There’s something in the air this season – and it’s not just the smell of woodsmoke or the first whiff of mulled wine drifting from a premature Christmas market. London seems to be rediscovering its appetite for old-school comfort, the sort of dishes our grandparents would have called “proper” and newer restaurants are branding as “heritage”.
Even one of the city’s newest openings, Liverpool St Chop House, is rummaging through recipe books from the 1600s, serving suet puddings and “pea soope” with the swagger of modernity. The timing feels apt. As the evenings draw in and jumpers get thicker, we all start craving the kind of food that anchors you – slow, generous, rib-sticking plates that warm the hands as much as the stomach.
