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Popolo restaurant
Popolo: ‘It took three separate eulogies from clued-up pals before I dragged my sorry arse into the place.’ Photograph: Sophia Evans for the Guardian
Popolo: ‘It took three separate eulogies from clued-up pals before I dragged my sorry arse into the place.’ Photograph: Sophia Evans for the Guardian

Popolo, London EC2: ‘I’d go back weekly if I could’ – restaurant review

This article is more than 7 years old

Italian-Middle Eastern-Mexican fusion? Why not, if it works this beautifully?

When Waterstones opened its “secret”, unbranded bookshops in small towns, book purchasers were up in arms at the subterfuge, the stealthy creep of corporates pretending to be warm and cosy little independents. Restaurant biz observers, however, simply raised a weary eyebrow: we’d seen it all before, from brick-tiled Harris + Hoole coffee shops, largely owned by Tesco, through “edgy” burger joints that turn out to be backed by squillionaire private equity firms, to the “hidden” beards-and-tattoos cocktail dive that’s quietly part of an extensive group. So many restaurants open these days, not with hopes of sending away happy, well-fed customers, but with an eye on being the first link in a lucrative chain, big-biz wolves in fluffy, indie sheep’s clothing. Worst, of course, was Cereal Killer Cafe, its target audience of sugar-hopped schmucks manipulated into queueing for bad American breakfast fodder by expensive publicists – then it showed its true e-number colours by abandoning any pretence of hipness and opening in a giant Birmingham shopping mall.

So I was sceptical about Popolo in fashionable Rivington Street, with its bar dining around an open kitchen, its distressed tiles, its industrial ducting. Yeah, yeah. We’ve seen yer Dishooms and Meatliquors, we know the score. It’s small-plates-for-bloody-sharing. Plus there’s the name: so close to Polpo, spreading its tentacles everywhere from Brighton to Exeter while somehow hanging on to cool credentials. I figured that Popolo, like so many others (Paesan, Zucco et al), was on that bandwagon and clinging on for dear life.

So it took three separate eulogies from clued-up pals before I dragged my sorry arse into the place, run with utter grace by Jonathan Lawson, ex-Theo Randall chef and joint owner (with Munur Shah). He also happens to be a kickboxing champion. This has no relevance whatsoever, I just find it immensely pleasing. Lawson brings a spectacular mastery of pasta to a divey little restaurant blessed with considerably more personality than its hotel-based alma mater.

‘Italian-Middle Eastern-Mexican fusion? Why not, if it works this beautifully?’ Popolo’s labneh with fried olives, chickpeas and chilli. Photograph: Sophia Evans/The Guardian

The main flavour here is Italian classics, flawlessly realised: roasted delica squash and ricotta stuffed into fine pasta and bathed in sage butter; pork cheek agnolotti in a buttery porcini sauce ripe with parmesan. There are Spanish touches, too. And Moorish. And dishes that straddle cuisines: Ligurian-style farinata, a chickpea pancake, topped with lamb and roast red peppers with almost Levantine spicing. God, I love this, with its almost savoury-custard centre and crisp, lacy edges. Some dishes appear to be the result of a particularly febrile imagination: cool, thick labneh studded with a hectic combination of crisp-shelled fried olives, puffy chickpeas, mint and morita chilli. Italian-Middle Eastern-Mexican fusion? Why not, if it works this beautifully? Others seem to have been dreamed up for the lolz: a wonderful vegetarian dish where romanesco cauliflower, that natural fractal marvel, comes bathed in nutty, peppery romesco sauce. Romanesco and romesco together – of course! – with charred cauliflower, both purple and orange, and the crunch of hazelnuts for not even a suggestion of overkill. Or a special of risotto, creamy but perfectly al dente, with “two kinds of artichoke”: the perfumed funk of jerusalem plus the delicate, vegetal refrain of globe fried into crispness “alla romana”.

It’s not all whiz-bang creativity, though. Lawson isn’t afraid of perfect simplicity: hake, fried in the lightest batter, with marigold-yellow aïoli of palate-prickling pungency and so thick, you can cut it like butter; sauteed chicken livers tumbled on top of oily bruschetta. And then back to bonkersness with croquetas (Lawson has lived in Spain), their traditional dense, suave bechamel filling rippled with the not-so-traditional inky murk of huitlacoche, aka Mexican truffle, a fungus that grows on untreated corn. These are astonishing, like an entirely new taste. And the idea of “burning” honey, caramelising it so it has the flavour of sweet, fragrant brown butter and using it in an enchantingly wibbly pannacotta draped with tendrils of rhubarb, is purest genius.

Popolo’s scuffed, understated exterior doesn’t issue a siren call to enter, but I’d go back weekly if I could, especially if served by the ebullient Esmeralda. When even the likes of Greggs are getting in on the distressed-chic look, cynicism is understandable, but believe me, Popolo is very much the real thing.

Popolo 26 Rivington Street, London EC2, 020-7729 4299. Open Tues-Sat, noon–3pm, 5.30–10.30pm (11pm Thur-Sat). About £30 a head, plus drinks and service.

Food 8/10
Atmosphere 8/10
Value for money 8/10

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