I don’t know if family lawyers are always being asked the cheapest way to go about getting a divorce, but anyone who writes about food is routinely grilled on where to go, what to order and how to land a table.
“What’s your favourite restaurant?” is an eye-glazer of the question, in part because when a life is lived at tables, it’s hard to really know. Still, Jimi and I have had a go: this list is purely personal (which, to spell it out, is us saying: “favourites” and “best” are not synonyms). It will be updated every month — tastes change. A video below explains how we made our decisions. But for now, and in no particular order, here are the 20 London restaurants we like best — at least for now.
Jimi’s picks
The only thing that people ever really want to know from me — when they are not asking how I wangled such a jammy job or wondering aloud why I am not yet the size of a waddling planet — is what my top restaurants are. It is a question that tends to bring out the evasive politician in me (how to pin it down when there are so many categories, and it is heavily dependent on things like mood and recency bias?) But there are, after I have stalled and stammered for a while, places that I invariably blurt out; places that have my own preferred alchemical mix of outrageous, memorable food, transporting atmosphere, and the consistency that means they also work as a pretty bullet-proof recommendation. Here then are the 10 restaurants that, at this particular moment, most reliably make my heart race and my cheeks ache from smiling.
Manteca
The glory of Chris Leach and David Carter’s understated, Anglo-Italian spot has been watching it raise itself up to its full height in increments. What first impressed me as a 2019 Heddon Street residency is now a vast, ever-evolving modern classic; an amber-lit, vibe-forward corner site of sausage-stuffed fried olives, heartily sauced strozzapreti and punchy amaro cocktails. London teems with pasta restaurants. Not many are as dazzling as this.
49-51 Curtain Road, EC2A, mantecarestaurant.co.uk
The Plimsoll
Ed McIlroy and Jamie Allan’s Finsbury Park boozer excels, primarily, because it is a genuinely scene-defining expression of London dining culture in all its dishevelled, eclectic glory. Yes, its appeal also has lots to do with an unimprovable fever dream of a Dexter smash burger. But beyond the musty boozer scent and bellowing hordes, The Plimsoll’s ever-changing granny plates manifest British cooking at its most surprising, simple and scintillating.
52 St Thomas’s Road, N4, @the.plimsoll
Chishuru
On an intellectual level, you could say that this West African restaurant (currently popping up in Borough before a central London reboot this summer) is about broadening public understanding of the region’s cuisine. And it is that. But it is also — with each subtle, ekuru bean cake or gleefully ferocious goat amayase stew — a continued showcase for chef and founder Adejoké Bakare’s mystical way with barrelling spice and unforgettable, multilayered flavour.
The Globe Tavern, 8 Bedale Street, SE1, chishuru.com
Rochelle Canteen
Set in a buzzer-entry space spilling out from a former school bike shed, Margot Henderson and Melanie Arnold’s gently continental east London icon manages to feel magically private without being snooty or exclusive. The food is nostalgic, seasonal simplicity (pies and pork schnitzel and Neapolitan ice cream in the summer) and, in my mind, the sun is somehow always shining there. Nothing less than a mini-break for the soul.
16 Playground Gardens, E2, rochellecanteen.com
Darjeeling Express
Now in its third permanent iteration, Asma Khan’s intensely personal hymn to Mughlai Indian flavours feels like it finally has the stage and setting it has always deserved. Khan’s bustling presence (pro tip: if she insists on ordering on your behalf, let her) is part of the restaurant’s warm hug of domesticity. However, that shouldn’t ever distract from flavours that — whether it is the Methi chicken or the unimpeachable keema toastie — possess unparalleled sophistication and depth.
Kingly Court, Kingly Street, W1B, darjeeling-express.com
Noble Rot
The first cut is the deepest. And, for me, each subsequent, perfectly lovely new Noble Rot hasn’t ever been able to quite match the strange, cocooning magic of the Bloomsbury original. The food (a bistrocore mix of Comte beignets, blushing roast duck and wobbling panna cotta) asserts itself without raising its voice; the service is assured; and the room is all sexy wood-panelling, flickering candlelight and the glorious drift of lost, wine-loosened afternoons.
51 Lamb’s Conduit Street, WC1N, noblerot.co.uk
Wong Kei
What does it say about me that the infamous brusqueness of service at this Chinatown institution — the slammed down pots of complimentary tea, the defiant cash only policy — is a core part of what I love about it? Who knows. But Wong Kei abides because you can slip into the anonymising clatter of its dining rooms, bow down before a steaming melamine plate of rice and profoundly seasoned braised brisket, and almost weep at the comforting perfection of it.
41-43 Wardour Street, W1D 6PX, 020 7437 8408
St. John Bread and Wine
It may be the hipster move to say this Spitalfields follow-up is better than its Michelin-starred Smithfield original, but that doesn’t make it any less true. All the determinedly simple St John staples are here — smoked cod’s roe, hulking pies, cross-hatched Welsh rarebit — yet they are sharpened by the single-room space and head chef Farokh Talati’s intuitive talents. A bag of warm madeleines for the road is non-negotiable.
94-96 Commercial Street, E1, stjohnrestaurant.com
Bouchon Racine
Few recent openings have been attended by quite as much hype as chef Henry Harris’s return in an unassuming Farringdon pub. Go expecting it to meet these impossibly high expectations and you’ll probably be disappointed. But give yourself over to to the poetic simplicity of its uncompromising Lyonnaise flavours — to veal chop with roquefort butter and a creme caramel that is one of the capital’s bucket list puddings — and you too will become a believer.
66 Cowcross Street, EC1, bouchonracine.com
Gymkhana
Lots of Mayfair restaurants serve schmancy, exorbitantly priced Indian cuisine to wealthy people; few do it with as much potency, precision or atmospheric elan as this celebrity-approved, Michelin-starred exploration of the subcontinent’s historic gentlemen’s dining clubs. The room is a textured, dim-lit marvel of shaken cocktails and wafting tandoor scent. And the wild muntjac biryani — sealed in pastry and dramatically scalped table side — is that rare dish that lives up to its lofty, mythic billing.
42 Albemarle Street, W1S, gymkhanalondon.com
David’s picks
Whose bloody stupid idea was this, I wondered, facing the impossible task. And hands up, mea culpa. This was a worse even than giving coffee with olive oil in it a go. It also was painful to do: nudging, say, Bocca di Lupo or Chez Bruce or Il Portico or Gerrard’s Corner off the list, despite loving them dearly — or wanting to include Riva but feeling that one visit wasn’t quite enough to go off, not on this occasion. I’ve spent a fair whack on Oslo Court over the past couple of years too, but I don’t know if my sentimental reasons for loving the place mean it should make the top 10. So it goes. Then there are the other places, the ones I admire greatly —but that doesn’t mean I love them, not really. Doubts abound. This list will change — places will likely come and go, though it may just grow. We’ll see. But here are 10 that I would never hesitate to recommend, and where — with the exception of Ikoyi, and to a lesser extent Sola (which I have eaten in three or perhaps four times) — I either go back to with reasonable frequency, or I have been to many times over the years. I hope you go, too.
The Ritz Restaurant
Last year, when there was war talk and jolly newspaper columns about being vaporised by the Russians, lunch seemed the only sensible thing to do. But where to go for a last meal? The Ritz, of course. Nowhere else offers such a sense of grandeur; few can match the refinement and high style of John Williams’s cooking. I’ve never “popped in”; no one has. It is always an occasion, an impeccable occasion.
150 Piccadilly, W1J, theritzlondon.com
Andrew Edmunds
If you like falling in love (and I do), there is no better place to do it than Andrew Edmunds. Upstairs people sit all pressed lustfully close together — kids, use protection — though downstairs is bigger, darker, with a way of vanishing memories. What’s served might loosely be called modern European; it might be langoustines wriggling in their shells or a chop laying with fennel and aoili. The wine list’s famous good value means most manfully slosh through as much as possible. A touch of the 1987s about it, and all the better to boot.
46 Lexington Street, W1F, andrewedmunds.com
Sola
Do you have a mother like mine? Perhaps yours too has wonderful meals — well, apart from just a couple of things. Fault is a game; it is there to be found. At Soho’s Sola, a Michelin-starred spot masquerading as Californian but with all the finesse of a fine Japanese: nothing, nada, nowt. As in: mine had no complaints. Perhaps that says it all. It all seemed so unlikely years ago, when chef Victor Garvey’s two main hobbies were partying and putting chorizo with everything. Now, he runs an upscale restaurant where each delicate dish can inspire a stunned intake of breath.
64 Dean Street, W1D, solasoho.com
Kiln
Brilliance can burn like a shooting star, swiftly disappearing into the dark. All but the worst restaurants have moments of it, but to dazzle consistently is a rare thing. Thai grill Kiln never falters: over and over again it serves its scorching jungle curry, or its cull yaw skewers or offal laap, with an easiness that belies their perfection. Nothing fails, and somehow, it never bores.
58 Brewer Street, W1F, kilnsoho.com
Bibi
Bibi knows the flimsiness of a distracted Mayfair crowd — the loos have no flat surfaces for a reason — and by rights could have opened with all its beauty and comfort and happily got away with perfectly dull food. Instead, chef Chet Sharma subverts expectation with food that takes from across India but is all of its own; elegant cooking with all the brains of intellectual cooking, but none of the sterility. Sit at the counter, chat, follow their lead.
42 North Audley Street, W1K, bibirestaurants.com
Otto’s
Step into this dining room — as green and hazy-making as absinthe — and as the door softly shuts, London seems to quietly depart; at the end of a meal, it is always a surprise to discover it still there. Otto’s is a potion, an elixir, a spellbinding brew of classical French cooking and table-side theatre, of romance and decadence in equal measure. The food astonishes, partly for its richness, and, if you’re the type with a bucket list, the pressed lobster or duck here should be on it. Drinking tends to be encouraged.
182 Grays Inn Road, WC1X, ottos-restaurant.com
The French House
Lunch is the most noble of the bloodsports, and my favourite place to play is the French. Regardless of what the diary may say, or the pictures insist, I have never, ever been in this dining room above the pub at any time but an endless sunlit Friday afternoon. It is one of clandestine encouragement: more oysters, another bottle, cancel that meeting. Chef Neil Borthwick speaks fluent bistro-nese: the menu is unflashy, but somehow suited to almost every conceivable instance.
49 Dean Street, W1D, frenchhousesoho.com
Bentley’s
“Bentley’s?” The merest suggestion of a meal at this high-end seafood spot, where Richard Corrigan is custodian, will always have me nodding dumbly with a kind of salivating lust. Everything is good, though I rarely want anything but oysters and Dover sole and a good bottle of meursault. It’s an expensive fish restaurant; you get it. It just happens to be the best one. For cheaper thrills, I’ve fortunately fallen for the Swain’s Lane London Shell Co, too (N6, londonshellco.com).
11-15 Swallow Street, W1B, bentleys.org
The Four Lanterns
The Google Maps timeline was a help with this list; I tracked where I eat most often. The Four Lanterns, an unflashy Greek taverna going since 1970, is somewhere I am pulled to for its easiness, endless ouzo, grilled fish and the old pros who cheerfully cackle and joke their way through service. I have left lesser Greek restaurants mid-meal to come here; they make you feel good. Chinatown’s brilliant Jinli (16-18 Newport Place, WC2H, jinli.co.uk) is very different — Chinese, for a start — but is likewise somewhere else I’m in every month. It soothes after pints.
96 Cleveland Street, W1T, 020 7387 0704
Ikoyi
A caveat to start this one: I have only been to two Michelin-starred Ikoyi, which now sits in clean, sand-coloured caves on 180 Stand, once. It is £300 for the supper menu (a £180 midweek lunch menu is offered) — barring a hitherto unseen generous streak at the Standard, I’m never going to be a regular. But the meal I had is one I think about again and again; the charring on the octopus, the conch shell of caviar on the shoreline of mussel custard. Spices from west Africa add to the interest. I left dumbfounded, I’ve never recovered.
