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London restaurant reviews

The newest restaurants, reviewed by our critics

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Time Out London Food & Drink
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Our ultimate goal is to connect you directly with your city’s best chefs, bartenders and makers. Let us sift through the hype and shine a spotlight on must-try destinations that might not be on your radar just yet. Join us as we set out to rediscover our cities together – one meal at a time. 

Catch up with the reviews you may have missed. Updated regularly, this is our archive of 'recent reviews'. For the bang-up-to-date ‘current reviews’, check out the pages for either restaurants or bars.

Latest London restaurant reviews

Camille
  • 4 out of 5 stars
  • Restaurants
  • French
  • Borough

From the same minds who brought you Ducksoup in Soho and Little Duck The Picklery in Dalston comes a new venture with its sights set on France. Camille is unassuming at first, with classic French dishes using local British produce (you’re in Borough Market, after all), lots of wine and a packed chalkboard of daily specials. But once you’re a course or two in, windows steamy with condensation and a few glasses deep – perhaps fighting the temptation to run your finger over those last drops of sauce – you might as well be on a backstreet of Montmartre as opposed to Southwark. The interiors are rustic, but not gaudy; bottles are displayed on the walls, candles dot the tables and the whole place hums with a just-loud-enough bustle. And the food? It delivers. We started with oysters and rhubarb (very fresh), before the smaller starter plates arrived: zesty shredded crab toast with garlic and bisque and gorgeously tender pig’s head schnitzel with a crunchy, bitter puntarelle salad. You might as well be on a backstreet of Montmartre as opposed to Southwark A highlight was the Jerusalem artichoke with serious bite, all disguised in a joyous, fluffy cloud of Lincolnshire poacher cheese. When it comes to mains, prepare yourself for some serious meat damage. The langoustine cassoulet – a stew of flesh in a deep, rich trad sauce – was topped with two delicate but disappointingly slim pink morsels. The pork special was on the dryer side, but saved by a swimming pool of velvety shallot a

  • 5 out of 5 stars
  • Restaurants
  • Italian
  • Highbury
  • price 2 of 4

Good restaurants are easy to describe. The food is served at the right temperature. Staff don’t roll their eyes when you ask what a ‘boquerone’ is. Ordering wine by the bottle doesn’t necessitate a remortgage. All of these things suggest a place is decent, and can be articulated plainly with words and pictures. Great restaurants, however, are harder to describe. With greatness ‘quality’ is a given. There has to be some other ineffable presence that remains constant day in, day out. We love great restaurants for reasons that are illogical, personal and elusive. Trullo is a great restaurant. There are days when I think it might be the greatest. Trullo’s reputation is built on consistently excellent food and its expertly calibrated atmosphere The Highbury trattoria hasn’t got any flashy gimmicks or TikTok-friendly marketing ploys. Its upstairs and downstairs dining rooms have no obvious ‘features’ (although by this point its net half-curtains are at risk of becoming iconic), and the well-trained staff aren’t heavy-handed or dressed in corduroy workwear. Instead, Trullo’s reputation is built on consistently excellent food and its expertly calibrated atmosphere, neither of which have slipped an iota in the restaurant’s 13 year history. Bravissimo, lads.  Trullo isn’t all about the pasta, but at the same time it is all about the pasta. The primi section of the menu is a stockpile of reasonably priced, culinary WMDs. On our most recent visit we forewent their legendary beef shin ra

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  • 4 out of 5 stars
  • Restaurants
  • West African
  • Borough
  • price 2 of 4

Akoko, the smooth-as-silk Fitzrovia restaurant that glided onto the London restaurant scene, blew everyone’s mind and then won a Michelin star, has spawned a child under the arches of Borough Market.  Akara replicates its parent restaurant’s ingenious and critically acclaimed take on west African cuisine and brings it to a more casual, less-intense place. Off the bat: going to Akara isn’t as good as going to Akoko. Which is like saying seeing Prince perform in an arena isn’t as good as seeing Prince perform in your living room. One of those things is more feasible than the other. At this stage getting into the rightfully popular Akoko is a task fit for Restaurant Hercules. Not to mention, you might not feel like dropping hundreds of pounds on its tasting-menu-or-death sole option. At Akara - get this - you can choose what you want to eat.  Special shout out to a coy side of plantain cubes, all jumbled up with lookalike pieces of grilled octopus And you may well choose to start with a few of the titular akara. It’d be lazy to call them ‘the west African bao’, but that would give the uninitiated an idea of what to expect. Fluffy-yet-cakey balls, delicately fried and perched magisterially on stone cubes, each one bifurcated then ladened with stuff like prawn, ox cheek, mushrooms and scallops. Like most things Akoko-related, they’re accompanied by a bit of psychedelic scotch bonnet sauce. Like most things Akoko-related, said sauce works as a kind of culinary particle accelerator

  • 4 out of 5 stars
  • Restaurants
  • British
  • Chiswick
  • price 3 of 4

The Silver Birch was unlucky enough to launch in 2020, right before you-know-what. Four years later, and it still feels like a newly-launched spot, relatively unknown beyond Chiswick. But there are sure signs that that’s about to change.   Led by young chef Nathan Cornwell, the restaurant is vying for Chiswick’s second Michelin star (the first being La Trompette), following his celebrated stints at Le Champignon Sauvage in Cheltenham and The Barn at Moor Hall in the Lake District. The interior is a neat canvas of neutral, wooden tones, with exposed brick, hefty aircon ducts, and delicate placements of dried flowers. It’s unfussy, soft and minimalist, giving plenty of space for the spectacular, playful dishes which came our way.  Beautifully soft, mildly sweet Devonshire crab, was hidden under a layer of foam and piquant discs of pickled Granny Smith First up: an adorable array of Alice in Wonderland-style amuse bouche, which featured a miniature version of its Devon smoked eel with pink fir potatoes and pickled leek and rich, velvety parmesan sablés with blue cheese mousse. Then, layered curls of delightfully bright green lovage butter embellished with purple petals to go with some Guinness sourdough – a warm, comforting slab of stodge that only comes from home-cooked bread.  My starter was the star of the evening, so magnificent in fact, that I forgot it was, technically, only the first course. Beautifully soft, mildly sweet Devonshire crab, was hidden under a layer of foam

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  • 5 out of 5 stars
  • Restaurants
  • Chinese
  • Chinatown
  • price 2 of 4

Going for a meal at Food House is to choose between parallel universes. Option one is family style sharing in the brightly-lit, carpeted ground floor where you’ll select from an extensive menu of Northern Chinese dishes. Alternatively, option two promises the upstairs dining room, reserved for those enjoying an all-you-can-eat hotpot experience. This floor has a completely different ambience: dramatic red wallpaper, dim spotlights and mirrors casting shadows, all providing an atmospheric backdrop to the mini steam tornadoes rising from pots on each dark oak table. The headliner was whole roast sea bass, soaked in radioactively-red chilli oil and adorned with lotus root slices and Sichuan peppercorns During my visit, I confused their system by booking a table for hotpot – giving me access to the exclusive upstairs room – but at the last minute, decided to go for the cooked dishes instead, after finding the menu too intriguing to miss. I was grateful to be allowed to stay in the hotpot room, which is where the real action was, akin to being at a chaotic family reunion. The waiters were working at maximum speed (one became visibly annoyed when I tried to ask a question: ‘look, just tell me which dish you want!’), with plates charging out of the kitchen every few minutes. Despite a massive 19-page menu of options, I went for the Sichuanese classics, including the pleasantly savoury mapo tofu, which was not too sweet – a balance other outlets can often get wrong. The cucumber s

  • 4 out of 5 stars
  • Restaurants
  • Mediterranean
  • Clerkenwell
  • price 3 of 4

Some restaurants are born lucky. Before the doors of Morchella even opened, it already had north London’s nibbling classes on side, thanks to links with Newington Green’s chi-chi neighbourhood eatery, Perilla. If you like Perilla (and many people do), it’s pretty much a given that you’ll be tripping over youself to visit Morchella, which marks the second outing for Perilla’s chef-owner Ben Marks and restaurateur Matthew Emmerson, who’ve teamed up with chef Daniel Fletcher for this astute, three-pronged attack on Clerkenwell’s dining scene.  Morchella is the proper name of the morel mushroom – the one with honeycomb-style fungal flesh so densely packed that if you stare at it long enough the logo for a Norwegian black metal band magically appears – and the space itself is broadly similar to Perilla. Both occupy prime corner real estate in desirable locales, but Morchella ramps up the aesthetic to XXL proportions. A divine blood orange portokalopita came with salty slithers of black olive tucked away inside the syrup spattered cake. Go big or go home seems to have been the designer’s brief. Situated in a former Victorian bank, there are sky-high ceilings, marble columns and large canvases of unobtrusive art, while huge street-facing windows put Morchella out of the running for both illicit affairs and preliminary job interviews with MI6. There’s a muted, olive-green, coat-style chore uniform for the staff (you can take the restaurant out of N16, but you can’t take the N16 out

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  • 5 out of 5 stars
  • Restaurants
  • Japanese
  • Notting Hill
  • price 4 of 4

To enter the kingdom of Juno, you must weave your way through what must be one of London’s most nerve-fraying assault courses.  First, traverse Notting Hill’s rom-com worthy backstreets without falling in love with a floppy haired gent from a posh bookshop and do your best to find Los Mochis. Granted, this bit isn’t too hard. Once you’ve spotted this elaborate garish Japanese-meets-Mexican restaurant, you must try and not be overly distracted by Dia De Los Muertos shrines to Yoda from Star Wars, humongous cartoon robot murals and the general feeling that Mr Brainwash might jump out at any moment brandishing a can of neon pink paint and imploring that you do a mezcal shot with him. This skilled duo delivered banger after banger of perfectly formed fish dishes, like back-to-back DJs at south London rave spot Venue MOT If you’ve managed to get this far then bliss – and a more muted colour palette – awaits. Make it to the back end of Los Mochis’ upstairs dining room and you’ll be guided into Juno; a supremely chill wood-panelled space that fits just six diners, making it either the smallest omakase counter in the UK or a strangely seductive panic room. Once inside we were greeted by Los Mochis’ congenial exec chef Leonard Tanyag (formerly of Zuma), and head sushi chef Han (Nobu, Roka). For the next two hours, this skilled duo delivered banger after banger of perfectly formed fish dishes, like back-to-back DJs at the culinary equivalent of intimate south London rave spot Venue M

  • 3 out of 5 stars
  • Restaurants
  • Italian
  • Soho
  • price 3 of 4

Hotel restaurants are tricky characters – some can be quite forgettable, while others manage to completely outshine the hotel. And somehow, Dear Jackie manages to do both. Set in the basement of the new Broadwick Soho, the atmospheric restaurant epitomises the hotel’s bold and playful persona. Grinning doormen in bowler hats and bowties (think The Grand Budapest Hotel) whisk you through the glossy pink front door, escorting you through buzzing Bar Jackie (a more casual all-day eatery on the ground floor) and down to the mysterious Dear Jackie.  They’ve tried to make it feel like you’re being given access to an exclusive member’s club here – and it works. There’s a thrill as you descend the dark neon-lit stairs and emerge into the glamorous dining room with its crimson silk walls and Sicilian ceramic table tops. It’s pleasingly kitsch, flamboyant and fabulous, like a more sophisticated version of the Big Mamma restaurants The whole interior is like a maximalist’s wet dream: floral patterned cosy banquets, hand-painted plates all over the walls, candy-striped lamps in Murano glass, red velvet chairs and lavish golden trimmings. And be sure to pay a visit to the red terrazzo toilets. It’s pleasingly kitsch, flamboyant and fabulous, like a more sophisticated version of the Big Mamma restaurants. The music is loud, the lights are low, the friendly waiters are overdressed, the corners are full of cosy dates and there’s a sense that diners are here to have a Big Night Out.  Alas, t

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  • 4 out of 5 stars
  • Restaurants
  • French
  • Goodge Street
  • price 3 of 4

I hope you’re hungry, because 64 Goodge Street wants to feed you up good. So nourishing and potent is its essence, I imagine people walking past its sleek frontage might feel full from a culinary contact high. This elegant Fitzrovia bistro bangs out old-school, hearty dishes, proper meals. As you’d expect, pan sauces at this place appear to be sacrosanct. I can imagine all the chefs hanging out in the open-fronted kitchen, taking turns to show off their most banging reductions.  ‘Maaate, the opacity on that consommé is fucking sick, not going to lie.’ The preponderance of sick jus can only mean one thing: French fine dining is back, baby. But this time some of the chefs have tattoos and moustaches. Escargot orbs were smushed with bacon, fried in breadcrumbs and served like aristocratic Scotch eggs 64GS does what it does with aplomb. The night’s show-stopper was an unctuous seafood bisque, boasting a depth of flavour that bottomed out somewhere in the planet’s core. In its centre, a single volcano-like ravioli object, erupting a magmatic plume of crab meat and apple. Hyper-rich boudin noir cylinders - like hockey pucks made from the world’s most extra black pudding - looked uncharacteristically demure served alongside a trio of contrasting smears. Part dish, part artery-clogging playset; every carefully assembled mouthful a new experience. There were brazen anachronisms, too. Caper-studded remoulade with ham, and smoked salmon with blinis both totally justified their being br

  • 4 out of 5 stars
  • Restaurants
  • Greek
  • Mayfair
  • price 4 of 4

There’s no point complaining about the prices when you’re dining on Piccadilly: it’s been among the poshest streets in London for literally 400 years. Suffice it to say that Gaia, a palatial joint with sister restaurants in Dubai, Qatar and Monte Carlo, has landed across the road from the actual Ritz and you’ll pay accordingly to eat here. But enough about the bill – we haven’t even got to the food yet. It’s Greek, or at least Greek-inspired, with British-Nigerian chef Izu Ani joining forces with the Peloponnese’s own Orestis Kotefas. The first thing you see when you step into the opulent dining room is an epic display of lobsters, oysters, turbot and seabass, arranged just-so on a pile of crushed ice like the Platonic ideal of a Cycladic fish market stall. And in fact, much of the menu turns out to be refined takes on Hellenistic classics: tzatziki, spanakopita, Greek salad and the rest of the gang, along with the aforementioned massive pile of seafood. The prawns were hall-of-fame-worthy and served in a puddle of honey-coloured, rosemary-scented, paprika-spicy oil And yes, it’s good. I’ve honestly never tasted smoother taramasalata, and the prawns were hall-of-fame-worthy: done to a tee in a wood oven, served in a puddle of honey-coloured, rosemary-scented, paprika-spicy oil. There’s a moussaka that’s destined to appear on all of London’s fanciest Insta feeds: minced beef, potato, bechamel and cheese, all stacked up atop a meltingly soft, skinless grilled aubergine. The as

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