Just after a business collapses, as restaurants so often seem to do, owners rummage for explanations. Among the rubble of debt they will find politicians to blame, energy suppliers to swear at, unfair taxes and rates. All of which may be true. But there must be other reasons some restaurants make it and others don’t, given everyone must abide by the same rules and the taxman comes for us all.
It is always, in the end, down to the people. Usually the right kind are not those eyeing every margin but those who run restaurants as places they’d dine in themselves. The best example of this can be found in Jan Woroniecki. He is Ognisko’s present owner but also — and I appreciate it’s grandiloquent to say so — its guardian. He bought it in 2012 after some wrong’uns on the board tried to make a quick buck by shifting the place.
It is not the sort of place that should be shifted, given it was founded as a members’ club for Poles escaping the Nazis who’d invaded their homeland. For decades after, this was the meeting place for the old Polish squadron leaders who’d helped Bomber Command shoot down the Luftwaffe in the Battle of Britain. All gone now, of course. But a history like that ought not to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
Woroniecki’s father Krzysztof was one of those sorts and began taking his son here in the 1960s; Jan returned most years, observing its steady decline into shabbiness. When he took over, he wound back the clock and reversed its fortunes: it is a room so beautiful I wanted to be married here, until we took the wedding closer to where I grew up. I suspect my fiancée partly persuaded me into that so I would avoid Ognisko’s ruinous martinis on our big day. They come freshly poured from the freezer — dilution is for wimps — and I’ve noticed my brain seems to go for a wander after a couple. But they are unbeatable, helped by the use of Woroniecki’s own vodka, Kavka, smoother than a chauffeured Daimler. The myth about vodka is that it has no taste or odour, but the good ones do.
Though Ognisko is Polish by blood, the crowd who come are not especially. Its good looks and candlelit charm have universal appeal: on any night there may be well-heeled locals; those dining before or after an Albert Hall concert; a date or two; groups of friends; those who have been coming for years and those who’ve only heard about it from Topjaw. It helps that it is an easy place to try: the set lunch, which might offer a vivid goat’s curd salad followed by confit duck, meat falling apart under its crisp shelter of skin, is £27 for two courses, £31 with pud. Dinner is pricier but not outrageous, especially given it is tempting to fill up on dumplings (a plate of pierogi is about £12). I have, before, ordered two or three portions with a bottle of very good Burgundy. Wine is from £8 a glass, and the main menu offers Bin Ends. Steals are often found; Woroniecki is not trying to price anyone out.
Chicken Kyiv is perfect, bone sticking out like a lollipop stick
It would be misleading to suggest this is haute cuisine, or the kind of thing that appeals to the persnickety sorts who chair those 50 best restaurant lists. I don’t think the likes of barszcz (beetroot soup), sledz (marinated herrings) and krolik (rabbit leg braised in white wine) keep Michelin up at night. But who hasn’t gone out to somewhere uptight and fiddly and wished for the garlic-sodden nostalgia of a perfect chicken Kyiv, bone sticking out like a lollipop stick? Or perhaps steak tartare with a great punch of spice? Or maybe the pork schnitzel à la Holstein? Comfort is everywhere. Lately there has been more exploration in traditional recipes, chefs proudly exploring regionality and old methods. It sounds a fruitful vein.
What you feel here is looked after. It’s as if they insist you have a good time, which comes from the top. Restaurants are about the right people. He never mentions it, but Woroniecki has royal heritage. These things don’t matter a hoot but it’s neat, I think, that his unused title so well matches his character — character that keeps Ognisko just so. Princely is the word.
Meal for two about £160; Ognisko,55 Exhibition Road, SW7; ogniskorestaurant.co.uk
What you say
Karolina Kubrak: “The food is delicious, and the place has a unique atmosphere. This is Polish cuisine at its finest, accompanied by the renowned Polish hospitality that characterises this place. I highly recommend it to everyone.”
Malgorzata Malaga: “If you’re looking for truly exceptional Polish food, this is the place. My boyfriend still can’t get over the fact that the best pierogi with karkówka he’s ever had were not in Poland, but right here in London, at Ognisko.”
Mat Remx: “Like being at home.”
