Tourists don’t often venture to Chiswick, a west London neighborhood with a charming communal feel, because it seems too off the beaten path. The area is even avoided by some Londoners, who are also under the misconception that it’s too far removed from the center of town. But those who do visit can be enticed by The Silver Birch, a seasonal fine dining restaurant helmed by chef Nathan Cornwell. 

The restaurant, located on Chiswick’s high street, initially opened in October 2020 under chef Kimberley Hernandez. Cornwell took over the restaurant, founded by Tim Price, in 2024, and has since focused on creating a refined, compelling tasting menu that showcases the best of British ingredients. While the culinary offering and the service have come more easily, the seemingly remote neighborhood has proved tricky. 

“Location is huge for a restaurant,” Cornwell says, speaking to Observer in early December. “Not just in terms of accolades, but in terms of footfall. I’m not saying it’s the end-all be-all; it has to also be down to the concept and the food.”

He adds that there is something underrated about a restaurant outside the center of town being good value for its guests. The eight-course tasting menu costs £120, while the shorter set five-course menu is £90. Several snacks and a generous serving of house-made bread and butter accompany both options. “If we were in central London, you’d be paying more of a premium,” Cornwell notes.  

The experience at The Silver Birch certainly stands up well against any of London’s buzzy Michelin-starred restaurants, particularly those focused on similar cuisine, like Aulis and Cycene. Both tasting menus highlight British products, including Devon crab, South Down Sika deer and Norfolk squash. At the beginning of the meal, Cornwell appears tableside with a tray of all the ingredients. It’s something other restaurants, like Moor Hall, do around the U.K., but it’s not typical in London. 

“People never see what a kohlrabi looks like,” Cornwell says. “It’s nice to explain it when you serve the dish, but it’s better to show the customers what you’re doing and the effort that goes into it.” 

Cornwell has felt a connection to ingredients since before he became a professional chef. He grew up in the countryside of Cambridgeshire, in a town called Ely. His dad grew vegetables and took Cornwell fishing, and his mom was a cooking instructor at a local high school. “The best of what food could be, I had seen at such a young age,” he recalls. “It wasn’t anything fancy. We would pick fresh tomatoes in the morning, grill them and put them on some toast. But it was something people don’t get to do as adults, let alone as a five-year-old. I think that really kicked off my love of food.”

The chef started working in a nearby restaurant while still in school, but it was earning a scholarship to the Academy of Culinary Arts that was game-changing for Cornwell. He left home at 16 to enroll in the course, which consisted of three months of school in Bournemouth, followed by a placement at a restaurant. By happenstance, he landed at luxury hotel Lucknam Park under the tutelage of chef Hywel Jones. He spent three years there as part of the course, and ended up remaining for two more years. 

“It was pretty surreal leaving home at that age,” Cornwell says. “But it was pivotal in terms of showing you what you needed to do and how dedicated you had to be and how consistent you had to be. The course was tough, and a lot of people dropped out. I remember calling my dad a few times being like, ‘Can I come home?’ He always said, ‘No, you’re going to see it through.’”

After Lucknam Park, Cornwell spent time at Le Champignon Sauvage in Cheltenham before stints at restaurants in Denmark and Sweden. He eventually moved to The Barn at Moor Hall, where he was the chef for four years. Cornwell earned the restaurant its first Michelin star. 

“It was a rough period, especially with Covid,” he says. “We had lots of different challenges. When I took it over, The Barn was more of a neighborhood restaurant, very classical. After those four years, it had a booming business for lunch and dinner, and we had a star. It was incredible and crazy—something I’d dreamed about for a very long time. I always said I wanted a star before I turned 30, and I did it about two weeks before my birthday.”

Cornwell was aware of the inherent challenges when he agreed to move to London and take over The Silver Birch after departing Moor Hall. The restaurant “didn’t have much in terms of personality or direction,” so it was up to Cornwell to channel his vision into the space. There was more competition than he’d had at The Barn, which is located in a tiny village outside of Liverpool. It was also harder to forage or garden in the city. 

“My plan was to make it very seasonal and very British, and to use as much produce as I could from the U.K.,” Cornwell says. “I wanted to focus on making it delicious, simple and unfussy. I tried to create a menu I would love to eat on my day off—a few snacks, an aperitif, a few starters, a main course. We tried doing à la carte, and we ended up with a lot of waste. Now we have a much simpler menu, and it works nicely for us.”

Although the dishes change with the seasons, a few have become signatures. The Devon crab is presented in a caviar tin with a dollop of caviar and served alongside buttery crumpets—a truly Instagram-ready moment. Cornwell initially offered his crab dish in a crab shell, but has revised it over the past two years. “It wasn’t like it went viral, but it’s been a real hit,” he says. “So we’ve always done a crab dish in some form.” Other constants are a variety of tartare (I had one with beef) and pasta. Cornwell also likes to nod to fish and chips, another thing he enjoys eating on a day off. 

“That’s where some of my ideas actually come about,” he says. “So maybe I could do a tempura cod cheek on the side. The classic phrase is, ‘If you wouldn’t eat it, why would you serve it?’ I like to think that I’m cooking my style, and at the same time, I’m cooking food that people want to enjoy. I obviously want it to look aesthetically pleasing, but that’s never my main intention.”

Although Cornwell doesn’t have the space for his own garden at The Silver Birch, he does grow herbs like oxalis and nasturtium in planters out back. He forages as much as possible around London. He and his team gather ingredients like elderflower, blackberries and meadowsweet from along the Thames, and make as much use of them as possible. Whatever elderflower isn’t used in summer dishes is distilled into vinegar. “We use it as a finish in a lot of the sauces and even pickles, as well,” Cornwell says. “Every time you open it up, the smell reminds you of summer.”

That emphasis on reducing waste is evident throughout the kitchen. Stocks are used more than once, and the peelings from root vegetables are transformed into sauces. When I dined in November, the squash pasta was served with a delicious umami broth created from that vegetable waste. “I wanted to make something really intense with the leftovers, but make something also really interesting at the same time,” Cornwell notes. “I think that’s a lovely thing to do.”

Cornwell thrives on presenting himself with new challenges. He’s developed a better work-life balance at The Silver Birch, thanks in part to his strong team. But he knows that you can always continue to evolve a plate of food. “I like to look back at my pictures from when I started out creating dishes, and it wasn’t very refined,” he says. “It wasn’t sharp. And as I look over the years, I see it becoming sharper, more interesting and more refined. I’m finding my style more and more.”

The same is true for The Silver Birch. A Michelin star is one of Cornwell’s goals, but not just for the bragging rights. He knows that the accolade would encourage diners and tourists to venture west into Chiswick. It’s a lot of pressure to maintain the quality, the attention and the joy. 

“As a chef, you’re either chasing a star, or you’re trying to maintain it, or you’re trying to get to the next level,” Cornwell says. “Either way, you’re losing sleep, you’re stressed, you’re taking it out on other people. You’re wondering, ‘Is the toilet paper good enough? Is the hand soap worth three stars?’ I can’t say I’m banking on a star or that I deserve it, but it would help. It shows the standard of a restaurant, and that brings people in.”

He adds, “I think we’ve got something really special here in Chiswick, which doesn’t exist in other parts of London. I believe it will all come together, but it’s a long journey. Everyone always wants to say they have this undiscovered secret restaurant. We feel like we’re that, but no one wants to tell the secret.”

That is, until now—because it’s time to share that secret. 

From the undeniable acclaim of One Club Row to Public House Group’s buzzy new pub, London welcomed some truly memorable spots in 2025. Chefs have spotlighted global cuisines from countries like Spain, China and Ukraine while also showcasing the mutability of British ingredients and produce, with an important emphasis on seasonality. Although I didn’t quite make it to every single new opening of the year, of those I visited there were a few that really stood out. Here are 12 of the best restaurants that opened in London in 2025. 

One Club Row

• 1 Club Row, London E1 6JX

One Club Row was not only the buzziest new opening of 2025, but also one of the best. The New York-inspired restaurant, located above Shoreditch’s Knave of Clubs pub, debuted in March and has been almost impossible to book into since. The candle-filled dining room is intimate, with a convivial atmosphere that is equal parts chic and casual. Lunch and dinner focus on bistro favorites like moules frites and lamb meatballs. The best order is the cheeseburger, which arrives with a side of au poivre sauce for dipping. The martinis earn a lot of acclaim, as does the recently-introduced weekend brunch, another NYC import. 

Legado

• Yards, Unit 1C Montacute, London E1 6HU

After much success at Sabor, chef Nieves Barragán Mohacho launched Legado, a contemporary Spanish restaurant in a gleaming new space in Shoreditch. Barragán Mohacho draws on her own heritage for the vast menu, which showcases dishes you won’t necessarily find in other Spanish-inspired London eateries. The roast pig is the show-stopper, but there are plenty of ways to order a great meal here, including for pescatarians and plant-based diners. The grilled octopus, smothered with smoked paprika, is a winning dish, as are the Legado sandwich and the skate wing tortilla, served with mojo verde. The dessert selection is just as extensive, although you shouldn’t miss the saffron ice cream doused with olive oil. 

Sino

• 7 All Saints Rd, London W11 1HA

From the moment you walk in the door, everything about Sino is appealing. The intimate corner spot, located on Notting Hill’s All Saints Road, is airy and welcoming. The food, courtesy of Ukrainian chef Eugene Korolev, is even better. Korolev draws on his heritage to create artful, contemporary dishes that feel both familiar and innovative. The cabbage-wrapped crayfish, nestled in a tomato velouté, is well-balanced and complex, while the sauerkraut dumplings are deeply comforting. Even the bread offering is compelling—there are three types of bread to choose from, and the butter is immense. It’s one of the most memorable and exciting openings of the year. 

Poon’s at Somerset House

• Lancaster Pl, London WC2R 1LA

Poon’s only recently arrived in early November, but represents one of the best debuts of the year. The space, in Somerset House, is beautifully crafted, with impeccable details and books and artwork from chef Amy Poon’s own collection. The restaurant is her reimagining of her father’s beloved eatery, Poon’s, which opened in 1973. It includes some of the former’s signatures, like Hong Kong-style claypot rice, but also evolves the menu, with a focus on Chinese home cooking. Everything is delicious, especially the wontons, the prawn toast and the steamed pork, which has a welcoming punch of ginger. The cocktail list, split equally between alcoholic and non-alcoholic options, is creative, but the tea list is the most exciting way to enjoy a drink. Make a reservation before they become impossible to get. 

The Hart

• 56 Blandford Street, London, W1U 7JA

Public House Group has been on a roll as of late. Last year, they welcomed The Hero to Maida Vale, and this year, they debuted The Hart in Marylebone. The renovated pub, located around the corner from the currently closed Chiltern Firehouse, features a cozy upstairs restaurant serving seasonal British dishes. It’s simple food, but extremely tasty, particularly the beef tartare, which comes with homemade potato chips. The service is friendly and welcoming, as befits a neighborhood local, and you’ll be hard pressed to get a table if you don’t reserve one in advance. It only recently opened in October, but the banoffee pie has already become a hit dessert, both on Instagram and in real life. 

Canal

• 11b Woodfield Rd, London W9 2BA

Set alongside the literal canal in west London, Canal is one of the best surprises of 2025. It centers on modern European cuisine, which is code for delicious food that spans a variety of influences. The menu is seasonal and best enjoyed communal-style. Order whatever pasta is currently available. Same with the crudo and the pickled vegetables. The sourdough comes from nearby bakery Layla, and makes for a great starter alongside a few cocktails. Canal is also famous as the restaurant that introduced the “table cheeseburger,” which is literally a burger to be shared by the table—it sounds weird, but does hit the spot. During the week, they serve a very affordable set lunch menu that is perfect for those strolling around the adjacent area of Notting Hill. 

Alta

• Kingly Ct, Carnaby, London W1B 5PW

London has been on a roll with Spanish restaurants lately, and Alta is no exception. The restaurant, from acclaimed chef Rob Roy Cameron, focuses on cuisine and flavors from Northern Spain using seasonal British ingredients—a great pairing. The dishes are modern and exciting, especially the photogenic sardine empanada and the squid with lardo. Larger dishes are grilled—the steaks are a particular highlight—and the potato side, served with mojo verde, is a must-add to any main. The true star, however, is on the dessert menu. Humbly titled “chocolate, bread and olive oil,” the indulgent dish is far more complex than it initially seems. Like its sister restaurant, Moi, Alta is well-designed and stylish, but still comfortable enough that you don’t have to dress up—unless you want to, that is. 

Lagana

• 19 Willow St, London EC2A 3HU

Lagana deserves a spot on this list for the caramel Basque cheesecake alone. It’s a dessert that has been heavily featured on social media since the restaurant opened in September, and it’s well worth the trip. So is the rest of the Greek-inspired menu. Everything is best shared, from the dips to the Greek salad to the lamb belly, a highlight of the kitchen. Like Lagana’s sister restaurants, including Bottarga and Nina, the raw tuna dish, served with beet and wakame, stands out. But it’s that gooey cheesecake that really pushes Lagana to the top, especially if you order it alongside the soft-serve flavor of the day. It’s just one of the places that has nice service, a good vibe and satisfying food. 

Ace Pizza

• 126-128 Lauriston Rd, London E9 7LH

After years of serving pizza out of the Pembury Tavern, Ace Pizza finally opened its own restaurant near Victoria Park. The space is modern and stylish, and the food is ridiculously good. The Double Pep pie, a pepperoni pizza with a sesame seed-coated crust, is so memorable I wish I lived close enough to order it once a week. There’s really no wrong move on the menu, but the crispy fried artichokes and the meatballs are a great way to kick things off, while the clam pie is a must for more adventurous pizza eaters. Dessert is a soft-sserve, another memorable addition, and the cocktail list offers a generous selection of drinks, including zero-proof options. It’s a great neighborhood spot, but also worth a trek if you live farther afield.

Town

• 26-29 Drury Ln, London WC2B 5RL

Stevie Parle’s Covent Garden restaurant Town was one of the year’s most anticipated openings—and it didn’t disappoint. The colorful, elegant space is upscale without being overwrought, and the seating areas offer a good variety of choices. Although the crowd can be hit or miss, the food is outstanding, a good example of why it’s important for London restaurants to be seasonal and local. The dishes, which range from snacks to large mains, emphasize British ingredients, including Town’s own herd of cows from Oxfordshire. The menu tends to change, but the fried sage leaves and the crudo are mainstays worth ordering. The steaks are, as expected, very popular, but the dayboat fish, which highlights the catch of the day, was perfectly cooked the first time I dined here earlier this year. The cocktail menu, created by the owner of Satan’s Whiskers, is equally thoughtful, especially if you value a clever martini variation. 

Moi

• 84 Wardour St, London W1F 0TQ

Not only is the food at Moi (pronounced “moy”) really good, but the design is impeccable. The space, located in the heart of Soho, is sleek and fashionable, the sort of place you’d go to impress a date. The menu is just as discerning, showcasing a broad range of Japanese-inspired grilled and raw dishes. The sushi and sashimi is high quality and well presented, and the grilled fish is impressive. London has a lot of Japanese restaurants, particularly those trying to evoke a certain type of club vibe, and it’s refreshing to find one that is carving its own lane. The cocktail menu is thoughtful, including the N/A drinks, and the desserts are appropriately experimental. A good bet if you want a nice night out in London.

Osteria Angelina

• 1, Nicholls Clarke Yard, London E1 6SH

Is it Italian? Is it Japanese? Who cares. Whatever the chefs are combining at Osteria Angelina is delicious and compelling, and it’s the sort of fusion that doesn’t feel too trendy. This is the sister restaurant to Dalston’s more upscale Angelina, and the vibe is extremely buzzy. The Shoreditch location brings in a mix of after-work pals and couples on dates, and it’s a notably good place for small groups. The Hokkaido milk bread, served with burned honey butter, is notorious for good reason, as is the tuna crudo. Although the pasta is very good, it’s the grilled items that are most impressive. (It’s the best chicken I’ve had all year.) Signature cocktails are both delicious and Instagrammable, especially if you order the Negroni Barricato, which arrives in a cloud of smoke. Good luck getting a table.

It’s not hyperbole to say that Mary-Ellen McTague has had a thriving culinary career. The chef spent several years working for Heston Blumenthal at his Michelin-starred eatery, Fat Duck, before returning to Manchester to helm her own restaurants, Aumbry and The Creameries. After The Creameries closed in 2022, McTague was approached by Treehouse Hotel, which planned to open a new property in Manchester. They were looking for a local chef to ensure the hotel felt connected to the community, and McTague’s sustainable ethos seemed like a good fit. 

It wasn’t inevitable that she would ever open a restaurant inside a hotel, though. “It sounded really exciting, but I obviously looked into the brand,” McTague recalls, speaking from Treehouse Hotel Manchester, which debuted earlier this year. “I was actually really impressed by their commitment to sustainability. Anyone who works in hospitality and is conscious about things pertaining to sustainability knows it can be quite a wasteful industry. Over the years, I have developed a more and more sustainable approach to cooking in terms of the suppliers I use and the kitchen processes that help us reduce waste to the absolute minimum. This felt like an opportunity to roll that out to a bigger audience.” 

McTague spent nearly a year developing the culinary concept for Treehouse Hotel Manchester. She is not only responsible for the lobby restaurant, Pip, but also for the meetings and events business in the hotel. “I wanted to just see: How far can you push that sustainability in a busy hotel operation? How possible is it to have that same approach? The answer is, it’s quite hard. But it’s a process. I felt like I might as well have a go at it.” 

In Pip’s kitchen, McTague and her team take serious measures to focus on low waste. A head of cauliflower is used completely. If the leaves are nice, they’re trimmed off and added to the wilted seasonal greens. If they don’t look great on a plate, they’re toasted into an ash, which garnishes several dishes, including the yeast puff starter. The core becomes part of the pickle plate. The florets are incorporated into the cauliflower cheese side dish or blended into a puree. 

“We get a lot out of every vegetable,” McTague explains. “A lot of chefs are used to working in a way where you decide your menu, and then you go and find the ingredients to service that menu. I’m looking at what ingredients are available, and then the menu is written with that in mind. But also, how are we not wasting stuff? How is it a dish that’s relevant to where we are in the world? How is it interesting? The part of the process I enjoy the most is drawing on all of those different threads.”

Although the menu at Pip is generally focused on British cuisine, McTague also wants it to feel like it’s a part of Manchester. The cheese gougères, a delish bite, are made with Old Winchester cheese, while the Lancashire hot pot, one of the main dishes, draws on local culinary tradition. Pip’s menu also features a venison pudding and a crab and lobster Thermidor pie—both hearty, savory dishes that are beloved in the north west of England. 

“I’ve been making puddings, pies and hot pots for a long time,” she says. “These dishes are a combination of food history, local ingredients and things that were nostalgic to me growing up in Bury.”

Pudding, in particular, draws on British tradition. It’s like a savory pie, with the braised meat encased in pastry dough and baked. For McTague, it’s yet another way to use everything. “Suet pudding is a brilliant one, because when you do whole animal butchery, you have a lot of cuts that are only really suitable for braising, and then you’ve got the bone and the fat,” she says. “With the suet puddings, we can keep all the fat that comes off the bones when we’re making the stocks, freeze it and use that as the fat in the suet pudding.”

Whole animal butchery is an important aspect of McTague’s sustainable approach. The venison for the pudding comes from nearby Lyme Park, where the animals are culled as part of herd management. Pip’s butcher collects the deer, which would otherwise go to waste, and butchers them for McTague and her team. “We get our hands on this amazing product, but it also feels like the right way to be using meat,” she notes. “[Our butcher’s] mission is to try and make it doable for restaurants and chefs to use the whole animal, even if there’s a lack of space in the kitchen to butcher it there.” 

McTague’s enthusiasm for less waste has been infectious. Although it takes extra effort to plan out how to use every aspect of an ingredient, she feels it’s a joyful way to cook. “The team has started to contribute ideas about reducing waste,” she says. “The production team started making ricotta from the spent milk from the frothing milk for coffee. And it’s excellent. Now we’ve got ricotta dumplings in our squash soup dish. So it is working. It means that the whole team, if they’re engaged enough to do so, are able to contribute their own methods.” 

Although no-waste cooking is becoming increasingly trendy, McTague has been interested in sustainable approaches for decades. After leaving Fat Duck in 2006 to open her own restaurant, she began to consider that high-end dining wasn’t as conscious as it could be. “Something in me twigged a little bit,” she remembers. “In a three-Michelin-starred place, every single thing on every plate has to be completely perfect. So if you’re only using what’s perfect, it means you’re also not using other stuff.”

She joined the Sustainable Restaurant Association and became aware of Douglas McMaster’s efforts at Silo, a zero-waste restaurant. She spent a year as the head chef of The Real Junk Food Project, which rescues food destined for the bin from supermarket delivery services. “I learned loads about food waste and I was just totally gobsmacked,” she says. “At the time, it was something like 25 percent of all the food that’s grown in this country went in the bin. Supermarkets were literally throwing things into landfills because it was cheaper than putting it back on the shelves. It really opened my eyes to where we were at.”

She adds that it became “very important to me to make sure that when I was operating in a restaurant that can be the source of a lot of food waste, that I was doing it in as responsible a way as possible.” 

For McTague, that’s part of the hotel’s appeal. “They’re a huge, global company. And maybe if it works in one of the sites, they might think about spreading that over other sites,” she says. 

Of course, being sustainable can’t override the taste of the actual food. At Pip, McTague ensures a balance between consciousness in the kitchen and flavor. The restaurant feels casual, yet offers thoughtful and attentive service, along with a nature-inspired atmosphere that is well-suited for a quiet evening. She’s included long-time favorite dishes like split pea chips with mushroom ketchup, which have appeared on her past restaurant menus, alongside new creations. On Sundays, there’s a roast menu—a tradition in England—although McTague’s version is more refined than that in the corner pub. Desserts are creative, with a hint of history. (The treacle tart is an especially delicious finisher.) 

“Despite everything else I’ve said, the main thing about a dish is that it looks and tastes great,” McTague acknowledges. “You want it to be a treat. You want to be able to come into a restaurant and think, ‘What a lovely time I’ve had.’ That’s the point of it. I don’t want the food to look or feel like it’s anything less for the processes that have created it.” 

McTague is a co-founder of Eat Well MCR, a charity organization she helped to start during the pandemic. It’s another example of something in McTague’s career inspired by food waste. When the pandemic hit in March 2020, she was helming The Creameries, which had freezers and fridges stocked full of food. “I couldn’t throw it in the bin,” she recalls. “And then I was like, ‘If I’m having to do that, everyone’s having to do that, and we can’t do that. We need to cook it and do something with it.’”

Instead of throwing it away, McTague used it to cook meals for those in need. “A local charity, Back on Track, called me and they were like, ‘Can you get 70 meals to a hotel in Gorton this evening?’” she says. “I was like, ‘Actually, yes, I can.’ That was the start of Eat Well. We did a couple of shout-outs on social media to ask anyone having to close their restaurant if they had food they didn’t know what to do with. And loads of people did.” 

With the help of two friends, Gemma Saunders and Kathleen O’Connor, McTague grew Eat Well into a thriving organization that takes home-cooked meals to people without access to good food. “We were delivering regularly to women’s refuges and food banks and schools with vulnerable families and parents of kids in long-term hospital stays,” she says. “It grew organically from there. It opened our eyes to something that wasn’t going to go away. We weren’t like, ‘Well, Covid will be over and then everything will be fine.’ The people we were taking meals to were not going to be fine. It felt like it was still needed.”

Today, Eat Well MCR cooks around 2,000 meals per month. Their guiding principle is “quality over quantity.” McTague wants the food to feel like “something my mum made” and to “extend a moment of respite and a bit of something nice on a not nice day.” For the chef, it’s “about the joy of food rather than it is necessarily ticking boxes nutritionally.”

McTague describes Eat Well as one of the two joys of her life, alongside her children. She points out that chefs aren’t typically paid particularly high salaries, and, in fact, many of them can’t afford to eat in the restaurants where they work. Giving back is something she does because it feels right, not because there’s any obligation to do so. 

“A lot of us come from working-class backgrounds or not particularly privileged backgrounds,” she says. “So when we started Eat Well, it really resonated with so many people because they could do a thing where they were making a nice meal, and they could extend hospitality to people who needed it. Those of us in hospitality certainly don’t do it for the money. It’s about that desire to take care of people and to show them a nice time. Being able to do that beyond the walls of your restaurant and out into the community feels really powerful and really good.”

McTague admits that she’s “just a massive hippie at heart,” but it’s yielded positive results, both in her career and overall. “I’m so lucky I get to work in this industry, but I also get to do what feels like the right thing in the world,” she says. “Not a lot of people get to.” 

Tom Sellers is one of London’s most successful chefs. Since debuting Restaurant Story when he was only 26, Sellers has built a versatile, well-regarded group of restaurants and earned several deserved accolades along the way. But Sellers, now 37, doesn’t think he’s reached the top just yet. 

“We’ve climbed maybe two-thirds of the way up the mountain,” he tells Observer, speaking from Restaurant Story’s private dining room in September. “We’re still climbing. It’s a journey and the road is long. I probably didn’t enjoy that journey for the first five years after Restaurant Story opened. Now it’s about trying to enjoy this process, trying to enjoy bringing on new talent, trying to enjoy the evolution of the restaurant being pushed by myself and by others. It takes a lot of energy and time and commitment to keep walking up the mountain, but I feel that energy here right now.”

These days, Sellers is at the helm of Restaurant Story, which earned its second Michelin star in 2021. In 2023, he debuted both modern European eatery Dovetale in 1 Hotel Mayfair and Story Cellar, a Parisian-inspired rotisserie. He’s in the process of opening a test kitchen and office around the corner from Restaurant Story’s Bermondsey location. Sellers shifts his time between the three restaurants and his work with brands like Rolls-Royce and Bang & Olufsen as a chef ambassador. It’s a balancing act that takes up six days a week, with only Sundays for himself. 

“I’m always at the restaurant,” Sellers admits. “And if I’m not, it’s because I’m at Story Cellar or at an event in another country or in a meeting. But I love being in my restaurants. I love trying to influence the environments in a way that refines and sharpens the focus for all. But it’s really important I also allow the people who work in my restaurants to be able to flourish and to be able to deliver the experience. You can become disruptive if you over-manage.”

Sellers doesn’t mind being this busy, mostly because he’s never known things any other way. He’s been the one running Restaurant Story since it opened, rather than handing over the reins to a restaurant group or investors. He manages with such a deft hand that it’s almost shocking to learn that growing up, Sellers had no desire to be a chef. It was only after experiencing the atmosphere of a professional kitchen at 15, when he started washing dishes part time at a restaurant in Nottingham while still in school, that he found his calling. 

“I fell in love with the environment of the kitchen—the energy and the hierarchy and the discipline and, at times, the volatility,” he says. “I loved it and probably needed it at the time. And then I was very fortunate to go work with some amazing chefs in amazing kitchens.”

After moving to London at 16, Sellers “jumped straight in.” He worked at Restaurant Tom Aikens in London before moving on to Thomas Keller’s Per Se in New York and René Redzepi’s Noma in Copenhagen. It was during this time that Sellers began to imagine his own restaurant. 

“By the time I came to London I had decided, ‘I’m going to open my own restaurant one day,’” he recalls. “I didn’t know how, I didn’t know why, but I knew that would happen. It was time in the industry that was less controlled than it is now in terms of what was demanded of you as a human—the hours and the pace of everything. There was no balance. So I decided that if I’m going to go and do that for 10 years, there has to be something at the end of it that is for myself.”

From the beginning, the Nottingham-born chef knew he wanted to call it Restaurant Story. The name is less literal than it sounds. While some of the dishes do tell an actual story, not everything is based in narrative. Instead, Sellers sees the experience itself as a story, recounting everything that’s led him to this point. “The power of storytelling is one of the most beautiful things that exists, from when you’re a child,” he says. “This is everything: where I grew up, who brought me up, where I worked, everything that influenced me. My whole story is embedded in what we do here.”

Some dishes are more obvious than others. A mid-meal palate cleanser, dubbed “the half-time orange,” is reminiscent of the orange slices delivered to kids playing sports. One of the desserts is an homage to Paddington Bear’s beloved marmalade sandwich. Sellers likes threading the menu with these throwback moments. “It’s powerful when you can be nostalgic like that, and you can create new food memories at the same time,” he notes. “That’s one of our biggest strengths here 13 years on, and it’s part of our identity here.”

The bread course is perhaps the most famous—and most Instagrammed—dish at Restaurant Story. It’s been on the menu since the day the restaurant opened in 2013. In the early days, it was a surprise: the server would bring a lit candle to the table during the prior course, eventually revealing that the pool of “wax” was actually beef drippings. When I dined recently, the course’s reputation preceded it. But it was still a whimsical delight to dip the brioche bread into the melted drippings. 

The bread course was inspired by Sellers’ working class upbringing. He remembers his father eating a version of bread with beef drippings and wanted to pay homage to that. Each week, the team crafts between 200 and 400 of the candles. “It’s very hard to come up with an original idea,” he says. But I definitely think that was an original dish. And it’s very close to my heart. It’s been refined over and over through the years. From the first incarnation to what it looks like now is night and day.” 

He adds, “When we love the idea or we love the story and we love that moment, then it’s about, ‘how can we elevate it? How can we progress it?’ That’s what we focus on the most.” 

For Sellers, a high-level restaurant like Restaurant Story is as much about the food as it is about making memories and moments. “There’s only so far you can push the food on the plate or over-manipulate it or reinvent it,” he says. “So it’s about making sure that the produce that we use is the best shopping we can do in the world, and making sure we take care of that with the utmost respect and knowledge. And then making sure that people have an amazing time and they feel relaxed in our environment and they feel like they’re part of our restaurant. That’s a conscious decision. We engineer the room and the service and the music and the pace. It’s not by chance.”

It’s something he’s focused on more as he’s gotten older. Sellers empowers his team to research guests in advance and create surprising or memorable experiences. If someone is a massive Manchester United fan, a team-branded scarf might show at the table. The servers have curated lists of recommendations for Paris, just in case they overhear a guest say they’re heading across the Channel. It tends to get an overwhelmingly positive response, which is exactly what Sellers is looking for. 

“It’s always nice to hear when people say they really enjoy their time here, because that’s ultimately the goal,” he says. “I’ve been around a long time and food is so subjective. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of that.” 

When Restaurant Story opened in 2013, the London culinary landscape was different. There were less young, up-and-coming chefs and a 26-year-old fresh off the pass at Noma debuting his first restaurant was a big deal. The buzz around Restaurant Story, located in a converted Victorian toilet (it looks far more elegant than its history suggests), was intense. The scrutiny and attention could have overwhelmed him, but the chef didn’t cave under the pressure. Instead, Sellers received his first Michelin star only five months later. It’s perhaps why he has contended with the misconception that he’s some sort of “bad boy” chef ever since. Sure, he has some tattoos, but Sellers couldn’t be anything but true professional as the owner of Restaurant Story.  

“I guess it was because I was young and had that image,” he says, shrugging, when asked about how much his reputation as an elusive, rock ‘n’ roll-style chef with a disorderly background has dogged him. “I just rolled with it. With the day to day running of my business and the restaurants and the level that we operate at, I don’t know whether I find it funny or insulting or both. It feels like lazy journalism. I was fortunate to be written about right away and I probably leaned into it. It almost became a character because it gave people this intrigue about me.”

Sellers certainly isn’t bothered by outside opinions. “I knew how hard we were working and how hard I’d worked previously to get there,” he says. “All of the great chefs that I worked under, and the amount of hours and dedication I put in. I try to concentrate on what we’re doing and how we’re doing it.”

Several chefs I’ve spoken to recently, including Humble Chicken’s Angelo Sato, cite Sellers as an inspiration, both for his creativity in the kitchen and for his ability to drive his own career. He owns his restaurants—a rarity in hospitality—and he wants to exemplify the top one percent of the industry. He’s evolved over the years as much as his dishes have, although Restaurant Story’s ethos has never changed. There have been challenges, like the pandemic, but Sellers just sees all of it as part of that upward journey. 

“You have good times and bad times,” Sellers admits. “Sometimes you struggle to be creative. Sometimes you feel burned out. And at the time, you’re telling yourself you’re not burned out. You have an up and down relationship with [the] media. Good things are said about you, then not so good things are said about you. The expectations come with having a restaurant like this.”

Sellers often asks himself and his team specific questions: Why did we open a restaurant? What do you want to feel when you go to a restaurant? As much as they can philosophically answer, it’s the experience at Restaurant Story that provides the real responses. Visiting is a precise, thoughtful encounter between diner and staff that never feels pretentious or inaccessible. During my meal, my accompanying friend was so impressed by her discovery of finger lime, an ingredient she had never seen, that the kitchen sent out a box of the citrus fruits for her to take home. The restaurant feels on the cusp of a third Michelin star, a goal that Sellers admits is present in his decision-making and efforts. And underscoring everything is the answer to Sellers’ why. 

“I love hospitality,” he says. “I love creating happiness for people. That has to remain the essence of what we do, however far we push the food. I was very young when I opened my restaurant and had this dictatorial, driving attitude. And now I sit in a place where I’m surrounded by great talent and we have great conversations and we don’t make changes for change’s sake. We let the restaurant push us forward instead of pushing the restaurant forward.”

It’s a sunny morning in August, and I’m on my way to my first padel lesson. It’s a sport that I’ve heard of, but never played. A tall, charming Italian instructor named Jacopo Prato is waiting on one of Ireland’s Adare Manor hotel’s two custom-built indoor padel courts, ready to explain what exactly padel entails. And why I should care. 

I soon learn that padel is a combination of tennis and squash, but easier because it’s played on a smaller court and serving is underhand, and it tends to be a slower speed game than tennis. The racket is similar to the one used for pickleball, and the scoring is identical to tennis; padel is played in games and sets (best of three sets), so a match can last around an hour. Frankly, it sounds basic—even boring. But as it turns out, an hour of padel is an undeniable hour of fun, even if Prato is a significantly more skilled player than I am. 

My immediate obsession with padel, which has only increased since my first lesson, isn’t unusual. Padel is the fastest-growing racket sport in the world, and it’s so compelling that many hotels are making it a standard amenity.

“One thing padel as a game has gotten right is that it’s a new game to almost everybody,” Brendan O’Connor, general manager of Adare Manor, a member of Leading Hotels of the World, tells Observer. “So there’s no establishment in the sport. There’s no elitism. Most padel facilities allow you to just pick up a racket when you come in, whereas tennis tends to be a little bit more elite. Padel is really accessible.”

Adare Manor began considering the addition of padel to its offerings in 2018. Although padel courts have been in European hotels since the 1970s, when one debuted at Spain’s Marbella Club Hotel, Adare was a relatively early adopter in the current craze. The hotel was looking to build an indoor leisure space to combat the constant rainy days in County Limerick, and Adare’s owner, J.P. McManus, was familiar with the sport from playing at Sandy Lane in Barbados. 

Adare Manor’s Padel Club debuted in May 2021, featuring two indoor padel courts, a gym, an indoor pool and a golf simulator. O’Connor says that cost wasn’t a factor in adding padel—the hotel just wanted to offer guests something they would enjoy. 

“We didn’t have market research to tell us this was the next big thing,” O’Connor says. “Anecdotally, we knew it was the fastest-growing sport in the world, but it was still very much in the Latin, Spanish and Portuguese countries. We’re so glad we did it because today, it’s a very accepted racket sport. We were the first ones in Ireland to do an indoor [padel] facility.”

At first, Adare Manor’s visitors weren’t totally convinced. “Over the first three years we had it, there was zero interest level, then a moderate level of interest,” O’Connor says. “Now there are guests coming and they’re bringing their own padel equipment. It’s gone mainstream.” 

Hotel guests can rent a court by the hour (€110 for up to four people, including equipment and balls) or take a lesson (€195 for up to four people). The head instructor, Mark Beckett, leads a team of three instructors, with three more being trained. “Once someone has one or two lessons, they really get hooked,” O’Connor adds. 

Indeed, padel is exploding around the world, both at padel clubs and in hotel leisure facilities. The number of global courts has multiplied fivefold since 2016, according to a 2025 report by Playtomic. It is especially popular around Europe, particularly in the U.K., Croatia and Ireland, but it has also picked up fans in Tunisia, Morocco and Malaysia. 

The sport emerged in 1969 in Mexico, and slowly moved south to Argentina, before making its way over to Spain. “It’s almost the national sport of Spain and Argentina, second to soccer,” explains Matt Mistri, a London-based padel coach. “And then it slowly went into France, Italy and the U.K. over the past several years.”

For many, the primary appeal of padel is its social aspect. It requires four players, and the court is compact, which makes it easier to chat and get to know people while you play. It also involves less running than tennis, making it more accessible to older players or those who are less athletic. “With tennis, you see one person from really far away and you can’t talk to each other,” Mistri says. “You can’t really laugh together. With padel, it’s a hangout. The club where I coach has 4,000 people in a WhatsApp group where you can say, ‘Does anyone want to play padel at 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning?’ And immediately people will say, ‘Yes.’”

Although the U.S. still tends to prefer pickleball, padel is starting to gain traction in places like New York, Florida and California. Padel club Padel Haus has opened in New York City, Nashville, Atlanta and Denver, and Reserve Padel operates outdoor courts at Hudson Yards in NYC. The Ritz-Carlton in Key Biscayne has three courts, while the Caribe Royale Orlando has two. It’s also spreading west: The Parker Palm Springs unveiled two outdoor padel courts on the property in September. The hotel removed two of its red clay tennis courts to make room for padel, in a move that is happening at properties and clubs around the world. Similarly to Adare Manor, Parker Palm Springs (also a LHW) also says that cost wasn’t a factor, though it’s worth noting that padel courts are slightly cheaper to install than tennis courts, and take up less space. 

“In everything we do, we look for longevity, so when we put it in place, it’s going to be enjoyed forever,” says Brandon McCurley, managing director of The Parker Palm Springs. “Our guests are looking for new experiences. They’re well-traveled, so there’s definitely an awareness already within the clientele. Padel was perfect because it felt like an investment that could complement the tennis and all the other activities that we have on property. Hopefully, it becomes a trend, but we’re more thinking about its longevity and its uniqueness and whether it will resonate with our guests.”

McCurley wants the courts to feel like a “social hub,” where you can order food and drinks—a sensibility that’s aided by the fact that booking the court is free for guests. The hotel also plans to hold tournaments, and McCurley is trying to source vintage bleachers for spectators. Instead of being a one-off place where guests go for an hour, the courts are intended to blend into the experience of The Parker, like the pool or the bar. “They are terracotta to match the tennis courts, and it’s beautifully done,” McCurley notes. “And we always include Jonathan Adler in anything we do from a design perspective at the hotel.”

Numerous other luxury hotels around the world have converted existing tennis courts into padel courts or debuted new courts to meet the demand. In Austria, Stanglwirt opened an indoor padel court inside its tennis club, accessible to both hotel guests and non-guests. In England, Soho Farmhouse announced the addition of three indoor padel courts alongside its refurbished tennis courts, and in August, the members-only property hosted their debut Soho Padel Club Cup. In the Scottish Highlands, Gleneagles added padel to its Gleneagles Sporting Club, with three courts. There are even padel vacation companies, like Padel Travel X, which send groups of travelers to play padel and take lessons in a sunny locale for several days. 

Some hotels have been on the trend longer than others, but almost all have seen a massive uptick in interest in the past few years–even if this might just be another fad, like pickleball in the U.S. Beaverbrook, an English country hotel in Surrey, has had its outdoor court since 2018, along with a pickleball court. Jorge De Jesus, general manager at Beaverbrook, estimates that the padel court is typically at 80 or 90 percent occupancy. “It is incredibly popular, some days from as early as 7 a.m. and fully booked throughout the day,” he says. “We have a huge demand for padel lessons, too, so people are actually getting quite serious about playing padel.”

A one-hour court session at Beaverbrook is free for hotel guests and club members. The hotel’s local instructor, Danny Sapsford, used to focus on tennis. “He was pretty busy with tennis, and now it’s completely flipped,” De Jesus says. “He has a few tennis bookings, and he’s busy with padel and starting to get a few pickleball lessons as well. A good 20 percent of our hotel guests are playing padel.” 

While people don’t necessarily book Beaverbrook for the padel court, some do jet to Arev St. Tropez specifically to pick up a racket. The boutique luxury hotel was built with the sport in mind. “Arev has a very specific DNA,” explains Jean-Marie Le Gall, general manager of Arev St. Tropez. “It’s a very lively hotel with a very homey atmosphere. We want people really to relax here and to be as disconnected as they can. Padel has become more and more popular within our clientele, so it’s part of our added value.”

Le Gall emphasizes padel’s advantages. “It’s very family-oriented,” he says. “You don’t have to be a super energized person to play padel. It’s more strategic. And you need less space compared to a tennis court, so from an operational point of view, it’s a good compromise. We are thinking about creating a [second] court in the next two years.”

At Arev, guests get 90 minutes on the court, and many of them book slots before even arriving in France. It’s open from 7 a.m. until 9 p.m., and tends to be very busy in every season. “Our padel is not covered, so it depends on the weather conditions, but the people who are really addicted to padel play all year long,” Le Gall says. “And with padel, you are covering a wide range of generations. A tennis court is much more focused on the younger generation.”

While older tennis fans may beg to differ, padel does lend itself to a less agile and traditionally sporty type of player. Still, it requires some level of fitness, which may not be of interest to all hotel guests. It can also be expensive if it’s not included in the hotel stay; some properties only provide courts at an additional upcharge at an already-pricy luxury stay. And that’s if you can score space on one of the courts. 

It’s possible that padel is just a passing fad, and that in a few years these courts will be reworked to make room for the next racket sport craze, although hotels and clubs seem to think otherwise. Even tennis players like Andy Murray are buying into the hype—he invested in Game4Padel, a padel court operator, back in 2019 and plays the game himself. 

Ultimately, the real appeal for padel is that it’s cooler and less uptight than other racket sports. Because it’s a modern invention, it allows for more flexibility in terms of behavior. There is no set uniform or type of shoe, although there is plenty of designer gear available. Since it’s easier to play than tennis and easier to understand than pickleball, it feels like hanging out with friends rather than overexerting yourself. You can bring drinks to the court and have a few beers while you play. Dogs are welcome in many clubs. 

“I always call it a pyramid scheme, in a good way,” Mistri says. “I coach one person, and I absolutely guarantee that that one person will tell one of their friends, two of their friends, three of their friends, and they will all come to play. Everyone starts playing. That pyramid effect has snowballed. People want to play padel, both at home and on holiday. If you show someone how to hit the ball for 10 minutes, suddenly it’s two hours later and you can’t get them off the court.”

After my induction into the world of padel, I began to notice courts everywhere. I’ve since played again, including at the Royal Mansour Tamuda Bay, and it’s almost uncanny how infectious something that seems so basic can be. I may not be planning any holidays specifically around padel, but I can see why you might. 

“What’s great is that you don’t have to take padel too seriously like you do other sports,” O’Connor says. “It’s not really appropriate to show up at tennis courts and start swigging beers. But you’re not offending anybody in padel because we’re all writing the rules to how padel is played and how it is as a social game as we go along.”

It may not be the amenity you’re expecting from a luxury hotel, but padel is proving itself to be nearly as essential as turn-down service or a high-end spa—at least if the trend continues. 

The most challenging of times bring us the best art. Or at least, that’s what we tell ourselves, balancing the struggles of the modern era against the hope that something may come of them. This year’s crop of cinematic awards contenders suggests that our current trying times are inspiring varied, far-reaching responses to the quandaries that face us, yet there are thematic echoes resonating through even the most seemingly discordant films. Those themes felt especially poignant at the BFI London Film Festival, one of the final major festivals leading into the push of awards season. After opening with Rian Johnson’s Knives Out: Wake Up Dead Man, a cleverly wrought meditation on faith, the 10-day festival showcased a diverse array of storytelling from around the world. At the heart of almost everything were reflections on two ideas: loss and isolation.

Loss manifested most obviously in films like Chloé Zhao’s Hamnet and Clint Bentley’s Train Dreams—tactile and beautiful stories about grief and how we continue to move through the world after the loss of a child (also explored in The Thing With Feathers). Kaouther Ben Hania’s essential film The Voice of Hind Rajab similarly explores the depth of sadness a young person’s death can manifest, but it acts more like a call to arms than a quiet meditation. Based on real events and using real audio, the docudrama depicts the killing of a six-year-old Palestinian girl at the hands of Israeli forces, confronting the viewer with the reality of the war, ceasefire or not. It is a film about what we have lost, but also what we will continue to lose.

Grief isn’t just for people, as several of this year’s films acknowledge. Father Mother Sister Brother, Sentimental Value, High Wire, & Sons and Anemone grapple with the tenuousness of familial relationships, while The Love That Remains, Is This Thing On? and even Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere face dissipating romances head-on. Some, like Bradley Cooper’s effortlessly charming Is This Thing On?, assert the possibility of reconciliation. Perhaps any relationship is worth another shot. Richard Linklater’s slight but compelling Blue Moon reckons with another type of loss: artistic identity. Ethan Hawke plays songwriter Lorenz Hart, mere months before his death, as he accepts his fate as a failure on the evening his former creative partner Richard Rodgers opens the successful Oklahoma!

Hart’s disconnect from Rodgers, the tragic core of Blue Moon, suggests that we may fear isolation even more than loss. Grief is often ephemeral, easing over time, but a lack of human connection can last a lifetime. Hikari’s thoughtful film Rental Family stars Brendan Fraser as an American living in Tokyo, far removed from both his culture and his prior life. He’s alone, which draws him to a job feigning connection for other isolated people. Pillion, a standout of the festival and filmmaker Harry Lighton’s feature debut, suggests that we can only discover real connection once we are honest about who we are and what we want. The film is aided by Harry Melling’s vulnerable performance as a young British gay man who finds solace in a submissive relationship with the leader of a biker gang. We are less far apart than we think, sexual preferences aside.

Isolation isn’t always solved by the presence of someone else, as examined by Lynne Ramsay’s Die My Love, a confronting look at female mental health. As a postpartum woman with bipolar disorder, Jennifer Lawrence is feral and completely at sea, lost even when she’s with her husband and child. She tries to ground herself with sex, alcohol, and even violence, but she’s so disconnected from herself that there is nothing to hold on to. In The Chronology of Water, Kristen Stewart’s directorial debut, Imogen Poots embodies real-life writer Lidia Yuknavitch, who also turns to substances and sex as a way of rooting herself in reality. It doesn’t work, but Lidia eventually finds writing as a means of connection and a way to absolve herself of a traumatic past. In Wasteman, another standout of the festival and the feature debut of British filmmaker Cal McManus, inmates share a forced connection but can only move on from their crimes by standing up for themselves. Shared circumstances may not unite us after all, as McManus explores through his lead character, played by rising actor David Jonsson.

Although Palestinian history and identity were prominently and importantly on display during the festival in The Voice of Hind Rajab, Palestine 36 and Hasan in Gaza, this year saw a distinct lack of overtly political films. It’s not a year for war epics or presidential biopics, but instead for more intimate stories that underscore the idea that the personal is political. Despite being united by the internet and social media, we often feel alone in our struggles and experiences. Films remind us of what we share and why we share it, especially in tumultuous times like these. Loss and isolation impact everyone, everywhere, as so many filmmakers and screenwriters are presently exploring. In the spotlight this awards season are human stories about human emotions and human fears, told in charming and sometimes hauntingly unique ways. As the BFI London Film Festival lineup underscored, this is a particularly good year for cinema. Ideally, it will leave behind a record of a specific thematic moment in modern history—one where we know what there is to lose and we’re willing to face it anyway.

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Roberta Hall-McCarron was four months pregnant when she opened her second restaurant, Eleanore, in September 2021. After years of working in other people’s Michelin-starred kitchens, she and her husband, Shaun Hall-McCarron, debuted The Little Chartroom in Edinburgh in 2018, but it had grown so much that they decided to move it to a bigger space. Eleanore, which began as a food truck concept during the pandemic, took over the former site. Last year, when their daughter Cara was only two years old, the couple launched a third restaurant, Ardfern, next door to The Little Chartroom.

“It’s been a gradual progression,” Hall-McCarron tells Observer in late September. “All while having a little one. But becoming a mother really did make me take a step back and look at the business as a whole, and in a completely different way. It was more about the bigger picture, rather than living each day as each day came, and we’re looking towards the future more.”

Hall-McCarron credits her ability to balance three thriving restaurants and a family to her team, many of whom have been part of the business for years. When The Little Chartroom opened, there were only two people in the kitchen. The number of staff slowly grew as the restaurant took off. Today, more than 40 people work across the three spaces. “We’ve got some members of the team who have been with us for four or five or six years,” Hall-McCarron shares. “That in itself is very humbling—to know they still enjoy working for us, and that what we’re doing is what we’ve created ourselves.”

These days, Hall-McCarron spends most of her time in The Little Chartroom, a neighborhood restaurant tucked on a side street in Leith. Its menu is deceptively simple: three starters, three mains and three desserts. The dishes shift by the season, typically every five to six weeks, and the restaurant has a downstairs development and prep kitchen where Hall-McCarron and her staff map out their ideas on an enormous whiteboard. She’s available as a “fresh set of eyes” to look over the menu at Eleanore, but she tends to let the head chef, Hamish McNeill, do his own thing.

“I think some people are quite shocked when they hear that, but it allows me to focus on the other two,” she says. “It allows him to be able to grow as a head chef. If I were sitting on his shoulder too much, then perhaps he wouldn’t have progressed as far as he has. I don’t feel I need to be there all the time, because I really trust them.”

Hall-McCarron recently shifted The Little Chartroom schedule. It was previously open seven days a week, and it’s down to a more manageable five days. (It’s now closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.) She and Shaun, who runs the front of house, try to split their shifts so they’re not working simultaneously. And each week, they take Sundays off together. “We want to actually have time the three of us, because that’s quite rare,” she says. “But we’re trying to get better at it. Cara is growing up, so she’ll notice it a lot more, and it’s important that she still gets us around. She definitely knows that we work.”

Being a parent and a chef is a challenge—and it’s not something a lot of people in the hospitality world talk about publicly, regardless of gender. When Hall-McCarron worked for celebrated Scottish chef Tom Kitchin at The Kitchin and Castle Terrace, she remembers him having young kids and being strict about taking time off on the weekends. But Hall-McCarron wasn’t thinking about a family yet, so it didn’t occur to her to ask how he made it all work.

She and Shaun met at Castle Terrace, where she was the head chef and he was the restaurant manager.

“I don’t even think we had the family chat until way down the line,” she remembers. “The first chat we had was, ‘Will we open up a restaurant together?’ Later, we talked about if we could have kids together.”

Cara, now three, is aware of her parents’ jobs—in a good way. “I love the fact that she’s going to grow up in this funny restaurant world, and it will be very different to a lot of the friends that she makes,” Hall-McCarron says. At the moment, she doesn’t see a lot of restaurants prioritizing the balance between family and work life, especially when both parents are in the industry. “I’m trying to strive to make that change and to make it possible for not just women, but for men and couples,” she says. “It does require a change and a balance, but it’s doable.”

Part of that change is being flexible and inclusive as the boss. Hall-McCarron is accommodating about the shifts her staff need to work, whether it’s someone keeping daytime hours because they have a small child and want to be home at bedtime, or an employee who doesn’t want to do mornings. “It’s about being a lot more flexible than when I was growing up through restaurants,” she says. “You just worked whatever you were told. There was never even that conversation. I want to be a lot more broad-minded about it and see what possibilities there are.”

Becoming a parent hasn’t just expanded Hall-McCarron’s outlook on managing her team. It’s made her more patient, but it’s also come with a feeling of guilt.

“If you can deal with a toddler, then you can deal with extreme emotions,” she says. “But before I had Cara, the restaurant got my complete focus, and then, suddenly, as soon as you have a child, everything is split 50/50. But it’s not like that every day—sometimes it’s 60/40, depending on my role or if Shaun has Cara. I have guilt of not being home enough and guilt of not being in the restaurant enough. I think I’ll always have some of that.”

As Hall-McCarron’s life has evolved, so has The Little Chartroom. She and Shaun initially envisioned a welcoming neighborhood bistro, and that vibe remains. But the dishes have gone from rustic to more intricate over the years. “There’s a lot of work involved in the food,” she notes. “I’ve always been about getting in great produce, but we’re really championing that right now. We’re doing a lot more buying than we ever have done in the past.”

Because The Little Chartroom and Ardfern are adjacent, Hall-McCarron can order ingredients for both restaurants, including whole animals, which the staff butchers themselves. It’s a technique she learned working for Kitchin, and the only animal she hasn’t yet brought in whole is a cow, simply because it takes up so much storage.

The Little Chartroom is known for its focus on game during the fall months, including grouse, venison and hare. “We have such incredible access to these products in Scotland, which is one of the best larders in the world,” Hall-McCarron says. “It’s a tiny country, but an incredible larder. It’s really great to be able to pass on that skill on to the next generation [of chefs].”

Still, the chef says the restaurant doesn’t necessarily have signature dishes. For several years, she would never repeat a dish. But she eventually realized that the adage “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it” had some real truth to it. Now, she doesn’t recreate exact dishes, but she might base something on an idea that was a previous success. “Three or four years ago, I did a nectarine tarte tatin with a slice of blue cheese,” she recalls. “They pair really well. We brought that back each year, but we’ve tweaked it and refined it, and each time it’s a little bit better.”

She adds, “Originally, we had a small menu because our site was tiny and I could not physically store enough food to have such a broad menu. At first, people were very nervous, like, ‘Oh, is this it?’ But it almost forced them to order something that they wouldn’t normally order, and we got really nice feedback. Now, it allows us to change the menu more often, and there’s a real consistency to the dishes, which is great for our regular guests.”

The menu highlights Scottish ingredients in an elevated way. When I dined in late August, the chalk stream trout, served with lentils, was a memorable main dish. But it was the bramble tart, augmented with dark chocolate, that felt like a true celebration of one of Scotland’s beloved berries. Hall-McCarron works with local purveyors and farms for meat, fish and shellfish, and she regularly buys mushrooms and sea herbs from a local forager.

Although The Little Chartroom focuses on Scottish products, it’s not traditionally Scottish food.

“I do love taking old Scottish dishes and modernizing them, but I wouldn’t say we have this identity of that’s all we do,” Hall-McCarron says. “We do have haggis on the menu, but not all the time. My background is British and French, so a lot of the food has those techniques and methods. But we’re open to other ingredients. Within my team, I’ve got people who have worked in different countries that I haven’t worked in, and they’re bringing in those influences.” For example, an Asian ingredient, like white soy, can augment the flavors without being too obvious. “It’s very, very subtle, and adds that balance of umami,” she says.

The Little Chartroom, along with Eleanore and Ardfern, is part of a growing culinary scene in Edinburgh. Although chefs like Kitchin helped establish the city’s high-end restaurant landscape, Hall-McCarron was inspired to open her own spots because she felt there was still a lack of quality eateries with relaxed environments. “It’s really changed in the last seven years,” she notes. “Edinburgh’s always been really good for a good selection of high-quality restaurants, but now more than ever, [it’s] really thriving.”

Despite her success, Hall-McCarron isn’t planning to open another restaurant—at least not now. She and Shaun run a separate wine importing business alongside two of their employees, and she has plenty on her plate with Cara, too.

“Three is the magic number,” she says. “There are always ideas. There are always ambitions. I would never say that we wouldn’t open something else, but I don’t think I would ever go over having three restaurants.” She wants to maintain her work-life balance, especially as Cara grows up. Plus, the chef knows that her attention can only stretch so far. “All of our restaurants are in a great place, and I wouldn’t want to dilute that by spreading myself too thin,” she adds. “Really, it’s like I have four children.”

“My lifestyle is quite outdoorsy and quite out of the box,” he tells Observer. “I’m pretty self-deprecating. But at the end of the day, it is about quality. So all those [qualities] are aligned with me. The ad is about breaking the tradition. And that’s like the way I go about life, to be honest. Adventuring, thinking out of the box.”

The actor, who most recently starred in Amazon Prime Video’s The Terminal List: Dark Wolf, a prequel to 2022’s The Terminal List, spends his off-time in Bozeman, Montana. He moved there in 2021 from Texas, where he spent over 15 years, and has embraced the outdoor spirit of the town. At the moment, he’s back in Texas preparing to shoot Peter Landesman’s upcoming film Eleven Days, a hostage thriller set in a penitentiary. As much as he enjoys his job, balancing work and pleasure is a “constant battle” for Kitsch. 

“I love what I do so much,” he says. “It just becomes your life, and you obsess over it, and I love it as well. It’s a catch-22, because I also love being in the outdoors, and photography, and motorcycle riding all over the world. That stuff allows me to forget [my job], and I honestly do think it makes you a better actor [by] learning about different cultures and being uncomfortable. That’s what living is about to me. So I don’t know if there is a balance. I’m quite extreme.”

Kitsch tends to select roles that push him, just like he enjoys extreme travel to places like Patagonia, where he rides motorcycles and photographs wildlife. But that doesn’t necessarily mean something has to have a big action component. 

“Eleven Days is more about the human condition, the study of one man against another,” he notes. “It’s a true story in 1974, so that’s what intrigued me, other than being uncomfortable. It’s very different from anything I’ve ever done. I think you’ve got to be uncomfortable, and you’ve got to try to put yourself in situations where you don’t have an easy answer. So I’m excited. And I’m scared. And that usually means I’m doing the right thing.”

Here, Kitsch reveals what he takes with him on the road, what he needs on set and what’s in his home bar besides Jefferson’s. 

Go-to workout

It depends on the role. With The Terminal List, I was boxing a ton. With Primeval, I used weights. I did some band work, but not a lot. And your diet changes completely depending on the role. You’re always manipulating your body a little bit. But it’s really about energy, simplifying your life and hoarding your energy for the role. I did boxing for Dark Wolf. I love it. I got a little heavy speed bag in my house in the basement. If I’m on the road, I’ll try to find a boxing gym. I like doing anaerobic stuff, like high-intensity intervals.

Favorite vacation spots

We get long winters in Bozeman, so I’ve learned to leave for a few weeks and go [to the] southern hemisphere for a motorcycle ride. Early February, I was in Patagonia for two weeks on a motorcycle ride with two of my best friends. That was amazing. We were tracking pumas with our cameras and doing a lot of wildlife photography and landscape photography. I’m going to photograph the orcas in Argentina early next year.

Photography gear

I use a Sony Alpha 1 with a 50 and a 35 [mm lens]. If I’m doing landscape, I’m usually at a 21. I got into it from doing The Bang Bang Club in 2009. I learned to shoot on film. I have an old Leica that I used in The Bang Bang Club that I still take portraits on. I love shooting in black and white, like Ansel Adams. At that period, he was really ahead of his time. And I think anyone that knows wildlife photography knows that it takes patience. It took him days and days to get those photos. Sometimes I’ll be sitting out there for six to eight hours waiting on a wolf or whatever it is.

Home bar essentials

[My setup] is so simple. Obviously, I’ve got Jefferson’s in there. I have a couple of glasses that are very particular to me, like a Dark Wolf glass and a Terminal List glass. I have those next to it, but it’s so simple—it’s just in a corner of my living room. And then I have a little ice maker below. I like to drink bourbon on the rocks after a long day of being at work or being out in the outdoors.

The first time I visited Mokonuts, I went for the cookies. It was 2017, at the height of the social media dessert craze, and I had seen one of Moko Hirayama’s famous treats on Instagram—and it was imperative that I try one. In the years since, I’ve returned as much for the experience as the food. The small, charming restaurant, tucked on a side street in Paris’ now-hip 11th arrondissement, is convivial and exciting, offering a short menu that changes daily and the sense that you’re somewhere special. It’s where I celebrated my 40th birthday, and it’s the first reservation I make when I book a trip to Paris. Indeed, since opening in December of 2015, Mokonuts has become one of the city’s most sought-after spots for those in the know. 

Hirayama and her husband, Omar Koreitem, who handles the savory aspects of the food, have taken the hype in stride. Their vision was always for somewhere intimate and friendly, and they’ve never opened for dinner (beyond the occasional private hire). Neither feels any pressure to move to a bigger space or to bend to something traditional.

“The way we do things makes sense to us,” Koreitem tells Observer. “There’s no reason to change it around. We’ve asked ourselves these questions a lot. And we’ve had opportunities to make Mokonuts bigger. There’s a cheese shop next door, and the owner begged us to take it over. But Mokonuts is nice the way it is.”

“What we created here can’t be replicated,” Hirayama adds. “We really appreciate the personal touch with everything. I talk to every single person who comes in, and that would not be the case if we expanded. It would lose the essence of who we are and what we do here.”

Despite the reluctance to grow Mokonuts, Hirayama and Koreitem did open a second restaurant, Mokoloco, in 2019, and a third, Mokochaya, last year. Mokoloco hosts guest chefs, while Mokochaya is a casual space for breakfast and lunch, with a walk-in only policy. They also finally agreed to write a cookbook, a huge moment for those who have been coveting Hirayama’s cookie recipes. Mokonuts is the result of several years’ worth of work—and even more years of pitches from publishers. 

“Phaidon approached us many years ago,” Hirayama recalls. “We had other opportunities to do a book, but those didn’t quite materialize. Phaidon was more lenient in terms of what we could put in. We didn’t want to be told, ‘You have to do this kind of recipe, that kind of recipe.’ We really wanted to have as much freedom as possible.”

The book, out now, showcases both Koreitem’s savory dishes and Hirayama’s sweet dishes, including multiple variations on her famous cookies. The chef-owners describe it more as a snapshot of what they were making at the time, rather than a comprehensive overview of Mokonuts’ fare. The menu changes so frequently that some of the recipes in the book have only materialized once.

“Every single thing in it has been served here,” Hirayama confirms. “But there are recipes that we did just one day, and that’s the spirit of what we do. The cookbook is to let people understand that spirit. The philosophy is in there, but it may not be exactly the same as what we serve now. If people come in and show me the pictures and say, ‘Can I have this today?’ that won’t happen.”

There is some consistency in the restaurant’s succinct menu, like the labneh, which is always served as one of the starters. But as the cookbook reveals, Mokonuts’ take on the soft Middle Eastern cheese dip is not classic. Like with everything else, Koreitem’s approach is all his own: mixing Greek yogurt with olive oil. “I make it that way because that’s the way I like it,” he says. “And it’s definitely better.”

The cookies are also always available, served as a trio, although you never know what flavors Hirayama will highlight on a particular visit. The chocolate chunk is her signature, as is the miso sesame (my personal favorite), but you’re just as likely to get a one-off cookie with an unexpected ingredient like pine nuts or saffron.

“Everything I do is interchangeable,” she says of her cookie recipe. “And I fully invented it. The first cookie I made was the chocolate chunk, and I studied all different cookie recipes and tried them and adjusted them. All of the others evolved from there, and there’s not a single dough that’s the same.”

Hirayama and Koreitem opened Mokonuts after years of working in other people’s kitchens. Before that, neither had operated in the restaurant industry. Koreitem, who grew up in France in a Lebanese family, was working at Yankee Stadium in New York City when the couple met. At the time, Hirayama, who was born in Japan and grew up between San Francisco, Tokyo and New York City, was a labor negotiator.

“The one thing that we had in common was that we both really loved food,” Koreitem recalls. “It became one of the main interests in our relationship. All our pennies went into going out to fancy restaurants. Five or so years into our relationship—the first year we got married, actually—I decided I would make it a career and decided to go to cooking school.”

The couple moved to London in 2006, and Koreitem got a job at Gordon Ramsay’s Savoy Grill. The long, challenging days made him second-guess his decision to become a chef. “It was one of the most formative experiences I’ve ever had, but the toughest time I’ve ever spent in a kitchen,” he remembers. “It was rough. I think three months into that job, I told Moko, ‘I’m done.’ She said, ‘You have to stick it out.’ And I really fought hard and worked my way up.”

Meanwhile, Hirayama, who was working at a London law firm, took a weekend gig baking for Ladurée. She worked there for over a year before deciding to make a career pivot. Although she trained diligently in pastry and has always enjoyed baking, she prefers to be loose with her measurements.

“I’m very not precise,” she admits. “It’s just always like, ‘A little bit of this, a little bit of that.’ I can’t do it any other way. And if it comes out bad, then I need to serve something else today. I don’t know if I should say this, but customers are my guinea pigs because I don’t do tastings. Omar doesn’t do it either. We never taste the complete plate. We know each element works, but when it’s complete, none of us know what it tastes like.”

This approach meant that putting together a cookbook was a challenge. Koreitem had never written anything down, although Hirayama had some of her recipe basics on the page. “I never measure precisely, but I know more or less how much it’s supposed to be,” she says. “So I think I had a little bit of an easier time than he did. But there are a few things that I don’t really use a recipe for, like my dad’s curry—that was just horrendous. I didn’t know what to do.”

Keeping things loose works for the chefs. Koreitem describes the spirit of Mokonuts as “making shit up,” while Hirayama wants it to feel fun. “We make things up based on what we have that’s available,” she notes. “We’re having fun as much as I hope the customers are having fun eating these things.”

“We need to make a living, of course,” Koreitem adds. “That’s the number one reason we keep going, believe it or not. But 10 years into Mokonuts, honestly, I still enjoy it. When we take time off, like when we go to Japan for a whole month in August, I miss cooking. I want to get back to work.”

Neither chef imagined that Mokonuts would make it to celebrate its 10th birthday. They take things day by day, as evidenced by their menu, although Koreitem is quick to admit he wishes they “planned things better.”

“I live in the moment,” Hirayama affirms. Koreitem replies, “I live in the moment with her and get stressed out doing it.”

This joyful, spontaneous sensibility is what many guests respond to, along with the food, which has impressed me every time I’ve dined at Mokonuts. The fact that the menu is never the same—I always recommend ordering one of every dish and sharing—keeps diners on their toes in a delightful way, as do the unusual cookie flavors. And the chefs only change things up when it suits them.

“We go through phases,” Hirayama says. “We’ve evolved into where we are now. We actually have started printing the menu. So there are always mini evolutions. Next time you come, I might even have a wine menu. We are always in search of what we can do to make it a little bit easier for us and easier for our customers. We’re not necessarily trying to challenge ourselves. It’s just that we get bored. We can’t do the same thing over and over.”

It’s a philosophy that’s perfect for a home cookbook, encouraging readers to take their own approach to the dishes. Don’t have one of the ingredients? Use something else. Don’t feel like measuring exactly? Don’t worry about it. It’s all in the Mokonuts spirit.

Mark Greenaway got his first kitchen job when he was 15 years old. He had thumbed through the local phonebook in his hometown of Lanark, Scotland, looking for hotels and restaurants that might be hiring a chef. After calling all of them, the Cartland Bridge Hotel hired him as a KP, which Greenaway assumed was an apprentice. He showed up to his first day of work in full chef whites and a tall chef hat. He spent the entire shift washing dishes. 

“I said, ‘Chef, I’ve not cooked anything,’” Greenaway tells Observer, speaking from The Caledonian Edinburgh on a late summer day. “And he said, ‘Well, yeah, you’re a KP.’ It turned out KP stood for ‘kitchen porter.’ I stood the whole day in my chef whites with my tall white hat, washing dishes. But he said, ‘Okay, come back tomorrow. Wear your whites. Get rid of the hat and you can start as a chef.’”

Today, Greenaway is one of Scotland’s most notable chefs, with a multi-decade career that has included stints in Scotland, England and Australia. But he initially looked for a restaurant job simply because he thought it would be an easy way to make money. “I thought: How hard can it be?” he says, laughing at the memory. “I enjoyed cooking at home and assumed, ‘Well, you’ve got all day to prepare. It can’t be that hard.’” 

That first day in the kitchen was an eye-opener, not just because Greenaway had shown up in full chef whites. It was also his first time in an actual restaurant. Growing up in Renfrew until he was 10 and then in Lanark, he had never eaten outside the home or even really cooked with his family. “It’s not how I was brought up,” he says. “So in my life, I’ve never eaten in a restaurant like a normal customer. And now I always eat in a restaurant for a reason. But because I had never eaten in a restaurant, I genuinely had no idea what being a chef was.”

Greenaway splits his time between three restaurants. He lives in England’s Lake District, where Mark Greenaway at the Haweswater Hotel is located, and regularly stays in Edinburgh to oversee The Court at the historic The Caledonian Edinburgh, which recently transitioned from a Waldorf Astoria to part of Hilton’s Curio Collection. In London, Greenaway helms Pivot British Bar & Bistro. 

Greenaway began his relationship with The Caledonian Edinburgh in 2019, when he debuted Grazing by Mark Greenaway shortly after closing his namesake eatery, Restaurant Mark Greenaway. In The Court, he currently showcases a six-course tasting experience called the “Progression Menu,” which shares its name with his recent cookbook, Progression. 

“We want to showcase the incredible produce we have in Scotland,” he says of the £65-per-person menu. “Of course, we also want to showcase the skills within the kitchen, but in a way that is sympathetic to those ingredients. The beauty of a tasting menu is that you might try things you wouldn’t normally. Some people like to be safe. Some people like to be adventurous. It’s about having a mixture of safety, adventure and good produce.”

Greenaway and his team use as many Scottish ingredients as possible. All of the seafood, as well as the beef, the chicken and the lamb, are sourced locally. More than 80 percent of the vegetables come from within 10 miles, as does the honey. The menu, which is also available as an à la carte option, evolves seasonally, usually changing every six weeks. Some popular dishes, like Greenaway’s famous sticky toffee pudding soufflé, remain. Nothing conforms to clichés about Scottish cuisine, which is sometimes assumed to be stodgy or boring. 

“I called my first cookbook Perceptions because I wanted to try and change the perception of Scottish food in my own little way from my own little restaurant,” he says. “Scotland had a reputation, but we grow some of the best soft berries in the world, the best shellfish, the best Angus beef. We’ve got some of the best lamb. People assume that because we send so much to England, we don’t know how to cook it, and we all live on a diet of haggis and deep-fried Mars bars. That’s simply not true.”

Although Perceptions came out in 2016, Greenaway says some of the presumptions have lingered. “I think the perception is still there and it’s something that we’re always going to have to change,” he says. Greenaway also doesn’t shy away from Scottish classics, like haggis. (For those unfamiliar with the Scottish dish: It’s made from sheep’s offal, mixed with oats, suet, onion and spices.) Although it wasn’t on the menu when I visited, he has previously showcased a Roscoff onion dish that incorporates haggis and a whiskey jus for a modern take on haggis, neeps and tatties. 

“There will always be a Scottish twist to what I do because it’s what I know,” he says. “I’m Scottish. My first restaurant was in Scotland. My ingredients are often Scottish. But what does it have to be to be considered Scottish food? It’s a big question. It’s not all about bagpipes and tartan—there’s far more to us than that.”

Greenaway’s approach to his constantly changing menus goes back to his early years working at Auchterarder House in Scotland. Although he had gotten his start in savory cooking, Greenaway accepted a short-term gig as the pastry chef. “The head chef said to me, ‘You’re not allowed to repeat anything—not a garnish, not a flavor, nothing,’” he recalls. “Every single month, I had to create a new dessert menu from scratch. He was really strict with it.” 

That structure pushed Greenaway to get more creative. He estimates that he’s created several thousand dishes over the course of his career, both savory and dessert. “It’s always a continuous challenge,” he says. “I’m always probably working on three or four dishes at any given time. Maybe they’re rattling around my head, or a note on my computer, or an email to someone or a text message. But I think as a chef, you like to challenge yourself.”

For a long time, Greenaway felt he had something to demonstrate in the kitchen, especially when working for other chefs. “Nobody asked me to prove it,” he says. “I always felt like I had to.” Now, though, he feels confident in his success, even if he’s still always striving to improve. 

“You can always be better as a chef,” he acknowledges. “It’s not like accountancy, where it’s straightforward. You’re only ever limited by your own creativity. It’s one of the very few jobs where you can express that. An accountant can’t just decide, ‘I’m going to add the numbers up differently today. Let’s see what happens.’ We can do that with ingredients. We turn them into what it’s going to be.”

Progression, released last summer in the U.K., exemplifies Greenaway’s constant desire for progress. It’s a grand tome of a cookbook, with artful imagery of each dish. He never intended to write a second book, but says “madness” drove him to undergo the process again. “I felt I had more stories to tell,” he notes. “And more recipes to share. And as soon as you bring out a cookbook, it’s old, because those dishes have been done. There are dishes on my menu now that are not even in my second cookbook.” 

These days, Greenaway defines success as being able to pass along his years of knowledge. He’s often approached about opening more restaurants or doing events around the world, but he prefers to keep his focus on his current work so he can train younger chefs. “Success for me is having a happy team and a busy restaurant that’s continuously busy,” he says. And despite picking his career path based on a misconception that it would be simple, he remains grateful to be part of the industry every day. 

“It took me a few months in a kitchen before I realized this was it,” he says. “It’s not that I started finding it easy—there is nothing easy about being a chef—but I became better at it. You get quicker, your thinking changes, you burn things less, and it helps you want to stay. It was only six months into a 30-year career before I realized I didn’t want to do anything else. And I still don’t.”

Since he was 14 years old, Angelo Sato has had one goal: earn three Michelin stars. It’s a lofty aim for any chef, particularly one who didn’t attend culinary school. But Sato has been fixated on the same dream for the past two decades, and he’s getting closer. He recently reopened his two-Michelin-starred Humble Chicken after a dramatic renovation, with his eye on that elusive third star. And unlike many chefs of his caliber, Sato has been brutally honest about exactly what he’s pursuing.

“If you’re a ship without a destination, where are you going to go?” Sato tells Observer in early September. “We have a destination as a team, so every day it’s about how we can compound our everyday efforts to reach our goal. The restaurant has a clear direction, and we all know what we stand for, what we’re fighting for and what the standard is. It’s my job to make sure all the investments we make in terms of property and ambience and food and policy and staffing and orders match that goal. That’s why I’m so open about it.”

Sato, 32, grew up in Tokyo as part of the controversial cult church Children of God, founded by American preacher David Berg, until he was 14. The church has faced numerous problematic and disturbing allegations in the past, although Sato doesn’t necessarily have bad memories of the time. He tactfully describes it as “growing up in a kind of different environment,” and although it was an unusual upbringing, it did give him an opportunity to cook.

“We all had a role within the community,” he recalls. “When there are 100 people, it’s almost a cafeteria-style space, so everybody needs to provision food. There would just be loads of food. I loved cooking, and I was always going to help chop stuff and cook. It was obviously nothing chef-y at all, and nothing to rave about. But I always ended up gravitating towards the kitchen.”

It may not have been fancy, but Sato took to the job right away. “I would be lying if I said I was an average cook and that people didn’t say I was the best cook in the kitchen everywhere I went,” he admits. “The thing I love most about this industry is it’s so effort-based. It’s almost like going to the gym—you put in the work and the rewards are there. It’s very black and white.”

It was at 14 that Sato began watching YouTube videos of Gordon Ramsay’s TV show Boiling Point. He learned what Michelin was and immediately became obsessed, claiming the goal of three stars for himself. “At that time, it seemed outrageous and so far away and unattainable,” he says. “Which is a good thing, because every day, you could always try for something. Seeing Gordon, someone so passionate and obsessed, and seeing how these people could change their status through the world of food, that consumed me.”

Sato left home at 15 to begin working in kitchens. One of his first jobs was at three-Michelin-star RyuGin in Tokyo. At 17, Sato moved to London and showed up at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay, hoping to score a job. He approached Clare Smyth, the head chef at the time, directly, a move he now says was “pure ignorance.” Still, she offered him a trial, and he stayed for a year before moving on to Eleven Madison Park in New York and then back to London for a gig at Restaurant Story. Not only did Sato never go to culinary school, but he never actually attended any school, and didn’t have reading or writing skills in any language upon arriving in London. 

“Coming from Japan to the U.K. was definitely challenging,” he says. “I was completely alone, and I was super unsocial. And I couldn’t read or write. I still struggle now, but back in those days, I was quite embarrassed about that. People would ask me to read recipes, and I would just pretend like I read Japanese. Now, I don’t give a fuck. I can read a basic sentence, but it’s nothing to rave about. I still have to ask the guys how to spell ‘apricot.’”

At Restaurant Story, Sato took a lot of inspiration from Tom Sellers, who eventually appointed him head chef of the two-Michelin-starred restaurant. Sellers taught Sato how to “have so much confidence and belief, and how to be willing to sacrifice financially for the future.” His experience there underscored the importance of a risk-reward approach to being a chef. “All the people I’ve worked for and with, I’ve taken something different from,” Sato says. “If someone’s successful, there’s something to learn from them, period. For me, it was about seeing people achieve things and knowing that it’s possible.”

In 2021, Sato opened his own restaurant, Humble Chicken. It was a casual yakitori grill with a counter top and an open kitchen in the heart of Soho, and it seemed like an unexpected next move for a chef with such lofty goals. He picked the concept because it felt like the right way to secure a central London restaurant, not because it was his ultimate plan. “If I told the landlord, ‘I’m opening a 13-seat counter or a chef table,’ he would have said, ‘No, thanks,’” Sato says. “So that was the strategy of presenting that plan—to get the site and then slowly refurbishing it.”

Two years later, Sato introduced Humble Chicken 2.0, a tasting menu experience for 13 guests at the chef’s counter. The restaurant earned its first Michelin star in 2024 and its second in 2025. The quick success encouraged Sato to take the next step: a full-scale renovation of the restaurant. In February, shortly after gaining the second star, he closed Humble Chicken and borrowed half a million pounds from the bank. Sato did most of the design himself, putting in months of effort to ensure every detail felt perfect. Overall, the restaurant was closed for four months, with £1 million put into the renovation.

“Like most restaurants, it was extremely delayed, and I was running out of money like you wouldn’t imagine,” he says. “That was probably the longest six weeks of my life pre-opening. Opening a restaurant with your own money is the hardest thing you’ll ever do in your life. You’re paying everyone, everything’s going out, nothing’s coming in. So many things are going wrong. You have to be mentally ready for that. But the only way out is through, and I was already in it.”

Despite those challenges, owning his own restaurant has its perks. “It feels good that I can do whatever I want,” Sato notes. “And there’s not a single person in this world that can tell me what to do at any point. I always knew that for the restaurant to get three stars, it had to be an independent restaurant.”

Humble Chicken 3.0 debuted in June. The space is sleek and thoughtful, with artful flourishes like handmade crockery from local artisans and a tall fermentation wall for pickles, soy sauce and koji. The lunch and dinner tasting menu, which costs £235 per person, spans 16 courses, many of which draw on Sato’s Japanese heritage. Some dishes, like the avocado-stuffed mussel snack, have been on the menu since 2023.

“It’s simple, but it takes a long time,” Sato says of the dish, which is presented on a bed of rocks and seaweed. “A mussel is a humble ingredient that we spend probably six hours a day on. Everyone does something for it, and by the time it arrives on your plate, it’s beautiful, it’s delicious, and it’s humble. That’s one of our signature things.”

Seafood is at the core of Humble Chicken’s offerings, including an elegant prawn toast, an oyster and o-toro served with sweet corn. For Sato, the goal is a layering of flavors and a refinement of the technique. When I dined, the main course was a whole Anjou pigeon that had been dry-aged for two weeks, cured in koji, bathed in oil and then slowly grilled over charcoal throughout the meal. The legs were perfectly tempura-ed, and the liver adorned an accompanying bowl of rice. The dish exemplifies Sato’s interest in celebrating an ingredient.

“For us, it’s like, ‘How do we utilize every single ounce of this bird without throwing anything away?’” the chef says. “Everyone cooks pigeon, and they always drown it in a sauce or a puree, which is delicious. It’s not doing anything wrong with it, but I love the flavor of the grill and charcoal. If it’s an amazing ingredient, that’s what I want to taste. I wanted to serve just the pigeon.”

Because Humble Chicken offers two seatings per night (one at 5:45 p.m. and one at 9 p.m.), there is a real choreography in the kitchen. There’s no room for error—every dish has to be presented with timed precision to ensure every guest gets the complete experience. To help with the timing, Sato serves the desserts over two courses: First, a lighter strawberry offering, and then a decadent array of six pastries and desserts that are displayed in front of the diners all at once. “Instead of ending the meal in a mellow way, it feels like an assault from the pastry chef,” Sato says. “It ends you on a complete high.”

As Sato and his team continue to refine the dishes, the chef remains focused on the overall experience. It’s that aspect that he feels will net him the third star. The service is attentive but not overbearing, and guests can ask questions or interact with the servers and chefs. “It’s almost like a first date,” Sato explains of their approach. “It’s how fast can you break that barrier between guest and server for it to become more of a personal relationship. I made a conscious effort to hire people whose number one passion in life is making people happy, as opposed to having a more technical ability. Everything feels genuine.”

One of those hires was restaurant manager Aidan Monk, whom Sato met at Evelyn’s Table. “I went there three or four times in the span of a year,” he recalls. “And I was wondering, ‘There are so many good restaurants and I can go anywhere, why do I always go back to this restaurant?’” Sato began asking himself why people generally return to a certain restaurant. “It’s not really the food,” he says. “The food’s important, but people go back to restaurants based on how you’ve made them feel when you were there. The food is obvious, but what else is there? How do you make someone addicted to coming back?”

Although Sato has always had a natural instinct for cooking, he views his career as similar to that of an NFL player. It takes work and drive to succeed, as well as sacrifice. For Sato, it’s three stars or bust. 

“I’m not focused on anything else,” he admits. “People have invited me to every single island in the world you can possibly imagine to cook for a day, and I have said no to every single thing that’s not related directly to helping us achieve our goal. And that’s strategic. Because all these things that are offered now, if we did have three stars, I would be charging 10 times more for the exact same thing. It’s emulating Tom Brady’s career, where he took less money in the beginning, and now he’s printing money. It’s betting on yourself.” 

It’s a journey to get to Hausu, a hip restaurant and bar located in the London neighborhood of Peckham. But the final destination is worth the trek. Hausu shares a building with Peckham Rye station, and the vintage bathroom is the depot’s old waiting room. It was previously the Coal Rooms, a popular restaurant that closed in 2024. The owners of the Coal Rooms contacted chef Holly Middleton-Joseph, who had previously put on two pop-ups elsewhere as Hausu, and offered her a one-night residency.

“They were trying to get out of their lease, and we did a pop-up and sold it out,” Middleton-Joseph, 31, recalls, speaking to Observer in early September. “They asked us to come in for a chat on the following Monday and said, ‘Would you want to take over?’ It was as simple as that.”

Middleton-Joseph and her team made a few tweaks to the space, including a fresh coat of paint and new tabletops and chairs, before Hausu opened last October. It’s been a whirlwind, with Hausu quickly gaining popularity with both locals and those farther afield. What attracts guests is both the food, an exciting combination of modern European and globally-inspired dishes, and the buzzy atmosphere. That vibe comes in part thanks to the music, played from a vintage hi-fi system. Hausu, named after a 1977 Japanese horror film, also frequently hosts special events, like DJ nights or record store takeovers.

“[As a pop-up], Hausu was always about bringing a hi-fi sound system to each place we were cooking,” Middleton-Joseph says. “What I love about this space is that we can have a DJ downstairs in the front bar or they can be upstairs in the dining room, depending on how busy we are. It really draws people in when they’re in the front bar. And we always try to save some [room for] walk-ins, because that’s one of the good things about stumbling across a restaurant. I don’t like places where you can’t just walk in.”

Hausu is Middleton-Joseph’s first head chef gig. She got her start in cooking as an apprentice at Frank’s Bar, also in Peckham, at 21. She didn’t have a background in food and hadn’t attended culinary school, but she liked to cook for her roommates. She was part of the outdoor café’s soft launch in 2009, and immediately understood the appeal of a fast-paced hospitality job.

“I remember the night it opened, the tickets came in thick and fast,” she says. “The thing I loved about it is that you’re all in it together. It’s a bit scary. There’s panic. But once you get out of that dip, you get this uplifting feeling I love. The camaraderie and the sense of achievement, and the fact that you can learn and evolve every day.”

It was a challenge, sure, but Middleton-Joseph was eager to learn. Plus, she genuinely enjoyed cooking, especially over Frank’s Bar’s open fire. “I wanted to find somewhere I belonged. I didn’t study anything after I left school. This was the moment I found that thing I was good at. And I like being good at stuff,” she says.

The open flame has been a common denominator for Middleton-Joseph. She cooked occasionally at home growing up in Kent, but her strongest memory is helming the barbecues in her family’s yard. “For some reason, my mum let me be in charge of the fire,” she says. “I have this memory of wearing goggles because it was really smoky and trying to light this fire.”

Middleton-Joseph moved to London when she was 19 with her older brother, Tom, co-owner and head of drinks at Hausu. The siblings worked together at a nightclub before Middleton-Joseph found her calling in the kitchen, a joint gig that set them on a series of collaborations. “I worked behind the bar and I used to drink a lot,” she remembers of the club. “Tom tried to get me fired, but the bosses loved me so much they said no. But we’ve worked together at a few places, including Frank’s, the Camberwell Arms and Mountain. We’re a little duo, me and Tom.”

By the time Middleton-Joseph opened Hausu with Tom and their co-founder Christian Williams, she had enough experience in kitchens to understand what sort of atmosphere she wanted to create. A natural leader, she wanted to instill a positive vibe into her staff—no shouting and no disrespect.

“You get to set the tone of the voice that you want to be heard in the kitchen,” she says. “It’s about being firm and fair, but not shouting. It was good to be able to do that from the beginning. I’ve been really lucky with the chefs I’ve worked under. I don’t think there’s been too many dickheads, to be honest. I’ve worked for a lot of fair people, and that’s helped carve me as a head chef.”

Being a queer female chef has also shaped Middleton-Joseph’s approach. She wants to build a safe space for other queer chefs (there are a few on her team). She became more comfortable with her identity early on in her career, which she credits to her first serious relationship.

“That first relationship really solidified things for me, and I was given the confidence to say, ‘If people don’t respect you or want to be afraid of you because you’re gay, then that’s their problem,’” she says. “I became more open to the label and began to do interviews about it. Now I don’t really label myself. It depends on the space that you’re in, so I don’t label myself unless I think it can help a situation or make it better for someone else.”

She adds, laughing, “Sometimes the gay couples or lesbian couples come in to eat, and they sit on the counter. It will be two women, both looking at me, and they’re like, ‘Oh, a gay head chef!’”

The menu at Hausu is always changing, mostly because Middleton-Joseph is still finding herself as a chef. She loves having creative control, but is always open to discovery, and often tries out new dishes. “I have quite a good gut feeling about things, whether it’s going to work or not,” she notes. “And it hasn’t gone wrong so far.”

A few dishes have remained since Hausu’s early pop-ups. The chef’s upscale take on prawn toast—a Chinese takeaway staple in London—appeared on the menu the first night in the restaurant’s current space. Middleton-Joseph was inspired by the tall prawn toasts at Duck Duck Goose. “I remember thinking, ‘Not many restaurants do that,’” she says. “I always love a prawn toast from the Chinese takeaway, but they’re usually pretty crap and they’re really thin. And I thought, ‘We can elevate it. We can put scallops in it and really good prawns.’ We just amped up the flavor.”

The toasted rice ice cream, doused with a five-spice caramel, has been on the menu since Hausu’s first-ever pop-up. Middleton-Joseph conceived it while working at the Camberwell Arms. The gastropub served a homemade ice cream, so she decided to toast up some rice and infuse the milk ice cream base with it. She topped it with puffed rice and the caramel, which hits the tongue with the inclusion of Szechuan peppercorns. It’s addictive and well-balanced, countering the usual sweetness of a dessert with the spices and rice. It was one of my favorite dishes, but Middleton-Joseph says it’s not for everyone. 

“Because the caramel has got Szechuan in it, it has that numbing factor and it freaks people out,” she says. “It often divides the crowd. It’s the Marmite of ice creams.”

Middleton-Joseph’s influences are broad, so much so that it’s hard to characterize her cooking. She uses Asian ingredients like gochujang, seaweed and XO sauce alongside flavors from Italy, Spain and Greece. Fermentation is a common practice in the kitchen—the homemade pickles were so good I ate the entire plate before my friend arrived—and much of the produce comes from around the U.K. “If you like something, why not?” Middleton-Joseph says. “The sky’s the limit, and I’m lucky I can do that here. For me, it’s all about the flavors being really fun and bold and bright.”

The chef also draws on her experience working in Cambodia, where she lived for eight months in her early twenties. She initially went for two weeks, but ended up staying to work in her friend’s barcade. “They had a kitchen in the back of the bar that was empty, so I made a little snack menu of brown sugar chicken and fries with bay seasoning, stuff like that,” Middleton-Joseph says. “But then the real gig was every Friday, I would do a grill out [of] the front of the bar with food. We’d pick a different country each week, and it would be food from around the world, cooked on an open fire.”

Middleton-Joseph’s love of fire carries on at Hausu, where she prepares many of the dishes over the flames. She finds cooking a steak over the fire easier and more flavorful than in a pan, but it’s not just the meat that gets that approach. The highly Instagrammable scallop, coated in an XO cream, is grilled, as are the peaches in the smoked ricotta salad.

“All of the steak and fish come off the fire,” Middleton-Joseph notes. “Because my apprenticeship was at Frank’s Bar, there weren’t even induction burners. We cooked everything on fire. If you needed to cook a pan of sauce, you would load up the fire. So from a professional point of view, that’s how I’ve been taught—just use fire.”

Soon, Hausu will celebrate its first anniversary, a milestone moment for the restaurant. And Middleton-Joseph has even bigger dreams, including a goal of landing on the 100 best restaurants list at the National Restaurant Awards. But for the chef, it’s less about proving something to the world and more about proving it to herself.

“I do have imposter syndrome, and I’ve got to convince myself that I’m good enough all the time,” she says. “I am slowly believing it. But when I look at other great restaurants that I know and love, sometimes I’m like, ‘Are we just a bit too fun? Are we not as serious?’ There are always those questions. But then you read the reviews and people come in and they say how delicious it was, and you know you’re doing a good job.”

All these years after her first night as an apprentice at Frank’s Bar, Middleton-Joseph can still feel the excitement of the job. She’s just as motivated now as she was then, if not more so. “I love it,” she affirms. “I don’t think I would be here if I didn’t love it. But luckily for me, I love a challenge and I love creating, so it feels like this is the right thing.”

At Silo, a stylish, light-filled restaurant in London’s Hackney Wick neighborhood, the meal begins and ends with bread. After a snack that opens the tasting menu, a slice of pillowy sourdough—baked in-house using wheat that Silo mills by hand—arrives, accompanied by butter that is also churned in the open kitchen. Several hours later, after multiple dishes have graced the table, the bread and butter are reimagined into the final dish: a buttermilk ice cream sandwich served with Marmite caramel. The dessert is made using waste from the bread and butter course—a clever way of closing the loop, which is the premise behind everything chef Douglas McMaster does at Silo.

“When you make sourdough, you never know how much you’re going to need,” McMaster tells Observer, speaking from his London restaurant in August. “Bread is the number one wasted food product in the Western world, so it’s always abundant. Turning it into a miso is very efficient because there’s no byproduct—it’s 100 percent bread waste. We mix that miso with a caramel.”

Previously, the restaurant made the ice cream from bread waste, but it left bread pulp in the infusion, and there was a lack of flavor. “It felt like an inefficient way to use waste bread,” McMaster says. “We switched it to making a bread miso. We use the buttermilk from making butter as the ice cream, and the bran from milling the flour is the wafer on the sides. It’s a sophisticated and elegant way to close the loop.”

The term “closing the loop” is used a lot at Silo, both on the menu and in descriptions of the restaurant’s ethos. McMaster initially opened Silo in Brighton in 2014, with the aim of being the world’s first no-waste restaurant. In 2019, he relocated Silo to London—it was the same year he published his first book, The Zero Waste Blueprint, which shared McMaster’s vision for a kitchen without a trash can. These days, McMaster helms Silo alongside executive chef William Stoyle. McMaster also runs Silo’s fermentation factory, guides no-waste Mexico City restaurant Baldío, and is writing his second book, There Is No Bin in the Jungle. 

“I have so many projects,” he admits. “But Silo is the center of the universe.” A focus on sustainability is at the core of everything McMaster does, both on a microcosmic level and on a global scale. Being zero waste is a massive challenge, particularly in a city, where many products arrive in plastic or layers of packaging. The chef is quick to admit that no matter how good Silo is, it’s not yet truly sustainable. “No restaurant is,” he says. “I think Silo is remarkably close to it, but it’s not there yet.”

McMaster intentionally chose to bring Silo into an urban environment. He didn’t want to move out to the countryside and forget that one of the primary environmental problems is urban sustainability. “That’s where the problem is at its worst—in dense, urban environments,” the chef says. “Silo is there to solve a problem [and] to demonstrate how a food system can be zero waste and work by not harming nature.”

The concept of a closed-loop system is the same as being zero waste. McMaster explains it by describing a carrot. Typically, a restaurant would get the carrot from a farm, peel it and use only a big chunk of its center. “The skin will be wasted, the tail will be wasted, the tops are definitely wasted,” he says. “Very seldom do I see carrot tops used. So that loop has been broken. And then you’ve got to consider the energy in which that carrot has been delivered—the energy extraction, the materials, the packaging, the pollution.”

In order for the carrot to become a “closed-loop carrot,” as McMaster puts it, not only is everything used, but there is also mindfulness for its delivery. “The carrot tops have been turned into a pesto or a green smoothie, the skin has just been left on because it’s more nutritious and delicious, and the top and the tail have gone into tomorrow’s soup,” he explains. “And then, is it green, renewable energy powering the delivery of that carrot? Is there zero packaging? Generally, the idea is to close the loop on that whole product and maximize 99 to 100 percent of that whole product into a cycle of nature, whether that’s our digestive tract or an effective composting system.”

According to McMaster, many guests and critics have assumed that Silo only serves plant-based dishes. When the restaurant first opened, he received dozens of messages calling him a hypocrite for serving meat and fish. But the chef believes that animals are a key part of true sustainability. While he thinks the industrial farming system is “absolutely an abhorrent, ethical disgrace,” McMaster believes in a more recent version of regenerative agriculture.

“I don’t think anyone who understands agriculture will dispute or offer a rebuttal to this, but there is no more sustainable food system than the ones that are designed with animals,” he says. “For example, the rapeseed we use for the oil at Silo comes from a beautiful fifth-generation family farm. There is no way to prevent the fly beetle, which will devastate the entire crop. The only organic way to do that that we’re aware of is sheep. Animals are really pivotal to the agricultural side of the food system.”

He continues, “Those animals live and die, and in some cases, overpopulate and devastate an environment when it becomes out of hand, such as [with] invasive species. Death is inextricably part of nature and part of life, and to deny that seems a little bit delusional and a little bit short-sighted. But I will go vegan before we serve anything from an industrial food system, because that is, fundamentally, what is killing the environment.” 

The current menu includes invasive Mediterranean octopus caught in Cornwall as one of the main dishes. It’s seared and served with a rich mole (created, of course, using kitchen waste). A year and a half ago, McMaster visited a village in Cornwall called Looe, where one of the local fishermen told him that most London chefs order the same fish over and over again, often ignoring more sustainable catches like grey mullet. The fisherman explained that due to warming seas, many octopus had been showing up in their waters, traveling north in search of a cooler climate.

“We were fascinated,” McMaster says. “There wasn’t enough last year to put on the menu, but in one year, the problem has gone from bad to worse. Now the problem is so bad that we’ve got plenty of octopus to go on the menu. If you got into a heated debate with a vegan, they would always say that it is a problem because of humans. And that is true, that invasive octopus is moving or migrating from the Mediterranean to the south coast of the U.K. because of global warming that we have facilitated. And it’s ultimately a human problem. But should we ignore that and let the problem grow, or do we do the right thing and eat the octopus and not waste that octopus?”

McMaster is clear that Silo isn’t intended to be overtly educational. It’s still an upscale restaurant that offers the same quality of experience as any other similar spot in London. The tasting menu, available as a shortened version for £45 or an “all-in” version for £75, showcases quality cooking alongside sustainable practices. With many dishes, you might not even realize ingredients are being reused unless you’re explicitly told. For example, a rich dumpling topped with radicchio is made with bread waste, but it tastes like an original inclusion rather than a redux.

“The best way to demonstrate sustainability isn’t by telling people what’s sustainable,” McMaster says. “It’s serving sustainability in a way that is delicious or brilliantly done. Essentially, that’s the goal: How do we make sustainability sexy? It’s never going to be the future if it’s not delicious or sexy, and people won’t respond well if you bat them around the head with a doctrine. You need to lead with desire.”

McMaster wasn’t an expert in sustainability practices when he started Silo. Today, however, many fellow chefs look to him for inspiration and guidance. He founded The Zero Waste Cooking School, which features online videos that offer instruction about fermentation using koji, maximizing all parts of a particular vegetable and ditching common kitchen practices like wrapping everything in plastic wrap. The restaurant’s fermentation factory, Flux, offers an opportunity for McMaster to collaborate with other London chefs. For example, Santiago Lastra, from Kol and Fonda, plans to work with McMaster to make masa miso from his corn waste.

“He’s importing this incredible maize from Mexico from these indigenous communities that are farming in really responsible ways, but it’s coming all the way across the Atlantic, which is no small feat,” McMaster says. “To waste 10 to 20 percent of that maize is a shame, and Santiago knows that. So what if we can turn it into miso? That is a great way to honor the fine work of the beautiful indigenous communities in Mexico. That has not happened yet, but that’s what Flux is, and [what] we’re hoping we can achieve.”

At home, McMaster employs similar low- and no-waste practices. He has to have some level of open-mindedness because sometimes people send him gifted products in packaging. “At Silo, we are very serious because it goes beyond me—it’s the whole community of Silo,” he says. “At home, there’s a little bit of flexibility. But 98 percent of what Silo does is the same at home. I have the same principle of working with amazing regenerative farmers. The ethical butcher that we use at Silo, I use at home.”

Throughout our conversation, McMaster talks about connecting with nature. He visits all of his suppliers, from the fishermen to the farmers, but he lives in London, which is a challenging place to find peaceful moments of respite. So every day, McMaster goes to the nearby Victoria Park and takes off his shoes and socks to stand barefoot on the grass. Sometimes, he visits Epping Forest, where there is ancient soil that grows an array of ferns, which emit a particular microbiome.

“Your sight is programmed to see nature, and when we just look at brick walls all day, that creates a very subtle frequency of stress because we’re not seeing what we have spent millions of years adapting to see,” he says. “By going into nature, by looking at a tree, by taking deep breaths, we can connect to nature. Part of our biological cycle is to breathe deeply, and we don’t because of patterns of urban dwelling and overconsumption of digital information. We are not breathing deeply because we’re so distracted by our phones.”

Although McMaster would like to see big changes, like mass adoption of zero-waste practices in kitchens, he’s aware that things take time. He applauds Michelin for adding a green star to their accolades (Silo received theirs in 2021, the year it was introduced in the U.K.), and he has a lot of grace for chefs who are just trying to survive in a tumultuous hospitality industry.

“I don’t want to come across as this arrogant, self-righteous person,” he says. “I’ve got no negative feelings directed at anyone else for not doing things sustainably because I understand how they’re just trying to survive. Honestly, I want to be really gentle with this subject because it’s hard out there and people are trying, and that’s what’s important.”

The chef knows there’s a lot more work to be done, both at Silo and on a larger level. He describes his new book, which he anticipates will be released in 2026, as “a philosophical guide to not destroying the planet.”

“It has a dark humor, with a macro/micro commentary on the global food system and our part in it,” he says. “Giving a very clear perspective, which is what the first book did through the lens of Silo. This is through the lens of everyone in the world. I really leaned into making this book outrageously fun, satirical, creative, allegorical—it’s really fun and eccentric. That isn’t to suggest that it’s all silly. It’s also very serious. Nature, ultimately, is what you find when you turn to zero waste, and that’s what the book is about.”

A meal at Silo and a conversation with its founder may not be enough to completely change your approach to dining out or to cooking at home. But both offer evidence that maintaining a zero-waste approach is possible. And at the very least, hopefully McMaster inspires people to stand barefoot in the grass and reconnect to the world around them.

Whether you’re looking for fine dining or a casual quick eat, there is something for everyone arriving in London in the months to come. Locals and visitors can expect cuisines from around the world at a variety of price points. There are so many, in fact, you may struggle to try them all or to even keep up with what has opened. Here are 20 of the best new restaurants set to open in London this fall. 

Legado

• 1C Montacute Yards, 185-186 Shoreditch High Street, E1 6HU
• Opening date: August 28

Spanish chef Nieves Barragán Mohacho will debut her latest endeavor, Legado, in Shoreditch at the end of August. The restaurant will feature a dining room and counter seating, as well as a dedicated bar and outdoor terrace open all day serving tapas and pintxos. The dishes will center on whole animal butchery, along with seafood, vegetables and salads, and will showcase lesser-known dishes and regional culinary traditions from Spain. “Many dishes I love, I have never seen outside the country and want to bring them and even more to London,” Barragán Mohacho explained of the concept. Like the chef’s beloved Mayfair spot Sabor, there are sure to be crowds and a scramble for reservations. 

Adoh!

• 36 Maiden Lane, London, WC2E 7LJ
• Opening date: September 8

Sri Lankan street food will be on the menu at Adoh!, a new restaurant from Kolamba and Kolamba East founders Eroshan and Aushi Meewella. Dishes will include popular street food favorites like kothu, a plate of chopped roti, vegetables and eggs tossed together on a grill and finished with curry sauce, and vadai, savory lentil doughnuts served with chutney. It’s a casual spot that is walk-in only for both lunch and dinner, with tables available outside during nice weather. 

Aram

• Somerset House, Strand, London WC2R 1LA
• Opening date: September 8 

Somerset House will welcome Aram, a cafe, deli and restaurant created by Imad Alarnab, the founder of popular eatery Imad’s Syrian Kitchen. The low-key restaurant will serve baked goods, salads, breakfasts and lunches from across the Eastern Mediterranean, with dishes inspired by Syria, Turkey, Cyprus, Jordan and beyond. It will take guests for breakfast and lunch, and will open on specific evenings for charity events and supper clubs. Along with food and drinks, Aram will sell products from across the Mediterranean in its shop, including Medjool dates, Aram ground coffee, chili jam and roasted hazelnuts.

Nela

• 163 Queensway, London W2 4BD
• Opening date: September 10

Chefs Hari Shetty and Ori Geller will bring their live-fire cooking concept to the redeveloped Whiteley after previously launching in Amsterdam and Ibiza. The menu concept involves using seasonal ingredients that celebrate both local British produce and global influences, with a focus on hand-crafted flatbreads, grilled shellfish, spiced meats and vegetable-based dishes cooked over the embers. The restaurant itself will feature a 360-degree bar in the center of the dining room and an open kitchen. Reservations are currently open. 

Cé La Vi

• 1 Paddington Square ‍ 17th & 18th Floor, London, England, W2 1DL
• Opening date: September 12

Named for the French saying “c’est la vie,” Cé La Vi is an expansive rooftop restaurant and bar that will open its first London location in Paddington Square. It will inhabit the top two floors of the building, with an outdoor terrace on both levels, and each will offer its own culinary experience. The menu on the 17th floor is Asian-led, with dishes like miso sea bass and Wagyu beef tataki and a central bar serving Asian-inspired cocktails. The upper level will feature a private dining room and a lounge bar with a relaxed vibe that includes live DJs and curated performances. Reservations are open now. 

Richoux

• 14-15 Langham Place London W1B
• Opening date: September 15

Richoux, a beloved London patisserie and restaurant founded in 1909, will re-open on Regent Street in September after closing its doors in 2023. It will feature a French-inspired all-day menu serving classics like steak frites and lobster thermidor, and visitors can opt to sit inside or outside. In traditional style, Richoux will also offer patisseries and viennoiseries from its signature trolley. Expect a drinks menu of French wines, as well as signature cocktails. A second location is set to open near Tower Bridge in the coming months. 

Lagana

• 3 Great Eastern Street, London, EC2A 3HR
• Opening date: September 15

The former Pachamama East will transform in Lagana, a Greek-inspired restaurant in the same group as Bottarga and Nina. The menu, from executive chef Tzoulio Loulai, promises flatbread, seasonal dips, skewers and kebabs, and Greek doughnuts called loukoumades, as well as signature soft serve. It will be more casual than its sister restaurants, with an emphasis on home-cooking style. Those who frequented Pachamama East will find the space redesigned, with warm wood tones and a brushed steel mosaic bar, and guests can partake for lunch and dinner. If the impossible-to-get-reservation at Nina is anything to go by, this will be a hit.

Carbone

• 30 Grosvenor Sq, London W1K
• Opening date: September TBA

Mario Carbone’s popular Italian eatery will make its U.K. debut in the former American Embassy in Mayfair this September, the same site as the new Chancery Rosewood. The London outpost promises a similar experience to Carbone’s other locations, including tableside Caesar salads and the famous spicy rigatoni vodka—a menu staple that is sure to delight locals. Interior images haven’t been revealed, but Carbone looks to include an outdoor terrace.

Labombe by Trivet

• 19 Old Park Ln, London W1K 1LB
• Opening date: September 16

Trivet, a two-Michelin starred restaurant in Bermondsey, will open a second outpost in the former Met Bar location in the Como Metropolitan London. Labombe was previously a weekly pop-up at Trivet, which was helmed by chef Jonny Lake and master sommelier Isa Bal, and now will get a dedicated space on Old Park Lane. It’s a “wine-forward” restaurant with a more relaxed cooking style than Trivet. Not much is known about the menu, but prior Labombe pop-ups have featured special wines by the glass and indulgent bar snacks. The restaurant will be open from noon daily and promises to be a popular after-work spot. 

Michael Caines at The Stafford

• 16-18 St James’s Pl, London SW1A 1NJ
• Opening date: September 17

English chef Michael Caines will unveil his first London restaurant this year, replacing The Game Bird in The Stafford. It will highlight upscale modern European cuisine using British seasonal ingredients while also incorporating classics from the historic hotel, including beef Wellington and Dover sole. The restaurant will serve breakfast, lunch and dinner, with a tasting menu available for lunch and dinner on specific days of the week. Caines has a similar restaurant in Lympstone Manor, which is also part of the Stafford Collection.  

Alta

• Kingly Court, Carnaby, London W1B 5PW
• Opening date: September 22

Alta is the second opening from Mad Restaurants, following Moi in Soho this summer. The restaurant, led by head chef Rob Roy Cameron, is named for Spain’s Alta Navarra peninsula and will showcase Basque country-inspired dishes using British ingredients. It will span two floors of Soho’s Kingly Court, with an outdoor dining area and a private dining room, and will be centered on an open kitchen with a fire grill. It’s one of the buzziest fall debuts, especially since Cameron is an alum of El Bulli and 41 Degrees. 

Kudu Marylebone

• 7 Moxon Street W1U 4EP
• Opening date: September TBA

Peckham hotspot Kudu is relocating to central London this fall, with a new outpost in Marylebone that will bring together all three of its formative restaurants. The menu will showcase Kudu’s signature modern European cooking with a South African twist featuring new dishes and favorites from both Kudu and Kudu Grill. Guests can partake in lunch, dinner, Saturday brunch and Sunday lunch, as well as drinks from the bar. The restaurant will be helmed by husband and wife team Patrick Williams and Amy Corbin, and is taking over the former Aubaine restaurant site off Marylebone High Street. 

Cô Thành

• 16 Henrietta St, London WC2E 8QH
• Opening date: September TBA

Vietnamese restaurant Cô Thành will follow its success in Hong Kong with a spot in London’s Covent Garden this fall. Founded Brian Woo, Cô Thành is inspired by the late Nguyễn Thị Thanh—better known as The Lunch Lady—whose Saigon street food gained global recognition after appearing in Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations. Woo opened his Hong Kong outpost in 2017 after being urged to carry on her legacy. The menu will feature broths, noodle soups and street food favorites alongside natural wines, cocktails and traditional Vietnamese drinks.

Aki London

• 1 Cavendish Square, London W1G 0LA
• Opening date: September TBA

Aki is a new import from Malta, where it initially opened in Valletta in 2020. The menu takes its cues from Kyoto’s farm-to-table dining and focuses on fish-to-tail techniques in a contemporary Japanese style. Many of the dishes and ingredients will celebrate the melding of Maltese and Japanese cultures, particularly the use of bluefin tuna. The restaurant has been built into a refurbished Grade II-listed former bank and will offer several dining options, including a central dining room, a vault bar and a mezzanine terrace. Early glimpses of the space look impressive, as do the dishes themselves. 

Luso

• 30 Charlotte St., London W1T 2NG
• Opening date: September TBA

The former Lisboeta pace will become Luso, a contemporary Portuguese restaurant from MJMK Restaurants. The two-floor restaurant will showcase food from the Iberian Atlantic coastline, with a focus on well-sourced ingredients. The menu is being developed in collaboration with Portuguese chef Leandro Carreira, previously of The Sea, The Sea. Changes to the décor and layout haven’t been revealed, but Carreira’s food is memorable so diners can expect thoughtful dishes that pay tribute to his heritage. 

Khao-Sō-i

• 9-10 Market Place, London W1W 8AQ
• Opening date: October TBA

Chiang Mai’s cult-favorite noodle bar is heading to London. Khao-Sō-i, founded by husband and wife team Win Srinavakool and Por Haruethai Noicharoen, will debut its first international location in October.  The vibe is casual northern Thai soul food, including the restaurant’s namesake and signature dish khao soi. Khao-Sō-i previously held a very popular pop-up in London in 2024, so anticipate queues when it first opens. 

Simpson’s in the Strand

• 100 Strand, London WC2R 0EZ
• Opening date: November TBA

Simpson’s in the Strand is one of London’s oldest restaurants, showcasing a classic British vibe and traditional dishes with sophisticated service since 1828. The restaurant closed in March 2020, but will reopen this year thanks to restaurateur Jeremy King, who is also responsible for The Arlington and The Park. King has confirmed that diners can expect the return of the carvery trolleys—a quintessential London dining experience—and two dining rooms, two bars and a private ballroom. King’s website notes that the food “will be British at its core,” with one dining room offering a lower price point and the other focusing on the historical restaurant’s traditional menu. 

Brasserie Adalana

• 50 Newman Street Fitzrovia, London, W1T 3EB
• Opening date: Fall TBA

The much-anticipated Newman hotel is set to open its doors in Fitzrovia this summer, and the property has announced two food and beverage outlets, including all-day European bistro Brasserie Adalana and Gambit Bar. Adalana promises a menu of classic comfort dishes and a bespoke sandwich trolley that will visit diners tableside during lunchtime. The dining room will include an al fresco option, and the restaurant will welcome diners for breakfast, lunch and dinner all week long. The hotel has yet to get an official opening date, but it should arrive at some point this year. 

The first dish Bomee Ki and Woongchul Park created together was an unconventional version of a classic French tarte Tatin, made with daikon instead of the traditional apple. The husband-and-wife team have been collaborating on menu items since they conceived Sollip, a Korean-inspired modern European restaurant that opened in London in 2020. Park is responsible for the savory dishes while Ki handles the pastries and desserts, but they often share ideas.

“I was like, ‘Hey, darling, I want to make a tarte Tatin, but a savory version,’” Park tells Observer in late July. “We started thinking about what kind of ingredient we could use. We decided on either daikon or Korean cabbage. We tried both of them, and daikon was the winner.”

“It became our signature dish,” Ki adds. “In Korea, daikon is one of the most famous and popular vegetables.”

“It’s different now,” Park notes of the dish. “It’s more refined. But it started as a simple idea.”

Sollip combines the couple’s South Korean influences with their traditional French culinary training and a shared interest in local British ingredients. Park grew up in Cheonan-si, not far from Seoul, while Ki hails from Gwangju. The couple met in London in 2009 while attending Le Cordon Bleu, although their initial encounter was brief. “A friend introduced us,” Park says. “Nothing happened at the time.”

After finishing his course at Le Cordon Bleu, Park returned to South Korea to work at a French restaurant on Jeju Island. He had been following Ki’s personal blog, where she posted photos of her pastry work, and immediately thought of her when the restaurant needed a pastry chef.

“She wasn’t working at the time, so she thankfully said yes, and she came down to our restaurant to help us develop the pastry menu,” Park says. “That’s how we started it.”

Ki, smiling, adds, “He started it.”

The couple married in 2013 and soon decided to return to London, with individual stints at restaurants like The Ledbury, Koffmann’s and The Arts Club. They went back to South Korea a few years later, but couldn’t shake their love for the British city. “When I was in high school, I used to enjoy watching Jamie Oliver’s show,” Ki says. “He’s very attractive, and I love that accent. At the time, I thought, ‘Maybe one day I would like to go to the U.K.’”

More seriously, she saw London as a place that embraced different cultures. “We felt there was space here to express our story through food without needing to over-explain,” Ki notes. “That openness gave us the confidence to be subtle and personal in our approach.”

In 2019, Ki and Park, who were by then parents to two young children, decided to take the leap and move to London permanently, with the goal of opening their own restaurant. Previously, Park had imagined himself as a head chef in someone else’s kitchen. But he realized that having your own restaurant requires youth and strength, which he now had in his early 30s. He didn’t want to delay the dream. “I was like, ‘If we are too late, we couldn’t do it because physically,’” he says. “Why wait until we’re 40 years old or 50 years old to pursue that dream? What’s the point? That was the moment I started thinking about moving back to London.”

Park traveled to the U.K. on his own in June 2019 with two goals: finding a place to live and finding a restaurant site. He gave himself three months to do both. He walked thousands of steps each day exploring different neighborhoods, and ultimately found an intimate restaurant space in Bermondsey, not far from London Bridge Station. “Sometimes it’s actually better to know nothing,” he says. “When someone would ask me what kind of property we were looking for, I only knew money-wise and size-wise. Otherwise, I was very open-minded.”

The family officially moved to London in the fall of 2019. They spent the following months designing the restaurant space, developing the menu and creating a business plan, often sleeping only two or three hours a night. The interior aesthetic was important, even if budget constraints didn’t allow Ki to realize her vision right away.

“We wanted the space to reflect the same values as our food—calm, simplicity and a connection to nature,” she explains. “Rather than taking a traditional or decorative approach, we drew inspiration from the Korean concept of yeo-baek—the beauty of empty space.” The hope, for Ki, is that guests feel “both warmth and calm when they enter, not through grand gestures but through quiet thoughtfulness and a sense of ease.”

As Sollip was about to debut in early 2020, the pandemic hit. It wasn’t until August 29, 2020, that the restaurant could actually open. They began with à la carte offerings, but the U.K. soon went into lockdown for a second and then a third time. By the following spring, Ki and Park were finally able to present their original vision: a thoughtful tasting menu showcasing modern European techniques with Korean inspiration (Sollip’s four-course lunch currently runs £78, while the seven-course dinner is £152).

The focus at Sollip isn’t overtly Korean. Instead, the inclusion of ingredients like kimchi, gochujang and daikon is just a natural extension of Ki and Park. “Our identity is Korean, even if we have experience and education in French techniques,” Ki says. “We love our countries and we know our strong point is Korea, but we don’t try to make every single moment have a Korean influence.”

“You have your own knowledge from your life experience and then your chef experiences, and then you have your food memories,” Park adds. “So as a chef, your food is coming from all of that.”

The current menu’s standout dish is handmade Korean noodles, made from chestnut flour sourced in Italy and a sourdough fermentation created from scorched rice. It is presented elegantly in a bowl with perilla seed oil. It’s an unusual dish to find in a one-Michelin-starred restaurant in England, but one that feels singular in the best way possible. Sollip used to serve a bread course, but the chefs eventually swapped it out.

“In Korea, either you eat rice or noodles,” he says. “We tried different noodle recipes, but we wanted to go as simple as possible. That’s how we landed on perilla seed oil, which is one of my favorite ingredients in Korea. But we can’t get it here in London, so we get it directly from my mom. She sends us two boxes every single month. It costs a lot!”

The sweet dishes often include a traditional French madeleine, which Ki augments with flavors like basil. She describes her approach to dessert as “rooted in restraint,” and says she hopes to leave the guest with a memorable impression. “I care deeply about clarity in both flavor and form, so I often focus more on what to remove than what to add,” she says. “Each element must have a reason to be there and feel essential. I go through many tests and tastings until I feel absolutely confident.”

One of her favorites is the black pain perdu, which typically appears on the menu during the wintertime. She uses seoritae, a type of Korean black bean, to create ice cream and presents it alongside caramelized pecans, burnt vanilla and charcoal brioche. “I’ve always loved pain perdu and wanted to reinterpret it through a Korean lens,” she says. “It’s comforting but precise—something that feels like Sollip.”

The overall experience of Sollip reflects the combined intentions of both chefs. Each focuses on different aspects of the restaurant, but the duo always work as a team, especially when it comes to balancing home life with work.

“While our responsibilities are divided, we share thoughts on almost every detail and make decisions together,” Park says. “We also rely heavily on each other’s feedback when it comes to the menu and often develop ideas side by side. [And] when one of us feels worn out or starts to lose momentum, the other steps in with support or a push.”

“We share the same values and direction, but we’re very different in personality,” Ki adds. “That difference actually works in our favor [because] he’s instinctive and bold, while I’m more detail-driven and reflective. From the beginning, we were clear about one thing: to minimize the challenges of working as a couple and maximize the strengths.”

They always leave their emotions at home and never bring them into the kitchen, a rule they’ve followed since day one. “It might sound too good to be true, but I genuinely find working with him easy,” Ki says.

It’s often felt like an uphill battle for the couple, from the challenges posed by the pandemic, to staff shortages once they were able to open, to raising young children away from the help of their parents. And it still is a struggle, thanks to rising costs of living. But risking everything has been worthwhile. Sollip earned its first Michelin star in 2022 and has found success as both a local favorite and a restaurant that Korean visitors seek out when dining in London. “Korean people have cheered us [on] a lot and they keep saying, ‘We are very proud of you,’” Park says. “It makes us happy, but humble at the same time.”

At the end of August, Sollip will celebrate its fifth birthday—a milestone Ki wasn’t sure they would reach. She calls it “deeply emotional,” especially as she and Park have reflected on their journey to get here.

“I feel even more affection for Sollip now than I did in the early days,” she says. “It is a space shaped by all the people who have passed through it, both staff and guests. And I feel the same about London. This love naturally leads to wanting to do better and to create a space where both our guests and our team can feel fulfilled.”

At Sap Sửa, a non-traditional Vietnamese restaurant in Denver, the most popular dish is cabbage. It may sound basic, but for chefs Anthony “Ni” Nguyen and Anna Nguyen, the simple plate represents their mindset around dining. 

“You don’t need the fanciest equipment or tools or techniques to make something that’s meaningful,” Ni tells Observer, speaking from the restaurant’s dining room in June. “We took a piece of cabbage, we confit-ed it, charred it and then put it over an egg yolk sauce. Everything from beginning to end was intentional. It doesn’t matter if you have 1,000 ingredients or cool techniques—it has to mean something to someone.”

He adds, passionately, “That’s never coming off the menu. It’s the dish that encompasses everything about who we are at Sap Sửa.”

The dish, called bắp cải luộc, is a recreation of something Ni’s mom used to cook for him when he was a kid growing up in California. “It was just boiled cabbage and rice,” he says. “And it was one of my favorite things. It was humble. That’s what we want to do with food here: very simple, but very impactful.”

Ni and Anna met at the International Culinary Center in San Jose, California, nearly 14 years ago. Anna was studying pastry and Ni was studying savory cooking. According to Anna, from their first date at an Ethiopian restaurant, “you could just tell we were going to be together forever.” Soon after they started dating, opening their own restaurant became a shared dream. The idea has taken on many forms over the years, but they always wanted to do something that would pair their talents.

“I never really had envisioned myself in a career until I decided I wanted to cook,” Ni says. “So meeting her, it was like this whole new world opened up. We were talking about food and flavors and so many things. And it was never my dream over hers, or, ‘This is more important than your dream.’ It was like we helped to facilitate each other’s dreams.”

The fantasy began to solidify in March 2020 when the pandemic hit. The couple, now married, was living in Los Angeles. They were in the process of opening a new restaurant with Nancy Silverton, which was put on pause amid Covid-19 closures. “You can only grow so many scallions in your window until you’re like, ‘Okay, what are we doing now?’” Ni remembers. “So we decided to play restaurant and come up with mock menus. It was so fun. It was the same energy of when we first met.”

The cost of living in Los Angeles wasn’t sustainable, so Anna suggested returning to Colorado, where she grew up. Her family still lived there and could help support the idea. When she called her dad, who had owned a business for many years, he offered some sage advice. “He said, ‘You’ll only have the energy to do this once,’” Anna says. “He was like, ‘You’ll either do it for somebody else’—which was the track we were on—‘or you can just roll the dice and do it for yourselves.’”

At the time, Denver’s culinary scene had stagnated due to the pandemic. The city had welcomed great new restaurant openings in previous years, but there were a few glaring omissions. The Nguyens could see the potential for a modern approach to Vietnamese cooking inspired by Ni’s parents, who immigrated from Vietnam in the late ‘70s.

“California has such great Asian food,” Anna says. “Denver does too, but it’s much less, so we thought if we came to Denver, maybe we could really stand a chance to make a difference for people. We could bring this first-generation dining experience into a city that has a fairly big Asian population, and that is mostly represented by very traditional food. We wanted to be the ones to usher in this place for kids to see what Asian food could be in Denver.”

After moving to Denver in November 2020, Anna and Ni began recipe testing in her parents’ kitchen. One of the first dishes to emerge was the cabbage. In the years that followed, Sap Sửa hosted pop-ups at numerous local spots while Ni spent his days working at the Pho King Rapidos food truck and Anna worked for Etalia Foods. It was challenging, but the couple was focused on the possibility of what Sap Sửa, which is Vietnamese for “about to be,” could become. Finally, in 2023, Sap Sửa opened its doors on East Colfax in a former theater shared by the beloved Tattered Cover bookstore.

“Denver embraced us completely and from the get-go,” Anna says. “It was so empowering because we decided we were going to be ourselves no matter what, but we weren’t sure how it would be received. Maybe it would take years for people to latch on to flavors like big acid, tons of fish sauce, off-cuts of meat. But people were craving it.”

“Honestly, people have responded really well to having things on the menu like pig ears,” Ni adds. “They go crazy for it, and I did not think that would be the case. People in Denver actively seek out our stranger dishes. For a month, we had a burger on the menu, and nobody ordered it.”

Sap Sửa regularly swaps dishes in and out, but the approach is consistent. Ni says about 70 percent of the menu is inspired by what he grew up eating with his parents and what you would find in restaurants in Vietnam. The other 30 percent comes from the chefs who work with him. One of the menu standouts, trứng và trứng, combines rice, soft scrambled egg, trout roe and a brown butter sauce. It’s immensely satisfying and rich in flavor—the sort of dish you might return for again and again. It was conceptualized by Ben Carolan, one of the sous chefs.

“We always encourage the chefs to put a little bit of their story or their culture into the food,” Ni says. “It’s a part of empowering our cooks and our chefs to actually be chefs. And we want people to leave here better people than when they came in, not just better chefs. Ultimately, your career is a marathon, and you’re going learn so many techniques and so many recipes, but the thing we pride ourselves on here is you’re gonna learn how to be a good person first.”

A sense of storytelling is inherent in all of Sap Sửa’s offerings. The restaurant often shares the stories on Instagram along with images of specific dishes. Ni started doing it as a way of dealing with “imposter syndrome and self-doubt.”

“When we first opened up, a lot of that self-doubt came in,” he recalls. “I was saying things to Anna like, ‘I can’t remember the five mother sauces. How can I be a chef?’ I felt so self-conscious about that, and I wanted to be able to lean into one of my strengths, which is to be able to tell a story. I realized that if I leaned into being vulnerable and telling people about the process of how scary it is and how vulnerable you have to be and how strong you have to be, I could carve out a lane for myself.”

Anna leads the charge on the desserts, which are similarly inspired by Vietnamese flavors and dishes. But she also brings in her own influences. The most popular is the chè chuối, a variation on banana pudding that incorporates coconut and peanuts alongside the traditional Nilla Wafers. Anna drew on her own childhood, as well as the Vietnamese inclination to combine multiple textures in a dish. She took inspiration from Vietnamese dessert shops in Orange County that offer bags of crushed peanuts and sesame seeds with every dessert.

“To me, the banana pudding is the sum of both of us and our marriage,” Anna says. “Sometimes there are dishes where I am really taking ideas rooted in Vietnamese food and there’s very little of me in it, which is sometimes appropriate. But I have so many memories of growing up eating banana pudding. I wanted to do something in that world, and there’s a lot of bananas used in Vietnamese desserts. That’s another one that I don’t think will ever leave the menu.”

Initially, Ni and Anna were worried that the older generation of Vietnamese people in Colorado might not appreciate their unconventional approach to the cuisine. But the reaction has been the opposite: many diners feel like they are finally being represented by Sap Sửa’s presence. The intermingling of cultures reflects those who have one foot in each country, like Ni.

“I’ve never felt Vietnamese enough or American,” Ni says. “But when I get to see guests in here with their parents, and they’re eating, and they’re laughing, and they ask for Thai chilies, that feels nice. You don’t have to be this Vietnamese to be Vietnamese, and you don’t have to be this American to be American. You can just exist. In this building, I feel like people are existing and not having to explain themselves. To me, that is a healing thing—to be able to provide that for others.”

Over the past two years, Ni and Anna have established Sap Sửa not only as a must-visit restaurant, but also as an advocate for inclusion and community. They regularly partner on events with the Tattered Cover and the nearby Sie Film Center, including a recent panel titled “How Asian is Asian Enough.” Accomplishment for the couple doesn’t just mean having a thriving restaurant. It also means uplifting those around them, both in the kitchen and in the dining room.

“There are a lot of organizations that we have close ties to and we really believe in,” Ni says. “We’re spending our time and our platform to make Denver a nice place to be.”

Anna adds, “For us, success is if the people inside your walls are happy and taken care of. Are your guests happy? Do they come back? Are the staff happy? Is their life good? And if we are able to live full and complete lives outside of the restaurant because we trust the staff, I think that’s the highest marker of success.”

Several times a week, scallop diver Bob Titterington delivers hundreds of scallops to chef Andrew Baird at The Restaurant at Longueville Manor. The shellfish arrive by the bongo, the name for an enormous bucket that holds around 250 scallops, still in their shells. Usually, Titterington dives for the scallops earlier on the same day they are delivered, sometimes working while it’s dark outside. 

“We open them all by hand and clean them ourselves, which is not what all of Bob’s customers do,” Baird tells Observer on an early June day at Longueville Manor, a hotel located on the Channel Island of Jersey. “It’s often the case that I’m serving people scallops that are straight out of the sea. I have photos of myself putting the scallops in the pan when they’re still alive—they’re that fresh.” 

Baird has worked with Titterington since 1995, a few years after he joined Longueville Manor as head chef. Baird himself is a master diver, and goes out with Titterington as often as his schedule allows. During my visit (planned in honor of World Oceans Day), Baird accompanied our group on a RIB boat ride to Jersey’s protected Les Écréhous islands, where we spotted Titterington and his two nephews mid-dive. They were counting towering piles of scallops on their small boat, many of which were destined for the dining room tables at Longueville Manor. 

“What makes Jersey so special and different than anywhere else is that balance of life,” Baird says. “Being able to go diving and collect scallops is quite special. Certain times of year you get all the flat fish, like turbot, coming in, and Bob and I will go spear fishing. As a recreational diver, I’m allowed to collect 12 scallops per dive. It’s a lot of fun when I have the time to do it.”

The scallops at The Restaurant at Longueville Manor are extremely popular, but Baird isn’t set on any specific preparation. At one dinner, he served them as a ceviche accompanied by a carrot and cumin puree and sprigs of cilantro. “When they’re that fresh, it’s a lovely thing to be eating them raw,” Baird says. He also presents them seared, as part of a bacon and asparagus salad, or as a gratin with a lobster sauce. “That’s a real crowd pleaser,” he notes of the gratin, a rich, satisfying dish I tried at lunch. “We pair it with vegetables from the garden. There are certain things you know are going to be hits, so you have to keep bringing them back.”

Longueville Manor’s expansive kitchen garden and greenhouses inform Baird’s menu as much as the local seafood. The Relais & Châteaux hotel grows an array of produce, from the iconic Jersey potatoes to heads of lettuce to bright green zucchini, and Baird constructs his dishes based on what’s in season, as well as what’s coming in from the Jersey waters. That can include spider crab, Dover sole, red mullet, octopus and squid, which Baird prepares to highlight that freshness. All of the seafood is line caught or collected by hand (like the scallops), rather than dredged by larger fishing vessels. 

During my visit, Baird took us to meet local fishermen who are fighting against those commercial fishing ventures. The Restaurant at Longueville Manor works with The Fresh Fish Company Limited, who provide the hotel with 20 to 30 pounds of crab meat each week. The changing climate is impacting what’s available. Warmer waters mean more spider crab and less brown crab, as well as an influx of octopus, which are eating the local lobster. Baird has cultivated a long-lasting relationship with the fishing community. “The majority of what we serve comes from Jersey,” he says. “It also means we can offer things that have just been caught.”

While incorporating local and seasonal ingredients into restaurant kitchens is now trendy, The Restaurant at Longueville Manor has been operating this way for decades. Baird works with forager Kazz Padidar, who collects plants from both the land and the seaside, and often goes foraging with his own kitchen staff. The restaurant’s butter and milk come from Jersey, which is known for its dairy cows. The oysters are cultivated at a nearby farm. In fact, very little is imported. “We’ve been using the kitchen garden for as long as I’ve been here,” Baird says. “We forage for mushrooms and for seaweed. Because I’m not an Instagram junkie, we don’t really brag about it. But I think what we have on the island, like the dairy, is worth looking after and celebrating.” 

Baird initially moved to Jersey from his hometown of Sheffield, England, to become chef de partie at Longueville Manor in 1987. He’d previously worked at The Ritz in London, a job he took directly out of culinary school, but there was an undeniable allure to Jersey. “There was loads of money here,” Baird recalls. “The finance industry here was booming. We were absolutely packed every single night. You could do no wrong. We worked hard, but we played hard as well.”

The chef stayed for two and a half years, but eventually decided he wanted to develop his skills elsewhere. He did a stage in France, which he admits he hated, before moving on to England’s Hambleton Hall, where he stayed for a year. “I went from here, which had a very well-run kitchen, to Hambleton Hall, which wasn’t particularly well run, but very interesting,” Baird says. “I was the sous chef, but the head chef went to Chicago for a stage for three months, and I was left to run things. I kept the place going, and they kept their Michelin star, and it gave me the confidence to lead a kitchen.”

In 1990, Longueville Manor’s owners lured Baird back with the job of head chef. He was 23 at the time. Within four years, the restaurant was awarded a Michelin star. But Baird never wanted to get lost in accolades or external recognition. “I’ve never been pretentious,” he shrugs. “I’ve always got my head down. The restaurant has gone through a lot of change since I’ve been here. We’ve been hit with three really big recessions, where we almost had to reinvent ourselves.” 

One of those re-inventions involved launching a catering service for businesses around Jersey—specifically, the finance institutions. The workload was immense. Not only was Baird helming three menus per day in the restaurant, but he was also taking staff out of the kitchen to do the catering. “It was quite draining,” he admits. It also took a big toll on the restaurant. In 2004, The Restaurant at Longueville Manor lost its Michelin star. It was a blow for Baird, both professionally and personally. 

“It was an embarrassment,” Baird says candidly. “A lot of people lose them when they close down or people move on, but we weren’t closing. To actually still be in the job and to lose it? That’s hard.” In hindsight, though, he understands. “We didn’t deserve it at the time,” he says. “Michelin wants consistency. They want refinement. They want to know what you’re going to be next year.”

These days, Baird thinks more about his guests than he does about external organizations. He simply aims to create good dishes that diners enjoy. Sometimes, that’s a perfectly cooked scallop. Other times, it’s a burger. “We want people to come and feel relaxed and be happy,” he says. “If you’re vegan or pescatarian, we can do it. We’ve probably got a bit too much going on, but we want to make it comfortable for you as a guest.”

It’s unusual for a chef to remain at the same restaurant for so many years, but Baird counts himself lucky that he’s had an opportunity to guide The Restaurant at Longueville Manor and its staff over the years. He enjoys the creativity and freedom the hotel owners allow him. “One of the things that has always kept me here is the fact that I haven’t got a ball and chain around my leg,” Baird says. “I could actually walk away. Give my official notice and go. But there’s a lot of work to do here, and I’m very good at managing the whole operation. If I can keep the restaurant healthy, I’ll carry on for as long as I can.”

Baird still loves being in the kitchen. He cooks all of the meat and fish himself during dinner service. The hands-on approach pays off: Modern European dishes, prepared with traditional techniques and knowledge, feel both familiar and innovative. The tenderness and flavor of his wild turbot is augmented by foraged herbs and zucchini blossoms, picked straight from the garden. The Jersey royals, also from the garden, are cooked whole and coated in butter and herbs. Nothing is fussy or over-garnished, but each plate Baird presents is beautiful and thoughtful. They also uniquely showcase Jersey, an island that is only 45 square miles and often overlooked by American visitors to England and France. 

“I’m old fashioned in my cooking,” Baird explains of why he doesn’t want to be too flashy with his food. “I think traditional methods are important. You need to know how to braise, how to make a stock, how to make sauces, which is a dying art. For me, it’s about understanding the ingredients and doing what makes them taste the best. I try to share that with everyone in the kitchen. They love going out in nature and in the garden and then seeing what flavors we can get from what we forage or pick.” Those flavors are certainly worth a trip to Jersey, especially if you order whatever version of scallops are on the menu at Longueville Manor that day. They may be the freshest you’ll ever taste. 

In centuries past, a coaching inn was a key part of English society. They provided a respite for travelers who were journeying across the country by horse and carriage, and offered food and drink for the weary. The 17th-century countryside building that now houses Michelin-starred restaurant Osip was once one of these inns. 

The property sits on what was once one of the main roads to and from London. “People would stop on their way, stay the night, have a meal, drink a flask of ale and carry on the next day,” chef and owner Merlin Labron-Johnson tells Observer. He wanted to carry on that historical legacy, and in June, he debuted four bedrooms above Osip. “That’s the inspiration for what we’re doing now. The idea is that people will stay the night at Osip, have a nice dinner, have a nice breakfast, and they’ll continue on. The coaching inns didn’t really give you a choice of meal, and it feels like we’re continuing that tradition with our tasting menu.”

Labron-Johnson first opened Osip in a smaller space in Bruton in 2019. He had previously helmed two restaurants in London (the Michelin-starred Portland and its sister eatery, Clipstone), but wanted to move somewhere quieter where he could grow his own produce. “I had this vision to move to the countryside and open a restaurant,” he says. “It was important to me to do it in an agricultural area. I wanted to find a farm or a farmer who could grow specifically for me.”

Bruton, a picturesque town in Somerset not far from Bristol, seemed like the right place. It’s an upscale area that boasts several celebrity residents, including actor Aaron Taylor-Johnson, fashion designer Alice Temperley and filmmaker Joe Wright, and an expansive outpost of art gallery Hauser & Wirth. It’s known for its apples and cider, as well as its dairy, including beloved cheese makers Westcombe Dairy. Somerset is not, however, known for its vegetables, and Labron-Johnson initially struggled to find a farmer with whom he could collaborate. 

“It was really difficult to find a consistent supply of really beautiful, organic produce,” the chef says. “I realized I wasn’t going to find this person I’d imagined.” Luckily, a friend of the restaurant offered to loan him a piece of land to use. “I suddenly thought, ‘What if I just did it myself?’” he says. 

At the time, Labron-Johnson didn’t have any farming experience. He had grown up in Devon, where his mom served a lot of vegetables, and he had an appreciation for sustainable produce from working under chef Kobe Desramaults at In de Wulf, a now-shuttered rural Belgian restaurant. “I had an understanding of some aspects of it,” he says as we visit one of Osip’s two nearby farms, called Dreamers, in early July. “But I had to teach myself. I spent six months watching YouTube videos and reading.” He was also able to “tap into local knowledge” with the help of a local farmer, another friend of Osip. 

Dreamers is a five-minute drive down the road from Osip. It’s relatively small, but Labron-Johnson estimates that more than 100 different ingredients are grown between his two farms (the other is named Coombe). This one features a growing tunnel for warmer-weather plants like tomatoes and rows of beds for herbs and vegetables. Osip now has its own grower who maintains the gardens, but Labron-Johnson also encourages his staff to be part of the process. The gardens supply Osip and its more casual sister restaurant and wine bar The Old Pharmacy, which is also located in Bruton. Any surplus is sold to other nearby restaurants, including Margot Henderson’s The Three Horseshoes Batcombe, or given to those in need.  

“From May to December, we’re self-sufficient and we overproduce,” Labron-Johnson says. “We just donated a load of vegetables to a local food bank. But from January to April, which we call the ‘hunger gap,’ is much harder. I’m working on making that gap smaller. A tasting menu is a really good way to not waste food. We do 250 people a week, and everyone has the same thing. And at The Old Pharmacy, we can do a blackboard special if we have anything ready to harvest.”

Many of the ingredients in the garden we visit appear on my table later that evening at Osip as part of the tasting menu, which is the sole way to experience a meal at the restaurant (lunch is £95 and dinner is £150). The meal begins with a plate of crudités, including small carrots, little gem lettuce and crisp radishes. The broad beans and monk’s beard appear on the monkfish dish, and the yellow zucchini is spotlighted in an elegantly rolled presentation of the summer vegetable. The menu evolves rather than changes suddenly, and Osip’s kitchen sticks to dishes they have perfected year after year. 

“It shifts quite rapidly in the summer because there’s almost too much abundance of different things that it’s quite hard to keep up,” he says. “It can be overwhelming because you want to work with everything. And we’re not even in peak season yet this year.”

Having a first-hand connection to the produce has completely changed the way the chef cooks and approaches food. He emphasizes vegetables over proteins, although scallops, duck and monkfish all currently appear on the menu. The idea is to ensure that each vegetable tastes like the best version of itself. “It’s quite hard work to harvest them,” Labron-Johnson says. “So to be able to serve them that fresh, you want to present them in a way that has the least manipulation possible. Our cooking style has become a lot more natural and slightly more minimalist.”

Last fall, Labron-Johnson relocated Osip, which earned its Michelin star in 2021 and its Michelin green star in 2023, from its original space in the center of Bruton into the former historic inn. He renovated the lounge and dining room, and added two kitchens, one of which overlooks the tables and is surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. Upstairs, the seven existing bedrooms were converted into four larger rooms, two of which are duplexes. Osip reopened as a restaurant first, and Labron-Johnson spent this year finishing the rooms, which officially debuted in mid-June and begin at £240 per night. 

“The space is starting to feel like a house, which is how I intended it,” he says. “Four rooms feels quite cozy. It doesn’t feel like a hotel and, therefore, people don’t have the sort of expectations that you might have if you’re going to a hotel, like room service. And everyone can have breakfast together in the morning.”

The rooms, named for rivers in Somerset, were designed by Johnny Smith and embrace a natural, pastoral color palette and aesthetic. The headboards and bedside tables are made of locally-felled oak, and the team tapped Bill Amberg Studio to create leather drawstring pouches for the keys. Osip partnered with Harvest to produce their own line of toiletries, Maison Osip, and guests get a bottle of the restaurant’s own cider upon arrival. Breakfast is included, and it was the highlight of my overnight stay, featuring honey from Osip’s bees, homemade granola and slices of Westcombe’s cheddar. 

Labron-Johnson wants guests to feel immersed in the Somerset landscape, which is visible throughout the building’s many windows, but also in the area’s craftsmanship. “We wanted to include a lot of little details in the spaces,” he says. “We worked with some amazing artists, so there’s a story behind everything. Osip really is a celebration of craft, art and design, as well as food. It should be a holistic experience.”

Although Osip is the culmination of Labron-Johnson’s vision, the chef still feels it’s a work in progress. The outdoor space behind the restaurant is being developed—he recently added wildflowers and patio seating, and Osip has begun serving pre-dinner drinks outside when the weather is nice. He might add more rooms at some point. 

“I feel like it’s the start of a journey,” Labron-Johnson says. “I’ve put a lot into this, and I need to make it work now, and it’s going to take a long time to do that. This restaurant is definitely the flagship for me. But at the same time, I can look at it and recognize that it might take another five to 10 years to get it to where I want it to be. I see this as a really great starting point.”

For now, Osip is an intimate destination that is rural enough to feel remote but is less than two hours by train from London. Soho House’s country estate Babington House is nearby, as is luxury spa hotel The Newt in Somerset. There are countryside walks, National Trust sites like Stourhead and, of course, Stonehenge, which is a short drive away. By tapping into the local history and farming culture, Osip has become an integral part of Somerset’s plentiful offerings.

From the moment Tom Barnes walked into the building that is now Skof, he knew it was meant to be. Barnes and his mentor, Simon Rogan, had been looking at sites around Manchester for 18 months, but nothing seemed to fit Barnes’ vision for his debut restaurant. 

“A lot of them were amazing,” he says, speaking to Observer from the restaurant’s light-filled dining room in June. “But they were too big for what we wanted. One day, we came to look at a site across the road from here, and the guy showing us around said he wanted to show us something else that hadn’t been listed anywhere online yet. As soon as I walked in, I knew this was it. It just felt right for the first time.”

Although the restaurant was only a shell at the time, Barnes saw potential in its exposed brick walls and open layout. Signing the lease and renovating the building, located in Manchester’s NOMA neighborhood, took another year and a half after they’d found the space. 

Skof finally opened its doors on May 29, 2024, quickly earning accolades like “Newcomer of the Year” at the Manchester Food and Drink Awards and then a Michelin star in 2025. 

“A lot of people in Manchester have really been rooting for us since the beginning,” Barnes says. “Getting a star was amazing. Obviously, I was buzzing for myself and for the team and for all the hard work they put in. But also for all the guests, who were really happy to bring another starred restaurant to Manchester because they got behind us and supported us. There were loads of positive things and awards I didn’t see coming, especially not this early on.”

Having a solo restaurant has been a long-held dream for Barnes, who grew up in Barrow-in-Furness, England. He didn’t enjoy the classroom setting of school and didn’t have a plan for what to do when he graduated—something that frustrated his mom. Barnes had always enjoyed cooking with his grandma, so his mother suggested he take a part-time kitchen job at a nearby hotel called Trinity House on Saturdays. “I loved it,” he remembers. “It wasn’t something I’d thought about doing as a profession, but as soon as I got into the kitchen, it was the first time I felt naturally gifted at anything.”

Barnes was 15 when he started at Trinity House, and at 16, he went straight into a full-time apprenticeship at Lakeside Hotel in the Lake District. The head chef there, Duncan Collinge, immediately took Barnes under his wing. “It wasn’t until years later, looking back, that I realized how lucky I was,” Barnes recalls. “Even though the restaurant didn’t have a star or anything, Duncan worked at a good level. Everything was made fresh. I was learning knife skills, butchery, how to make stocks and bread and stuff like that.”

It was Collinge who helped Barnes move on to his next gig at The Vineyard Hotel in Stockcross under chef John Campbell. “He was very passionate about teaching, too,” Barnes says. “If you asked him a question, you could be there for 20 minutes while he answered it. He taught me a lot.” Campbell introduced Barnes to Phil Howard, who hired him to work at Mayfair fine dining restaurant The Square. “What I learned from him was the quality of ingredients,” Barnes says. “Everything was very seasonal and everything was about the flavor. How could he get the most flavor out of everything, which really inspired me.”

Although Barnes could have continued his upward trajectory in London, he decided to move back to the North of England when his dad got sick. At the time, there were very few restaurants in the region where Barnes could pursue his career. He ended up as a chef de partie at Rogan’s acclaimed L’Enclume in 2011, where he became head chef three years later. Barnes worked for Rogan for 12 years, with a stint at Copenhagen’s Geranium in the middle. It was Rogan who encouraged Barnes to open Skof, and ultimately partnered with him on the venture.

“I’ve had great mentors and I’ve taken stuff from all of them,” Barnes says. “I wouldn’t have had the confidence to open Skof without Simon, not to mention his backing and support of the restaurant itself. He has done so much for me. It was Simon who said, ‘You need to think about moving on’ after I was promoted to executive chef.”

Barnes always assumed he would settle down in the North, and he initially picked Manchester because his girlfriend lived there. But the more time he’s spent in the city, the more he’s fallen in love with it. Skof has become part of a burgeoning culinary scene, and Barnes’ love of music fits in well. “I just love this city,” he says. “I love the people. I love the friendliness. It’s a great place to have taken this step.”

Skof’s vibe is particularly well-suited to Manchester, a city without much pretension. Barnes wanted to create somewhere that showcased a seasonal, vibrant tasting menu, but still fun and friendly. A buzzy atmosphere was important to Barnes, and he succeeded in creating it—the laid-back yet animated ambiance was something I noticed immediately during my visit to the restaurant, a relief when you’re used to more buttoned-up Michelin-starred restaurants. The music was upbeat and contemporary, and the staff welcomed us in with the sort of genuinely friendly greeting that’s rather rare in London. Barnes even curates the restaurant’s playlists, highlighting the indie and rock bands he loves. Everyone in Skof seemed to be having fun, creating an infectious sense of camaraderie. 

“I wanted Skof to be a place where people from Manchester would like to come and have a night out,” Barnes says. “I didn’t want people worrying they had to whisper. If you go into a Michelin-starred restaurant for the first time, it can be a bit intimidating, even for me. When you come here, you’re greeted in a warm, friendly way and you hear a playlist of familiar songs. It settles people in right away.”

The food is more elevated, but Barnes is careful to present it in an accessible way. Diners take turns enjoying one of the courses at the chef’s counter, which gives them a closer glimpse of the busy open kitchen and an opportunity to talk to Barnes. “I’ve always found it a little bit awkward if you just go to the kitchen and stand there, have a look around and then go sit down,” Barnes, who describes himself as shy, admits. “We wanted to make it more comfortable for people. It’s good for me as well, because then I can talk to the guests about what they’re eating, and it makes it easier to chat.” 

Skof offers a shorter four-course lunch tasting menu and two dinner tasting menus, one with 12 dishes and one with 16. All highlight Barnes’ distinctive approach to modern British cooking, emphasizing quality ingredients and diverse flavors and textures. The dishes shift from season to season, but the structure of the menu has remained the same since Skof opened. The dinner experience begins with a series of snacks, including a glazed langoustine served on buttery grilled sourdough and perfectly cured Chalk Stream trout. Barnes wants to build a journey that is artfully timed and carefully presented. There is no bread course. Instead, two different types of bread appear alongside specific courses; notably, the heritage beef short rib that concludes the savory portion of the meal. 

“I find it more interesting this way,” he explains. “If there’s a sauce that’s particularly nice for mopping up, we’ll add a bread. I like it because I have no self-control. If an amazing bread course comes out at the beginning of a meal, I’ll smash through it and end up filling myself up. This gives us more control over that. And, really, I just love having a dish where you can finish the sauce up with your bread.”

Many of the dishes have evolved, but the miso custard, adorned with hen-of-the-woods mushrooms and mushroom dashi, has quickly become a staple. The memorable dish, a perfect balance of creamy and crunchy textures, dates back to 2020, when Barnes appeared on the cooking competition show Great British Menu for its Christmas-themed episode. He attempted a festive chestnut custard, which came out too grainy. “It was a bit shit,” Barnes says. “But I came back to it afterwards and tried it with mushrooms, and it worked quite well. It has a really deep umami flavor to it.”

Other staples include an amazake sorbet, which bridges the savory courses and the desserts, and the meal’s unusual closing bite: Instead of finishing with the traditional petit fours, Barnes opts to end the experience with a generous dollop of tiramisu, which he has named Barney’s tiramisu after his now-deceased father, who slowly declined from a neurological disease, struggling to eat in his later years. “He could only eat soft foods, and he was quite stubborn,” Barnes recalls. “It was hard to get calories in him. But he loved desserts. He had a massive sweet tooth.”

Barnes began making tiramisu for his dad using a recipe he learned at The Square. His dad loved it so much that the chef concocted a big batch each week to ensure he could dig in every day. When Barnes was developing the menu for Skof, he decided to pay homage to his father. 

“I wanted to serve something at the end of the meal that meant something to me and was personal, but also that was unexpected,” he says. “It’s a surprise because our dishes are intricate and very precise, and then the server shows up with a pan and a big spoon. We want to be generous about it. Most people can’t manage a second portion, but we’ll give them one if they want it. Every now and then, we get someone with a big appetite. My dad would be buzzing to have his name on the menu, too.” 

Impressively, Skof’s experience can be adapted for vegetarians and vegans. I was accompanied by a vegan friend, who got almost the exact same menu with like-for-like substitutes. Skof will cater to dietary requirements with advance notice, and Barnes is careful to ensure that everyone is welcome. “The vegan menu is something we worked really hard on to make it an experience,” he says. “I would hate the thought of someone coming here and being an afterthought, or having to eat something that was just flung together.”

It’s not just the food that’s inclusive. The non-alcoholic drinks pairing is as exciting as the wine list (if not more so), and the alcoholic drinks pairing includes beer, because Barnes prefers it to wine. He remembers feeling overwhelmed and intimidated at fancy restaurants that begin the meal with champagne and encourage exorbitant bottles of wine. Barnes developed a lager with local brewery Track as an alternative to the usual bubbles. 

“It’s really light and crisp and fresh, and can potentially be done at the start of the meal instead of champagne,” he says. “The first thing I said to the team here was, ‘I don’t ever want to hear anyone ask if they can start someone with champagne.’ If you want to start that way, brilliant. But I don’t want anyone to feel they have to because that’s just how it’s done. It’s also fine to start with a beer. I want people to come in and order whatever they want to drink.”

Even though Skof has been open for over a year, Barnes says it still feels surreal to have his own restaurant. He’s kept the same team in the kitchen since it debuted, and every service has been fully booked. In fact, it’s almost impossible to get a reservation at Skof, which opens bookings on the last Tuesday of every month. Tables tend to go in under an hour. Barnes hopes to keep that momentum going while also continuing to refine the food. 

“I want to keep Skof busy and popping,” he says. “And I want to improve every day. We never just sit back. We’re always looking for little tweaks that can make it better. I want people to want to return. Before we opened, I didn’t sleep for three nights because I was worried no one would book in. It’s been a complete relief to see that they have, and I don’t take any of this for granted.” Neither do his guests, who have regularly returned to Skof since it opened. The vibe, the food and the approach to fine dining certainly warrant a repeat visit or two. 

Traditional Dutch cuisine tends to be less enticing, emphasizing meat and starch—think bitterballen, Gouda cheese and pancakes. The omnipresent French fries, while delicious, don’t really make for a complete meal (unless you’ve been partaking at one of Amsterdam’s “coffee” shops). However, the country has been redefining its cuisine in recent years, thanks in part to the many farms, both in the countryside and in cities like Amsterdam and Rotterdam. Vegetables are becoming more trendy, and locally-sourced ingredients are a priority for Dutch chefs.

Instead of just visiting the requisite tourist spots, consider creating a culinary itinerary that encompasses both well-known and up-and-coming restaurants and bars. You certainly shouldn’t skip indulging in a caramel-filled stroopwafel, but you’d be remiss to ignore the thriving plant-forward restaurant scene that has been developing within Amsterdam for the past decade. There are also several stylish cocktail bars that welcome drinkers and non-drinkers alike. Whether you’re looking for a memorable high-end meal or a quick bite to eat on the go, Amsterdam has something for everyone—especially those who prefer to skip meat. Here are 15 of the best restaurants, bars and eateries around Amsterdam.

Restaurant Breda

• Singel 210, 1016 AB Amsterdam

Restaurant Breda, located along a canal in the Nine Streets, serves thoughtful dishes that pair Dutch ingredients with a French sensibility. It’s open for lunch and dinner, offering a multi-course tasting menu for each (guests can select how many they prefer). The selection changes regularly and highlights seasonal ingredients alongside menu favorites, although every dish is carefully constructed and presented with an ideal balance of flavors. There’s a strong wine list—including non-alcoholic choices—with a focus on French bottles. It’s the perfect place for a special occasion, like a birthday or an anniversary, but lunch is also a relaxed, enjoyable way to spend an afternoon. Come hungry and be sure to book a table in advance. 

Restaurant De Kas

• Kamerlingh Onneslaan 3, 1097 DE Amsterdam

Established in 2001 in a rundown greenhouse, Restaurant De Kas has developed into one of Europe’s most exciting plant-forward restaurants. Almost all of the ingredients come from De Kas’ greenhouses and gardens, including vegetables, fruits and herbs. They offer a set menu for lunch and dinner with a choice of courses, and everything arrives as a seasonally-appropriate surprise. Vegetarians and vegans are easily catered for (there is some meat and fish on the menu), and it’s quickly evident how De Kas earned their Michelin star and their Michelin green star. Reservations can be a challenge, so plan ahead and book as early as possible.

Restaurant Flore

• Nieuwe Doelenstraat 2-14, 1012 CP Amsterdam

Boasting two Michelin stars and a Michelin green star, Restaurant Flore is the brainchild of Dutch chef Bas van Kranen, who highlights vegetables in his artful plates. It’s a seven-course tasting menu, and guests can opt for the omnivore or plant-only version, with the possibility for a wine or juice pairing. The room itself, which was recently redone, is chic and modern, with nods to nature on the walls and the adjacent canal on the wavy ceiling. The experience of dining goes beyond the good itself, including a visit to the kitchen to see the ingredients and a series of snacks before the meal even begins. Those on a budget can book the shorter three-course menu, which is offered for lunch on Fridays and Saturdays. (The longer seven-course menu goes for €250 while lunch is available for €150.)

Choux

• De Ruijterkade 128, 1011 AC Amsterdam

Choux, a modern vegetable-forward restaurant on Amsterdam’s waterfront, recently celebrated its 10th anniversary. Although it is not explicitly vegetarian, the eatery showcases the best of local produce over a three, four or five-course tasting menu (you can also opt for vegan). There’s a focus on sustainable and no-waste practices, including in the homemade soft drinks, and the dishes are both creative and extremely photogenic. It’s lively and contemporary, and those interested in natural and organic wines will find much to enjoy on the drinks list. If you prefer something lighter, book early for the three-course pre-theater menu highlighting the best dishes. Reservations are a must. 

Restaurant De Mark

• Durgerdammerdijk 73, 1026 CB Amsterdam

Venture slightly out of town to experience Restaurant De Mark, a lakeside eatery that feels more countryside than city. There’s a terrace for warmer days, although even the intimate dining room is filled with light year-round. The menu is seasonal, with the choice of a set coursed meal or something à la carte, and diners can expect dishes showcasing Dutch ingredients like vine tomatoes and fish from the nearby North Sea cooked on a wood fire. It’s hip and modern, and gives visitors to Amsterdam an opportunity to get out of the touristy throngs for a few hours. Be like the Dutch and hop on a bike to get there from the city center. 

Restaurant Blauw

• Amstelveenseweg 158-160, 1075 XN Amsterdam

The Netherlands has a large Indonesian population, with many Indonesian restaurants dotted throughout Amsterdam. One of the most famous is Restaurant Blauw, which serves an array of regional dishes inspired by the Indonesian archipelago. It’s a casual, neighborhood spot with affordable prices and a variety of options for both meat eaters and plant-based diners. It’s best enjoyed with a group or family so you can share multiple dishes or opt for one of the set menus, like the authentic rice table—a great way to get to know the cuisine if you’re not already familiar. It’s recommended to book ahead, but you can also risk it with an impromptu arrival and hope for a table. 

Little Collins

• Eerste Sweelinckstraat 19F, 1073 CL Amsterdam

Brunch is the focus at Little Collins, a charming little restaurant in the hip neighborhood of de Pijp. It’s walk-in only and weekends tend to be busy, but the Australian-inspired menu and coffee selection make the wait worthwhile. Dishes range from poached eggs with Aleppo butter and garlic labneh to cauliflower and fennel fritters, and diners can also partake in bakery items like loaf cake and burnt Basque cheesecake. Vegans and vegetarians have plenty of options, and there’s a decent wine list, too. Little Collins is the sister restaurant to Brio, an Italian-influenced eatery that offers dinner alongside their equally popular weekend brunch. 

Foodhallen

• Hannie Dankbaarpassage 16, 1053 RT Amsterdam

Foodhallen, a lively food hall set in a former tram depot, is the best place in Amsterdam for a casual meal. It’s home to an array of food stalls, restaurants and bars, with cuisines from around the world. Pita, which serves kebab and falafel, is a standout (be sure to try their fermented garlic sauce), as is Mr. Temaki, which offers sushi and poke bowls in a mix of Hawaiian and Japanese influences. For a Dutch classic, head to De Ballenbar for stuffed bitterballen, or try the Indonesian street food at Toko Bumbu. There’s music on Friday and Saturday nights, and a generally upbeat atmosphere perfect for lunch or dinner. 

Rosèl Amsterdam

• Spuistraat 214, 1012 VT Amsterdam

Rosèl Amsterdam is a recent addition to the Amsterdam food scene, and it’s an ideal pit stop for those who are hungry but don’t want the fuss of a restaurant. The brainchild of Bram van der Mey and Walt Eggink, Rosèl serves stacked sandwiches on pillowy focaccia, with options for both carnivores and vegetarians. There’s also good coffee—including iced espresso drinks—and cookies that are hard to ignore. The team focuses on local ingredients and quality, a rarity in quick eats. If you’re not sure what to order, go for the Rosèl, which combines grilled ham, a guanciale compote, mustard mayo and crunchy Dutch pickles for a satisfying bite. 

Hans Egstorf Bakery

• Spuistraat 274, 1012 VX Amsterdam

You can’t come to Amsterdam without eating a stroopwafel, a thin, crispy cookie filled with caramel. And where better to try the local treat than at the oldest bakery in town? Hans Egstorf Bakery, established in 1898, presses and fills the cookies on the spot, handing you a hot, dripping stroopwafel that is a meal in itself. They also sell sourdough bread and pastries, including several types of croissants, and coffee. The storefront is extremely Instagrammable and the service is always friendly, but it’s the gooey stroopwafel that you’ll really remember. 

Door 74

• Reguliersdwarsstraat 74, 1017 BN Amsterdam

Literally nestled behind a secret door, Door 74 is one of Amsterdam’s most beloved cocktail bars—and for good reason. The drinks are well-balanced and often whimsical, with a sense of vibrant fun on the ever-changing themed menus. It’s small, comfortable and stylish, usually with a hip crowd of both locals and tourists, and thankfully, it takes reservations. It’s best for couples or small groups rather than larger parties, and if you want to chat with the knowledgeable  
bartenders, come on the earlier side. And don’t be afraid to order something unusual—Door 74 recently featured a golden drink inspired by the pyramids of Giza on the menu. 

Flying Dutchman Cocktails

• Singel 460, 1017 AW Amsterdam

Award-winning bar Flying Dutchman Cocktails is one of Amsterdam’s best, offering a massive selection of spirits. The drinks menu is expansive, with a focus on original cocktails that use unconventional ingredients or that pair established flavors in a new way. There are non-alcoholic options along with a small selection of wine, beer and Champagne, and Flying Dutchman boasts a top-shelf spirits list that will make your wallet shudder. It’s a great spot for a drink before dinner or a late evening out in Amsterdam. 

Chapter 1896

• Nieuwe Doelenstraat 2-14, 1012 CP Amsterdam

Chapter 1896 is hidden behind a curtain in De L’Europe’s vast lobby. Although the hotel has dubbed it a speakeasy, it’s more of an intimate hotel bar with views of the canal. The aesthetic is based around a library, and the menu follows accordingly, with each drink based on a specific book or cultural movement. Although you can opt for a classic, the original cocktails are innovative and unusual (think: teriyaki punch in a vodka and sake drink). It offers a quiet respite away from the city center, with the option to order high-end snacks like caviar, oysters and smoked salmon. 

Pulitzer’s Bar

• Prinsengracht 323, 1016 DZ Amsterdam

Pulitzer’s Bar pairs delicious cocktails with discerning service. It’s a sleek, intimate space within the Pulitzer Amsterdam hotel, with lots of cozy seating areas, although it’s more fun to sit at the bar and watch the bartenders at work. The menu includes classics and originals, which change throughout the year and include a selection of good zero-proof options. There’s also wine, beer and spirits, including a list of local Dutch jenevers. If you’re peckish, the snack menu will tide you over, or you can just order the burger, perfectly paired with a cocktail.  

Café de Sluyswacht

• Jodenbreestraat 1, 1011 NG Amsterdam

Situated on one of the canals, the visibly crooked Café de Sluyswacht dates back to 1692, when it was the home of a lockkeeper. It’s now a vibrant café and bar, with both indoor and outdoor seating (sit outside). It’s best for a drink—they have alcoholic and non-alcoholic options—although the café does serve snacks like bitterballen and French fries. It opens midday, making it a good pick for a respite while exploring Amsterdam, although things get much more boisterous in the evenings.