68-80 Hanbury Street, London E1 (020 3818 3241). Meal for two, including drinks and service: £80
A decade or two back a friend of a friend who, like me, is Jewish, bought a warehouse apartment on Brick Lane in London’s Shoreditch. He was part of the first wave of young thrusting types who could see the potential in the area and, being shown around the open-plan space, so could I: who would not want this expanse of copper-coloured floorboard, these ancient brick walls with their stories to tell of its time as a tailor’s workshop? His octogenarian grandmother, however, was less thrilled. “We struggled and we fought and we strived to get out of the East End,” she said (I précis).” And now, after all that, you choose to go back?”
I imagine chef Louis Solley’s Jewish émigré great-grandparents, who apparently met in the border queue as they arrived from the old country, would react in a similar way were they to learn that their descendant is now a cook off Brick Lane: “You’re cooking? Accountancy not good enough for you?” But then this is a very different age and a very different East End. The only obvious remnant of the Jewish community that was once here are the two bagel shops – or beigel shops; arguing over spelling like this is not worth a broigus – at the far end of Brick Lane. The declared notion behind Solley’s restaurant is to return a bit of the cooking of the Ashkenazi Jews, those from eastern Europe, to the community’s London springboard. Its name comes from Arthur Morrison’s 1896 novel A Child of the Jago, the latter being slang for the festering slum that once occupied these parts.
It is a lovely notion, though that’s all it is. Brick Lane is now a slum in the same way that I am thin, and this is an Ashkenazi restaurant in the same way that Burnley has a beach. Anyone hoping for the maternal caress of chicken soup or a cheery bowl of heartburn courtesy of lockshen pudding shouldn’t get their hopes up. For we are in Shoreditch in the 21st century. The first statement is the building of which the restaurant is a part. Second Home is a shared office space for creative and tech start-ups, though being Shoreditch they don’t merely offer space to interesting companies. They curate them. (These days everything is curated. Soon I intend to give my sock drawer a good curating.) It’s designed by award-winning duo SelgasCano to be free of hard lines while utilising concrete, plasterboard, metal and glass.
The most prominent part of this is the long orange, curving bubble at the front, like a Parisian restaurant’s on-street conservatory, though one as imagined by the creators of Thunderbirds. This is the bit which houses Jago. Inside all is orange. Very orange. It’s like being trapped inside a can of Fanta. The only other colour comes from the crimson graffiti tagging on the grey concrete pillars. Cosy it ain’t. For that you must instead look to Solley’s food. He was previously head chef at Ottolenghi in Notting Hill and accordingly knows a thing or two about strident flavours.
The biggest disappointment is the salt beef, the slices served with chrain, that classic mixture of beetroot and horseradish. Despite the name, salt beef shouldn’t make you fear for your blood pressure. This was simply far too salty. But worse than that, it was tired; a little dry and flaky and shrivelled. Where was the amber ribbon of fat? Courtesy of places like Monty’s Deli at Maltby Street (see News Bites, below) there is very good salt beef to be had in London. In a restaurant paying even passing homage to Ashkenazi traditions, poor salt beef is an unignorable crime. Another starter of cauliflower, both purple and white, with pomegranate seeds and almonds looked far better than it tasted. Again there was a very heavy hand on the salt in the cauliflower purée.
But these were the only two clear misfires of a meal which had other things to recommend it. At the start, house pickles brought reassuringly crunchy chunks of radicchio and fiery green peppers. Encouragement to try their Calabrian salted anchovy fillets was well placed. They are a beautiful thing, full of a dense, resonating flavour that goes so far beyond the salt in which they were preserved. Firm pieces of pickled herring came with cooling yogurt and pieces of beetroot roasted to a satisfying outside crunch.
The star dish is a huge-flavoured veal cheek “goulash”, on orzo – the tiny lozenges of pasta – the meat a deep dark tangle of long-cooked strands and caramelised tomato sauce. It’s a dish of effort and patience and poise. There is a topping of a light salsa verde and the cooling white of sour cream; the latter, breaking the kosher prohibition on mixing milk and meat, shows just how lightly this kitchen interrogates the Jewish traditions it uses as its calling card. A delicately seared fillet of hake is on point and comes with indecently delicious sprouting broccoli, which is not a sentence I ever thought I’d write. Perhaps it’s the anchovy sauce.
Stay for dessert. There are only two of them, but both have us scraping at the glaze. A log of frozen cheesecake, the outer layers in a sultry melt, is only lightly sweetened, which leaves the heavy lifting to the dribbled honey and the crack and crunch of an expertly made pistachio shortbread biscuit. Even better is a warm, soft orange cake full of the zest in a pond of sabayon-frothy orange sauce studded with toasted caraway seeds. I ate it in the dog days of 2014; I’m writing about it at the start of 2015. It’s a contender for dessert of the year in either. Prices at £6 or £7 a starter and dessert, and double that for mains, are Shoreditch-reasonable. The wine list is curiously short and French heavy, with scant choice below £30.
I make a point of not criticising a restaurant for failing to be what I hoped it would be. The problem here is that in the choice of name and location and, most obviously, by referencing Ashkenazi traditions, they make a promise up to which they do not live. Jago is a cheery place with cheery staff and will be a useful addition to an area overcrammed with unconvincing bog-standard curry houses and peak-beard coffee shops. But in coming up with an idea they do not pursue to its logical conclusion, they have created a vacancy. If someone wants to open a real Ashkenazi restaurant in London’s East End, that would be very welcome.
Jay’s news bites
■ As well as making their own salt beef and smoking brisket for their killer pastrami, Monty’s Deli, in an arch between Maltby and Druid Street near Tower Bridge, is also now making bagels. It’s no small achievement, given the faff of the boil followed by the bake. Try their Reuben sandwich or their delicious chicken soup with matzo dumplings, which are far better than your momma ever made. Currently only open Saturdays and Sundays, but with plans for Friday nights later this year (montys-deli.com).
■ This will be a bad year to be a pig. According to business advisory firm BDO, 2015 is all about the US BBQ tradition. “2014 saw the continuing rise of the burger,” its latest restaurant sector report said. “In 2015 we expect new concepts and roll-outs in the smoke and barbecue world to have a great year.”
■ Proof that pickling is the new, er, cupcake. Tesco has launched a home pickling “pack”. I say pack. It’s a box containing a bag of baby onions, a bottle of vinegar and an airtight jar. Oh, and a recipe. Yours for £5.
Email Jay at jay.rayner@observer.co.uk. Follow Jay on Twitter@jayrayner1
