Brixton Restaurant Crawl

After two exemplary crawls around New Cross and Peckham I was somewhat nervous about hosting a guided tour of Brixton’s best places to eat. The main problem is that Brixton is blessed with profusion of cafes, bars, restaurants and markets that all need to be sampled. You’ve got the likes of Franco Manca, The Saltoun Supper Club, Salad Club, Upstairs, Fujiyama, Negril and Rosie’s Deli Cafe to choose from before you even start on all the jerk grills and cafes.

So I decided to focus on Franco Manca for an early lunch to avoid the queues and then to push on through the market for some jerk chicken, a spot of sushi and a few beers.

One of the things I like most about living in Brixton is that people are really proud of their community and wherever you glance there’s something interesting going on. Whether that’s a guy delivering drugs on roller skates or Space Makers working hand in hand with the council to fill vacant shop units with “creative, community-oriented and enterprising projects”. Or more dramatically the emergence of the Brixton Pound. As a currency it became legal tender in September 2009 and is designed to help money stay within the Brixton community. Its existence is a sign of Brixton’s semi autonomous nature and non-conformity. All of which adds up to a great adventure.

That’s enough from me. Over to Lizzie, Naomi, Chris and Helen…

Lizzie on Wild Caper and Hive Bar

Arriving at The Wild Caper at 11am, I was initially confused when I walked in. Was it a coffee shop? A deli? It seemed to be an amalgamation of the two. Smiley staff served up a rich and satisfying cappuccino.

As we headed off for Franco Manca, we realised we were a tad early as it didn't open until 12pm. What to do? We'd already done the coffee thing, so there was only one option. Beers.

It was a sunny day which is a rarity so we opted to sit outside The Hive, coats done up to the neck. Naughty breakfast Peronis were the beer of choice, and they slipped down a treat. A zimmer-framed passer-by who was obviously not quite there stopped by our table. "Who's the lucky man?" We looked at each other nervously. He repeated this phrase maybe 4 or 5 times, stunning us all into a wide-eyed silence before he staggered off, muttering to himself. A great introduction to our Brixton adventure.

Naomi on Franco Manca

Over eager for some pizza action we moseyed down to Franco Manca at noon having whiled away some time drinking beers and sipping coffees. By this time, completely ravenous we set to, debating which pizzas we should share. There were votes for anchovies and chorizo, but in the end (much to my delight) we settled on one margherita and one buffalo ricotta with wild mushrooms.



I think you can always tell a good pizza place by its margherita. If you can't get the basics right, there's not much hope. This one was served piping hot from the oven (necessary in my book, if not always a given) in under four minutes. The crisp base was good and it had a nice chewiness to it. The topping was a sweet and incredibly tasty tomato sauce with plenty of good quality mozzarella. If I was being incredibly finickity, my only complaint would be that there was perhaps a touch too much tomato sauce for the size of the base.



The buffalo ricotta and wild mushroom was 10 times better than I expected it to be. I tend to shy away from pizza bianca. For me a pizza always has a base, tomato and cheese. Tomato being the lacking component here. It worked, because there wasn't too much cheese - just enough for the flavour but not so much that it was cloying in the mouth. And for the first time ever, in my experience of 'wild mushroom pizzas', the wild mushrooms really were wild mushrooms and not just a handful of chestnut mushrooms from the local cash and carry!

As we left, with packed tables on both sides of the market passage, the queue ran down as far as the road. The pizza was good. Very very good. But would I queue for what must end up being an hour or more in the freezing cold for it? Probably not (I'd just make sure I pitch up at 11am again and try to bag myself a table for later...)!



Helen on Jerk Chicken from The Bush Man and Curry Goat from Take Two

Brixton is a town of many smells. The best amongst them are the heady, intoxicating wafts of the Caribbean; thyme, scotch bonnet chilli and allspice. Invisible clouds of spicy scent fill the air, ready to make the unsuspecting tummy rumble.

Browners’ mission was to fit in as much jerk as possible. The first place, Take Two, was a rec from Rosie Lovell of Rosie’s Café Deli and it was also our favourite. The jerk had run out but we settled happily for a portion of curry goat with rice and peas. It was some of the best I’ve tasted. Not outright in your face spicy or dustily over so, but mellow, melty chunks of Billy, coated in a well rounded sauce that built steadily to an addictive tingle. Creamy, coconut perfumed rice and peas were the perfect foil. A garnish of white cabbage was unexpected but welcomed by all and is, apparently, traditional.

Our second stop, sadly, was less successful. The Bush Man’s Café had the banter, the smiles and an impressive array of hot sauces but sadly it was a case of style over substance. The chicken just tasted grilled and the ‘hottest’ hot sauce, despite looking the part as a bright yellow, red-flecked lava bomb, turned out to be barely discernible.

Chris on Fujiyama

Not too long ago I worked in a strange loft office above a furniture maker's in Brixton. I had previously worked in Epsom in Surrey, and lunchtimes consisted of a choice between those weird chemically tasting sandwiches from Subway and a greasy spoon that once managed to cock up a cheese and ham toastie. So you can imagine my excitement at the prospect of the myriad of restaurants and cafés of Coldharbour Lane and the indoor market. One of my favourite lunching spots back then was Fujiyama, a sushi joint at the end of Saltoun Road that used nice fresh ingredients and always managed to serve them smartly enough to allow me to get back to my desk within the hour. It was nice to get the opportunity to revisit and reminisce as part of the restaurant crawl.

We ordered a selection of 16 or so assorted nigiri, some scallop sashimi (a presentation I had yet to try) and the veggie amongst us ordered a small plate of "Yasai Katsu", deep fried slices of root vegetables in breadcrumbs. It was all pretty good. The scallop sashimi were sweet and attractively butterflied, the tuna and salmon on the nigiri was perfectly fresh, and service was generally attentive and friendly. If I was going to be hyper critical I suppose I could mention that the sushi rice was slightly on the dry side and we didn't think much of the vegetable katsu, but these were fairly minor points.



In fact the only major issue I have with Fujiyama is this - why, in a sushi restaurant with bench seating where table space is at a bit of a premium, do they insist on having a massive spring-loaded napkin dispenser on every table? The things are huge and flat, the size and shape of a 1980s hard disk, and completely and utterly pointless. Sorry I know I shouldn't let it annoy me so much, but there it is.



Me on The White Horse



So after coffee, beers, pizza, jerk chicken, curried goat and sushi we felt pretty full and sloped off up Brixton Hill to my local, The White Horse for a couple of pints. It’s a pub that always feels as if something fun is about to happen. The enormous dog was sadly absent during our visit, but we enjoyed the chilled out vibe and creative daubings in support of Brixton.

As a group we had every intention of pushing on to Negril for a jerk chicken finale but time got the better of us. So Cowie and I took one for the team and gave Negril a whirl ourselves.

Me on Negril

We waddled up the hill, spurred on by the promise of the best jerk in town and weren't disappointed. My quarter of a chicken was well jerked and as soft as a slow cooked pigs cheek. On its own the spice wasn’t overpowering, but when introduced to the two pots of dangerous brown sauce the chicken almost breathed fire and caused me to hiccup for the next ten minutes! It was everything that the earlier jerk from the Bush Man was not. Juicy. Spicy. And full of scotch bonnet friskiness.





Our Brixton restaurant crawl was a great success. I am sorry that we didn’t get a chance sample the Saltoun Supper Club, Salad Club, Rosie’s or Upstairs, but in balance I think we did Brixton justice. If we made any glaring mistakes please let us know so we can add them to our “to go to list” for the future.

Thank you guys for a great afternoon and for all your brilliant words and pictures. Here's a map plotting our 1.2 mile journey of gastronomic discovery which should help you picture the mission we went on.


View Brixton Restaurnt Crawl in a larger map

Further reading:

Urban 75
My Brixton
Walking Tours of Brixton
Brixton Pound
Spacemakers in Brixton
Helen's photos
Lizzie's photos

Saltoun Supper Club - The best place to eat in Brixton?

The Saltoun Supper Club is refined, urbane, slick and charming. From the moment we arrived we were set at ease and made to feel welcome. The fact that it is on my doorstep in Brixton is a bonus of Forsythian proportions.

Arno's house is a fabulous setting for dinner. If you had only 1 guess about what Arno does for a living you wouldn't opt for something boring like accountancy. The whole house was like being in a photo shoot. But rather than feeling forced or intense, it just made us feel very special to be part of Arno's world for the evening. In a nutshell, this is what makes "secret restaurants" so appealing. Restaurants rarely give you this feeling of intimacy and a direct connection with the person cooking your supper across the dining room.



Our starter of courgette carpaccio with barrel aged feta is something I wouldn't order in a month of snow days. But it was as if Arno had read our minds. At the end of a hot day, after a sweltering tube journey, we were dying for something light and refreshing. The edible equivalent of a gin and tonic. I could hear Cowie humming with glee as she reached out her fork to steal a slither of courgette whilst I was thirstily draining a glass of Douglas's prosecco.



A duck terrine then arrived, very photogenically, on the lid of an old port case. The terrine was wonderfully deep, tasting intensely of duck with a smooth richness that wouldn't be out of place at an ambassador's cocktail party. My tounge almost got splinters as I tried to lick the wooden platter.



A simple fillet of sea bass served with new potatoes and peas was a lovely piece of fish that was allowed to speak for itself. It wasn't the evening for fancy sauces, especially when you conider Arno was cooking fish for 14 people in a small kitchen.



Then, Arno hit us with one of the best surprises I've encountered all year. He produced an oyster the size of Belgium from his fridge and asked if we'd like him to cook it for us! Wow.





Arno battled with the blighter for several minutes before poaching the enormous oyster and serving it to his awestruck guests with a beurre blanc let down with the poaching liquor. It stands out as the best thing I have eaten all year by quite some distance. It was so good I wouldn't be surprised if he had laced it with opium. Unfortunately my photos don't do it justice whatsoever...





Sharing a gigantic communal oyster is a surefire way to get the party started. Whatever imaginary barriers existed between individual tables or with Arno vanished. The decibels went up and we all mingled between tables as if we were at a friend's dinner party.

Our eton mess with mango and salted caremel was simple and delicious, oozing style and caremel in equal measure.





The meal then officially finished with coffee and petit fours that put many restaurants to shame.



After a couple of tables had disappeared and Arno relaxed after a lot of hard work, we found ourselves being treated to a wine and cheese lock in with a bottle of wine that Douglas described as a "couth, cigar, hymnbook and distantly blackcurrant scented Bordeaux [which] turned out to be a vital delight." What a treat.

We left on a high; buzzing just like you should do from restaurants, but o so rarely do.



P.S. Here's what Douglas thought.

Spooning with Rosie - Book Launch

Brixton was at its best on Saturday. Buzzing with energy. Warm. Optimistic. And full of cheer. The market was bustling and Franco Manca had a queue the length of a how long I imagine a piece of string is. Wild Caper was overflowing with people and the sound track to Pretty Woman was blaring out of the hair dresser opposite the butcher on Electric Lane.

We pottered into Rosie's not knowing quite what to expect from the launch of Spooning with Rosie and settled down outside with a cup of tea and an espresso and realised that the world is a pretty cool place. We'd arrived just as Rosie, her Mum and the rest of her team were busy getting everything ready. So we landed up helping out by moving a few tables and chairs which just added to the charm.



Just as I was draining my coffee a cool looking woman with short dark hair wheeled along what looked like an old granny trolley and proceeded to set up a one man DJ stand playing the perfect Brixton book launch soundtrack.



We bought a book from Rosie's Mum and were delighted that Rosie signed it.





Apart from the fact that it's got one of the best titles ever to adorn a book, it's full of brilliant recipes that are loved by the locals who adore Rosie's Delic Cafe. What I love about it is the fact that it is clearly such a labour of love. It completely reflects Rosie's personality and is a joy to read. I've also falled head over heals for the illustraions and love the fact that it is based in Brixton. Favourite recipes include scrambled eggs with chilli sauce and all sorts of delicious risottos, pies and sandwiches. I've got my eye on quite a few recipes to try out. It's also inspired me to want to write a book.

We spent ages chatting, nibbling on incredible sandwiches made with ciabatta baked in Franco Manca's ovens and gorging ourseves on cupcakes. It's a brilliant place that is full of warmth and creativity. If you can show me a cafe that's better, I'd love to see it.







Rosie's website
Rosie's blog
Rosie on Twitter
Spooing with Rosie on Amazon

A Very Wild Caper, Brixton

Brixton is blessed. Not only have Giuseppe Mascoli and Bridget Hugo opened the best pizza palace in London in Brixton, but they have also brought joy to the heart of South London with a fantastic little organic café/deli called Wild Caper.

Feeling peckish, I went for a walk through Brixton Market and found myself marveling at how busy Franco Manca was. A friendly crowd gorged themselves on heavenly pizza and glasses of yellow lemon syrup. It took all my mental strength to resist settling down and ordering a spot of lunch.

A sign for the Brixton Fish Market dragged me further into the alleyway, luring me towards some interesting little stalls and shops. I walked past an intriguingly anonymous café and had a double take. Something about it had caught my attention. And I haven’t got a clue what it was. See for yourself…



Inside I was greeted with impeccable organic produce and charming staff. The first thing I spotted were some lovely chanterelle mushrooms, that Rosie from the café around the corner has mentioned on her café’s blog. Then my attention was caught by the organic wine selection. I busily checked my change and worked out how much pocket money I had to spend! I selected an organic bottle of red wine called Diogene which is the house red at Franco Manca down the street. It should make a good impromptu Christmas present.

Then I found my left hand had grabbed a pack of brown paper with the number 2.70 cryptically written in black marker pen. I looked down at the label and realized that I had grabbed hold of a pack of organic garlic, fennel and pork sausages. Lunch. It was strange because I had no control over my hands at all. It was like I was being controlled by someone else with a remote control. My next movement was to lunge towards the small bread counter. The assistant explained that all their bread is baked from organic sourdough in Franco Manca’s pizza ovens up the alleyway. I plucked a baguette from the stand and paid up.

It’s a very curious shop. It’s the dimensions of a medium sized bedroom and was staffed by 3 or 4 people despite me being the only customer. It has been in existence for 2 months and boasts an olive oil urn, some fantastic fresh herbs, organic veg, an interesting organic wine collection, proper spices and salt, amazing sourdough bread, a small café serving soup and home made pasta from their pasta counter and a small but top quality range of fresh organic produce. Apparently they also serve very good Monmouth coffee.

I took my goodies home and made THE BEST EVER sausage sandwich for lunch. I’m not going to patronise/bore anyone with how I cooked it etc. but this is what it looked like.







I wasn’t really prepared to have a sausage epiphany. But I guess you have them when you are least expecting them. This was no ordinary sausage. Somewhere, in the ozone above Greece, in the depths of Plato’s Platonic forms, sits a sausage. And it should be ashamed of itself because it is an impostor. The truly perfect sausage is to be found at Wild Caper. Inside the casing hid bite sized chunks of beautifully tender pork, accompanied by slithers of garlic and hints of fennel seed. The bread was tangy, smelling slightly of hay – the texture was ideal for a posh hot dog. I am gobsmacked and greedily keen for a return visit.

The return visit didn’t take too long. I returned the next day, drawn in by an enormous magnet. I was in desparate need of lunch. Unfortunately, they had run out of soup, so I opted for some pasta, sauce and some olives to take back home. It may sound quite humble. But it was sensational.

I got chatting to a South African lady who I think was Bridget who explained the vision behind the business. My googling of Bridget has thrown up lots of interesting leads – it seems she is a singer, artist, activist and restaurateur – either she is like a modern Leonardo Da Vinci or there’s more than one South African “Bridget Hugo” in Brixton. Her passion and generosity were tangible. I was offered a chunk of amazing nougat to make amends for the lack of soup. I raved about their sausages – proclaiming them to be the best I have ever have. They were horrified that I had roasted my sausage rather than poached it like I should have!

And then Guiseppe Mascoli arrived wielding a pepperoni pizza from Franco Manca and very kindly handed me a slice. I could have stayed there all afternoon, chatting and eating gorgeous freebies. But I had my pasta and sauce to attend to.

My penne pasta with tomato sauce could not have been more simple or more perfect. I found myself drinking the left over cold, sauce straight from the container. Seriously good. Would make a perfect Bloody Mary.











It seems that Wild Caper has already caused quite a stir - on Urban Path there is a 5 page thread debating the merits and downsides of Wild Caper. In fact some of it is pretty heated. I won't even attempt to paraphrase it here - just read the banter for yourself! It cuts to the very core of Brixton's yuppification. One of the main criticisms is Wild Caper's high prices - but I happen to think that it is very good value when you consider the quality of the produce. It's best I've found in Brixton so far.

Thank you Giuseppe Mascoli and Bridget Hugo. I can’t wait to see how Wild Caper evolves and to see what you pull out of your hat next.

Franco Manca

I took the rare opportunity of a day off in Brixton to sample the pizza at Franco Manca. After an in depth article in OFM a couple of months ago, the internet has been awash with chatter about this place. And I felt like it was my duty as a Brixton resident and foodie to see what all the fuss is about.

Foolishly I forgot to take a note of the address, assuming that it must be easy to find. But I found myself walking back and forth along Electric Avenue, dodging the market vendors, trying desperately to find this "hidden gem". It always helps of course if you are actually on the right road. A quick call to 118500 and I was back on track. I was put through to Franco Manca who then guided me into the restaurant which was about 18 yards from where I was standing. The charming chap on the phone even spotted me and came to greet me. Top class service from beginning to end.

Snuggled into the heart of Brixton Market, remember, if you can, that it's Unit 4, Electric Lane. The restaurant bridges both sides of the covered market alleyway which adds a great natural flow to environment. On either side are large pizza ovens that have been hand build over in Naples. They generate a temperature of 500'C which is the key to their sourdough pizzas having such a crispy crust and soft middle. I inspected them with great interest, taking notes for next year's big project where I am planning to build an outdoor earth oven in the garden. Should be epic. If anyone's got any advice, I'd love to hear from you.

I ordered the chorizo pizza which comes with dry and wet sausage from Brindisa. It arrived almost as soon as I had spoken. Given all the hype, I was determined not to be prejudiced and was hoping it would live up to all the noise. And it did. As promised it was gorgeously charred on the outside, with the appearance of tiger bread whilst the mozzarella, tomato and chorizo was perfectly cooked as well. The puffy crust was crisp on the outside and pillowy soft inside. A bit like a savoury, hot macaron!

The chorizo had a lick of char and otherwise was simply irresistible. I was tempted to add pepper and chilli oil but didn't want to tamper with something that had been thought through so clearly. The mozzarella made almost made me giggle as it unwound as I tried to eat it like some sort of practical joke. All this fatty, carby goodness was washed down by a jar of their delicious home made lemonade followed the best espresso I've ever had for £1!

All the ingredients are impeccably sourced with superb credentials. But the crowning glory is the sourdough base that takes 20 hours of careful nurturing before it meets its glorious fate in the super charged ovens.

I was amused when two gentlemen in suits arrived and loudly asked "are you the guys who make the best pizza in London". I felt like I stood out pretty badly in my brown cords and blue v-neck jumper, but I was a chameleon by comparison. It seems that word has spread and that this gem is fast becoming a lot less hidden.

Be warned that Franco Manca is only open on week days from 12-5. My pizza, lemonade and coffee came to well under a tenner.