aches for the arrival of Don Draper.

And the hipsters? They'll be in the Mule bar, slouching ironically in red velvet armchairs and ordering cocktails at the yellow leather bar.