We want whatever the person who designed Isla at the Standard is on. There are more colours and design flourishes in this room than a Michael Craig-Martin acid trip, and, somehow, it kind of works. Sadly the same can’t be said for the food. The all-day menu ranges from the perfectly decent duck rillettes, to the completely bizarre half-broccoli, steamed, without seasoning, and looking very stupid with a dollop of yoghurt on top. As for the toasted sourdough pudding. No thank you. What you should know is that nothing here is slap you in the face offensive, but nor is it particularly good. And average isn’t worth a trip.