The maritozzo
Forno, 322 Andrews Road, London E8 4RP and other locations
Some of the best places to eat in London are found under the train tracks. Hiding beneath the arches of the Overground on the edge of Hackney (you still have to mind the gap), is the bakery Forno.
It’s 2pm on a Friday. The display counter is almost empty. I order the last maritozzo (£4.50), and glasses tinkle as a train passes overhead. A lightly salted brioche bun that’s sliced in half and filled with an alarming quantity of sweetened whipped cream, the maritozzo is elegant and refined. The cream is carved to look like an extension of the bread, but this illusion shatters as I take a bite and send half of it flying. Sticky fingers; classic Italian.
There’s a neighbourhood feel to Forno. Friends chat, a young man reads, and a toddler waves to one of the bakers. As I near the end of my confection, another baker passes by. He sports flour-covered Birkenstocks and a magnificent moustache. He says I’ve picked a good time to come; on the weekends, it’s “feral”. The city has taken to these cloud-filled treats, and it’s not hard to see why. At Forno, simplicity and quality wins.
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Mini Cocktails
Rita’s, 49 Lexington Street, Carnaby, London W1F 9AP
I sit facing the window, next to another solo diner. I ask about her food, but she nods at her drink. “I come here for those.”
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Rita’s in Soho, a modern American restaurant, is famous for its mini martinis. And whether it’s because you can convince yourself you’re drinking less or because we’re hardwired to love small, adorable things, these ones are irresistible.
Rita’s mini martini (£9) is made with gin. Lemon oil pools over the surface like spilled petrol. An anchovy-olive-jalapeño-bleu cheese gilda (+£4.25) is perched on the rim – salty, briny, creamy. The martini itself is spectacular. Balanced and not overly strong – you can take a gulp without grimacing. The vermouth lends a coy, burnt sweetness reminiscent of creme caramel. The gin is herbaceous; singing with fennel and tomato.
The dining room lights are reflected in the window, as though Rita’s is spilling into the street. From a restaurant across the way, chefs come out one by one to smoke a cigarette in the same little corner. Black cabs flash by. And there’s an empty mini martini glass in my hand.
Immersive dining
Lagana, 19 Willow Street, London EC2A 3HU
Crayons on the table isn’t a new phenomenon. But at Lagana, they don’t seek to distract the children; these crayons are for the adults. Lagana is a Greek restaurant in Shoreditch serving both classics – Greek salad (£14), grilled pitta (£4) – and twists; caramel cheesecake (£12) oozes enticingly on the pass. But I’m not here for the food. I’m here to draw.
As I’m scribbling away, I notice that everything here seems topsy-turvy. Water is served in wine glasses, the menu is printed on notebook paper that’s been doodled on, the waiter sits down at our table as she takes our order. Shapes in primary colours decorate the wall, held in place with masking tape. It’s almost like being at lunch in a nursery school. But this is a place with a tiled bar, with curated playlists, with funky chandeliers – a place that’s positively cool.
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The waiter says most people draw, continuing with a grin: the ones who don’t are usually men in suits. But she urges them to try. Drawing is good for you, she insists. And she’s right – by the time we leave, I’ve remembered how fun it is to play.
Nose-to-tail, but visible
Legado, Yards, Unit 1C Montacute, London E1 6HU
Around the corner is Legado, a new Spanish restaurant. This time I am here for the food: the suckling pig. It’s the star of the menu. It’s also sitting right there on the bar. Split down the stomach, complete with a curly tail.
Nose-to-tail dining has been around for a while. It’s a different experience, however, to witness it. Chef Nieves Barragán Mohacho compares her suckling pig to a crème brûlée; crispy skin hiding the supple fat and tender meat below. The quarter pig (£85) is outside my budget, so I get the ear (£13) and half of the head (£18). The ear arrives sliced alongside capers, potatoes, and toothpicks. I skewer and chomp; rich, delicious. The fried half-head is doused in jamón powder and dotted with a lemony gel. I swallow the snout and gnaw on the jaw.
Mohacho’s whole suckling pig upholds Spanish tradition. “It’s not just a dish; it’s a symbol of community, joy, and the importance of coming together over food,” she says. “It sparks curiosity, conversation, and delight.” By serving the pig whole, Legado invites the hungry to contemplate the realities of food. To understand the whole story. And it’s a good one.
Supermarkets with second lives
Londis, 76 Fountayne Road, London N16 7DT
You’ve probably been to a Londis. Bought a 12-pack of toilet paper or a six-pack of beer. But a home-cooked meal? Probably not.
Londis in N16 has everything you’d expect – crisps, cat food, chocolate – but one shelf stands out. A selection of Gujarati food in paper boxes sits above handwritten labels reading “Anju’s Homemade”. I bring an aubergine curry (£4) and a serving of Sambharo (£3.50), an Indian cabbage slaw, to the counter, where I meet Mayank and Priyesh Patel. The Patels have owned this Londis since 1979. “Anju’s my mum,” Priyesh says, “and on Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays she cooks food from her childhood to sell in-store.” Mayank asks if I want my curry heated. Priyesh asks for my name. Here, it’s not just pay-and-go.
The curry is sprinkled with mustard seeds, spicy enough to make my nose run. Aubergine and potato mingle with raw peanuts and roughly chopped coriander leaves; you can practically see the hands that held the knife. It’s sweetened with jaggery and is delicious. The sambharo glows with turmeric. Fried curry leaves hide between slivers of cabbage and carrot, tangy and crisp. I eat in the nearby park. Behind me, another girl is bent over a similarly steaming paper box.
