Some restaurant folk have a habit of opening restaurants I’d recommend to nobody. They know who they are. Those huge, hulking, fancy openings, always but always adorned with huge, imported chandeliers and calfskin banquettes. Pretty to look at, and they’ll give you a table for eight for Susan’s birthday and serve you pumpkin ravioli, but also guarantee you a soulless, lacklustre experience.
And then you have the likes of Tollington’s. This culinary conundrum of a place is a new fish joint in Finsbury Park, north London, that’s run by people who couldn’t do any of the aforementioned tedious, showy blandness if their livelihoods depended on it.
