I can’t pretend to know much about Brazilian cuisine, but there are a handful of relatively useful nuggets of information I can throw into the ring.
I know of Rodizio Rico, mostly through bad press rather than a personal experience, specifically this review by Matthew Norman from The Telegraph, which made me guffaw when I first read it. I can't imagine you'd find many natives eating there.
I also know of a little place in the depths of south west London, far away from everyone else but close to me, called Katavento in the quaint Merton Abbey Mills found near Colliers Wood station. The area is a pocket of arts and crafts stalls on the River Wandle, with an open air mini weekend market, live music, and a few places to eat gathered round the old water mill.
It specialises in pastels, crispy thin envelopes of pastry encasing some sort of filling. I remember coming across the place around World Cup time, stopping for a very pleasant and al fresco beef and felicci (Brazilian cream cheese) pastel, and thinking, ‘this could be the place to be when Brazil are playing’. The website said reservations for game nights had filled up months before.
Finally, I know Brazil is home to the largest population of Japanese outside Japan; a really interesting nugget of information, I remember thinking at the time. It's something I learnt from Italian-Japanese chef and supper club host Luiz Hara, himself born in São Paulo. You can imagine the culinary fusions thanks to that relationship.
But that is ultimately where my knowledge of Brazilian cuisine ends. Prior to last week, I wouldn’t even know where else to go in London to sample and find out more.
It turns out, a good place to start on your quest for Brazilian-food enlightenment - and one that has in fact been around for a little while - is Carioca. You'll find it amongst the knot of compact, independent, international eateries on Market Row in Brixton Market.
They initially launched and operated under the name Prima Donna, with lacklustre interiors and the kind of matching wallpaper and lamp shades that would be at home in a DFS showroom.
From the name, people understandably assumed it was Italian. So they’ve given it a face lift with an injection of South American colours, enhanced the menu with more authentic Brazilian dishes, and relaunched as Carioca, the word used to refer to native inhabitants of Rio de Janeiro. And the premise behind the food here.
I popped in for a weekend lunch, where the vibe is very much coffee shop come café come Brazilian restaurant. At 1pm on a Saturday, clientele were mostly feasting on one of four variations of a full English breakfast, or one of five ways to have eggs on muffins with hollandaise. I get that they need to cater for the hungover masses unable to move past the desperate craving of eggs, beans, bacon and toast. And they’d be losing out on business if those weekend staples were missing. But, you know - BORING.
Don’t come here for those, as tasty as I’m sure they are. Instead, venture onto the second page of the menu, where you start to see homemade Brazilian dishes make an appearance.
The feijoada can be found here, and likely every other restaurant calling itself Brazilian, considering it’s the national dish of the country. A stew of black beans with chorizo, beef, lean pork, bay leaves, stir fried greens and a pot of yuca flour which you mix into the rest, is hearty and comforting and there’s enough meaty juices to soak into the rice (£11.95). This was the dish my companion favoured.
For me, the winning plate was the chicken caipira. It’s food from the Brazilian countryside, a story of slow-braised meat cooked with shallots, ginger, garlic, spices, spring onion and parsley.
It reminded me of my mum’s excellent coq au vin (she does it with white wine), the meat having the kind of surrendering physical state that offers negligible resistance against a fork. And it swims in a pool of wonderful juices to satisfyingly soak cassava chips (£3), rice, bread or any other carbohydrate of choice, I'm sure. I could eat this every day. Reassuring, wholesome, feel-good food (£8.95). It’s also one they’ve recently added to the menu; I suspect it will be staying.
There was also an arepa, a sandwich of maize bread stuffed with pulled beef, onions and bell peppers, of which I preferred the carb component as the meat seasoning was a little too sweet for me. The other half wolfed it with little deliberation (£7.85).
There isn’t much in the way of dessert other than some accomplished home baking, with a handful of cakes displayed on stands, still warm from the oven when we selected. The chocolate and almond with orange was declared a moist and yielding success, but I would like to see a presence of what would typically satisfy the sweet teeth of Rio. But maybe that is just cake, who knows.
In terms of authentic Brazilian fare, the lunch menu is a little limited compared to what’s on in the evening. There’s a whole starters section not included during the day, with the likes of homemade churrasco sauce (the sauce they put on grilled meat) slathered on chicken wings, cured and grilled Portuguese chorizo on sourdough, beef back rib and mozzarella croquettes, breads infused with cheese, braised beef empanadas, Bahian fish cakes (also at lunch), chargrilled ribs, and steaks with more churrasco.
I’d like to return to try these, and I’d suggest an evening meal for a true insight into what they’ve got going on.
Carioca has a good buzz about it. It’s a cozy spot to shelter from the outside world, hunker down and enjoy some hearty South American home cooking, with a few welcoming outside-but-covered tables if you can get past the unflattering market spotlights. Regardless, I suspect I’ll be back.
Liked lots: chicken caipira, cake, staff, great vibe and simple but jolly interiors
Liked less: would be good to see traditional Brazilian desserts (whatever they are), and some of the evening dishes available at lunch
Good for: making it a local favourite, learning the ropes of Brazilian cuisine
My rating: 3.5/5
Find the menu on Zomato.
Afiyet olsun.
Note: I was invited as a guest to this restaurant.
The day I get tired of treating my palate to the sensational combination of lime, salt, beans, chilli, cheese, corn and coriander, will be the day I’m tired of life. There are few other cuisines that get me as animated, or can boast the same amount of vibrancy and energy within their dishes. Tease me with even a hint that a good Mexican might have opened in my neck of the woods, and I’ll be there before they’ve barely turned the gas on.
It’s something London lacks, I feel. Enough good Mexican restaurants. Lupita and Mestizo are certainly decent. I’ve given several chances to Wahaca and have left mostly underwhelmed, but with a matchbook of chilli seeds - silver linings. I’m yet to try Boho Mexica. La Bodegra Negra lost me at 'sex shop'. Few others have captured much of my attention.
The village-esque idyll of Abbeville Road lies at the heart of SW London’s “Nappy Valley” district - a handsome street to the east of Clapham Common, occupied by artisan producers, quaint cafés and restaurants, premium estate agents flaunting properties most can do little more than gaze wistfully at, and a lot of new mothers congregating at coffee mornings and lunches. It is here - alongside the likes of reputable butchers The Ginger Pig - that you’ll find London’s newest Mexican bar and restaurant, Comensal.
There are a lot of good things going for this place before the food even passes your lips. It’s independent and family run, the brainchild of John Sim and Cati Bego who met in Mexico City (and are due to marry); Cati has a background running successful restaurants there. Cati is Mexican, and her mother smashes up the guacamole to order out the back in a traditional molcajete (mortar) carved from exceptionally heavy volcanic rock - they get through 12 boxes of avocados a day.
The well stocked bar has been paved with hand-painted tiles imported from Guadalajara. It has outdoor seating and those floor-to-ceiling folding doors. They open until midnight every day. The Head Chef, Eduardo Santiago, is from Mexico City and in the UK has worked at The Wolseley and The Reform Club. The bar man is from Mexico City. The staff converse in Spanish. Some clientele were on their second and third visits, and it already has regular solo diners propping up the bar, after being open for just two weeks.
The food - well, it was great. There was that mountain of zippy and chunky mama-made guacamole with thick tortilla chips that actually taste of corn (£10.50). The fish (salmon, cod, tialpia) in the tower of ceviche were almost completely opaque thanks to the denaturing lime - I’m used to it a little more raw but it’s ‘there take’ on the classic and it’s nothing short of fine with me, especially with the flourish of chipotle-infused oil (£9).
Cactus-filled tacos - with tomatoes, onions, coriander and lime - were excellent. Sharp and sour, the soft tortilla casings folded up and around the filling, half shoved in my mouth, sucking on the citrus juices with one eye closed, trickles burning a tiny cut in my hand. Give me twelve and watch me clear them (£6.45 - 3).
Braised pork-filled tacos, soft and spiced, with more hot salsa and lashings of lime, were very good (£6.95 - 3). A side of voluptuous black beans and kidney beans met the need for a pulse fix.
A chicken dish boasting breast meat will always carry with it the risk of lacking in flavour and the wrong texture. I tend to steer clear, but the promise of a green tomatillo sauce on the enchiladas suizas was not one to ignore, and from a plate less colourful than its predecessors, came some great eating. Soft and slightly chewy tortillas, with a sour and subtly hot sauce speckled with seeds from the fruit, tender white meat, crumbled and melted Oaxaca cheese. It was hugely pleasurable (£13.95).
I entertained dessert with little intention other than to sample a bite. But the Mexican rice pudding - thick and with cinnamon - was just a bit too good to leave alone (£3.75).
Then there are a whole host of spirits, 100% agave tequilas, mezcales, and cocktails that tart these up with things like pomegranate, bitters and hibiscus syrup (Mexican Cloud, very nice - £8). Special mention must be given to Manuel, the Spanish waiter owning front of house - compact, quick, warm, always smiling, and with a beautiful accent. I was close to putting him in my pocket and taking him home. When you hug your waiter on leaving a restaurant, you know you’ve received good service.
Mexican food should be fearless and seductive, demand your full attention and encourage you to succumb to the pleasures of life. I found this in Comensal, and I’m so pleased it’s here.
Liked lots: wonderful food and atmosphere, great welcome from John and Cati and sensational service from Manuel, vibrant interiors, being surrounded by customers fawning over the food
Liked less: I'll get back to you.
Good for: spending late sultry summer evenings at, squinting over glorious lime-soaked bites and too much mezcale
My rating: 4/5
Find the menu on Zomato.
Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.
Afiyet olsun.
The first thing you’ll notice about Indian restaurant Zumbura - nestled in the well-to-do idyll of Clapham Old Town - is that in almost every way, it does not feel like an Indian restaurant.
The interiors: no linen, leather bound menus, chandeliers, or sitar recordings. Instead, a vivid ceiling butterfly-and-birdscape, and deep turquoise and bare brick walls embellished with wild flowers in slim glass vases.
There’s a wooden bar of organic form laden with ingredients used in the kitchen including the namesake fruit zumbura (pomelo in Urdu) and fresh tamarind. The crockery is beautiful, imperfect, handmade, and purchased from a local pottery. Brass light fittings with bare bulbs adorn the walls, chairs are seemingly salvaged classroom-style wood and metal, and there’s a presence of shabby chic nick-nacks.
It feels altogether South American to me, reinforced by the large and full-on Argentinian family force at the table one over having a rollicking time in Spanish, and another table of three Spanish friends. They even have tequila on the after-dinner digestif menu.
The agreeable interiors can no doubt be attributed to the trio behind the enterprise - co-founders of furniture retailer Dwell, Aamir Ahmad, Sean Galligan and David Garrett. The kitchen and the food cooked in it often make the heart of a home, so whilst sidestepping from the furniture business to restaurateur seems a little off-tangent, I suppose a (tenuous) link could be argued.
The staff: an absence of any sub-continental front-of-house.
The food: clean, sprightly, fresh, vibrant; small plates intended for sharing, Indian-tapas style. There are no superfluous and sorry-looking lettuce plate adornments. There is no poppadom fodder to make you thirsty and order more alcohol. There are no layers of oil pooling on the surface of sauces (I know people who stick the edge of a serviette in to absorb the excess sin before eating).
Chef Raju Rawat (previously in the kitchens of Bombay Bicycle Club, The Cinnamon Club and Michelin-starred Benares) was drafted in to help achieve Ahmad’s vision: to create a British Indian restaurant authentic to the cooking found in traditional Punjab homes, without the customisation so often used to appease western palates at the detriment of dishes.
If his intention is for the food to taste like no other found in Indian restaurants, then based on my restaurant repertoire, he’s nailed it.
Spinach and onion pakoras, battered in chickpea flour and lightly fried were entirely without grease, blisteringly hot straight from the oil, sporting a flourish of fresh coriander and nothing short of a delight dipped into the tart and sour imli (tamarind) and green chutneys (£4.50).
A nod to the Indian street-side favourite that is chaat - bread fried to a crisp and puffed rice, doused in a calming yoghurt and a piquant ginger tamarind sauce, and entertaining a mix of tangy, salty spices - one of my favourite plates and one for the teeth as much as the taste buds (£4.50).
Potato cakes were smooth and delicately spiced rounds, providing a further great medium for the zippy chutneys (£4.50)*, and the chapli kebabs were handsome, dark and slightly charred disks, soft patties of beef kneaded with garlic, ginger and spices (£7.50)*. Breaking either of these apart revealed the still-vibrant presence of component ingredients - coriander leaves, onions. It all feels like it was made moments before, and probably was.
Firm and nutty kala chana (black chickpeas - my favourite form of this pulse and incidentally, my preferred choice when making humous) braised over time with onion and mango powder was an earthy, wholesome bowl of texture and flavour (£4.50). A yellow daal cooked with curry leaves and garlic, was thick enough to hold its form when spooned onto a plate (£4), the bowl quickly excavated with the help of warm parathas and naan making up the bread selection (£4.50).
* these portions include three pieces - we were given two (as seen in the photos) as were sampling many dishes for the purpose of the review.
Opaque hunks of coley spiked with mustard seeds and fenugreek was great (£8.50), with basmati assisting the mopping of the sauce. The kullia stew of lamb and turnip was arrestingly aromatic, with sweet and slightly translucent hunks of root veg, flaking meat, bones to suck on, and the sort of gravy cleared so completely, kitchen staff may well have wondered if they had put anything in the bowl in the first place (£7.50).
For a sweet close, there are a handful of traditional desserts - chilled rice pudding with cardamom, buttery semolina, and gajar ka halwa - a very nicely done warm and creamy amalgamation of grated carrot, milk and sugar (not too much) topped with pistachios (£3.50). You won’t go far wrong with ice creams or sorbets either - pistachio intensely represented, mango fruity and refreshing (£3).
I’m yet to mention I worked 30 seconds walk from Zumbura from the day it opened in November last year until I left that job in March this year. Colleagues tried it, but I never got round to paying a visit. Lost time, of which I will be making up for.
This is a great neighbourhood local offering something quite different to the rest of the Indian dining scene - finally the sort of Indian restaurant food you really could eat every day.
Liked lots: the completely different feel to other Indian restaurant in all aspects, wonderful staff
Liked less: I'll get back to you
Good for: eating great Indian without the associated ghee-laden self-loathing
My rating: 4/5
Afiyet olsun.
Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.
Many a cow sacrificed itself to kit out Chakra in Notting Hill. Whilst there is an expected absence of beef on the menu, there is a strong bovine presence; leather covered tables, sunken cream leather chairs and dimpled leather banquets, padded leather walls - there’s potential to moonlight as a sectioning ward.
The space does initially feel like someone went wild at the everlasting DFS sales. The off-white colour scheme is one most restaurateurs would run a mile from, particularly for a cuisine with staining powers that would render even the most concentrated dose of Vanish as redundant.
But along with the shimmering chandeliers, classy cocktails, well-drilled waiting staff, and clientele that boasts a few celebrities, it packages very nicely as an up-market and lavish dining destination set in an affluent part of town.
Owned by Andy Varma also acting as executive chef (having previously launched the now closed Varma in Chelsea), the menu aims to bring the traditions of the Maharajah kitchen to diners. The atmosphere encourages customers to come in, sit a while, and take their time; seating is just about the most comfortable I’ve come across in a restaurant, if you’re partial to feeling like you’re in a living room whilst eating.
All tables were presented with small bites of delicately spiced red kidney bean kebab with good texture, and a complimentary three-tiered assembly of vessels housing chutney and fresh, crisp poppadoms scattered with cumin seeds.
Khumb bharwa received immediate approval from our waitress, “They’re one of my favourite things on the menu” - buttons stuffed with cool paneer and potato, spiked with sweet pomegranate and coated in a vibrant yoghurt marinade (£9.95).
Smoked Gressingham duck breast rolled in spices - the meat relaxed by the tenderising qualities found in papaya - was quite spectacular. A texture and richness in iron similar to chicken liver (which I adore) - smooth and gamey and with little bits of char that caught the heat. The accompanying salad was entirely superfluous, but they’re difficult to get away from in Indian restaurants. But that duck was great (£13.95).
In the same breath, patiala chaap lamb chops that had spent valuable time wallowing in a lemon, yoghurt and garam masala marinade with presence of cardamom, were, simply put, the best texture of this cut I have encountered. It’s they’re signature dish and they’re proud of it:
“We call them the second best lamb chops in London.”
“Who is the first?”
“Well we think it’s us, but we can’t say we’re the first.”
The modesty. Meat soft enough to make molars an entirely unnecessary accessory in the endeavour of eating them (£14.50).
When you’re on such a good red meat roll, it’s difficult to stop. Using a recipe from Aminabad in Lucknow, flattened patties of venison galouti kebabs with chilli, garlic and ginger were as pleasing between the teeth as they were on the taste buds (£11.50). Parcels packed with flavour, more softness.
Filaments of Rajastan-inspired lightly battered and fried okra were salty, well spiced and supremely crisp, exposed seeds a little puffed up from the heat. Sporting a flourish of mango powder and roasted aromatic carom seeds, they were impossible to leave alone. Someone needs to package these and sell them with cold beer - I can think of few better things to snack on (£4.75 / £9.95).
A luxurious black daal cooked long and low, finished with cream and fenugreek (£4.75 / £8.50) was a delight with butter paratha (£3.50). A bowl of tandoori roasted and pureed aubergine cooked down with ginger and onions (£4.95 / £9.50) had us dragging the mush up the sides, scooped up in torn bits of peshwari naan (£3) and popped into mouths.
The food here was more than pleasing, with a particularly favourable nod towards the meat dishes. My one gripe is the price point. Some things feel expensive for the volume you receive. The chops were indeed magnificent, but £14.50 for two small ones is a lot. A tenner for five little stuffed mushrooms is a lot. As is three quarter slices of paratha for £3.50 and a bowl of raita for £5.50.
Notting Hill isn’t my local neighbourhood. If it was, it would probably mean my financial circumstances would be such that I’d barely notice the optimistic prices. And it seems this is the case for those who are locals.
On arrival at 1pm on Sunday there was one couple seated, soon followed by the well-to-do - more couples, groups of friends, Indian families. I suspect they’ve been before, and none seemed deterred by the prices. I suppose business is all about knowing your market and something is only worth what others are willing to pay for it. Whilst an outsider of the well-heeled Notting Hill elite may feel it's expensive here, it seems to be appropriate for its location.
There is undoubtebly good cooking taking place in Chakra’s kitchens. If you’ve got the pockets for it, it’s certainly a worthy visit as part of London’s Indian dining scene.
Liked lots: the way the kitchen has with red meat, Rajastani okra fries, very good service, they do a very pleasant lychee and mint mojito that isn’t too sweet
Likes less: it feels expensive compared to other Indian restaurants of a similar caliber
Good for: having a splurge and enjoying a good meal whilst doing so
My rating: 3.5/5
Afiyet olsun.
Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.
