TOM PARKER BOWLES on the burger that’s got everyone talking: ‘The patty is made from a superior beast, cooked pink, laden with raw onion and pickles and draped with oozing cheese’
It has to be one of London’s less salubrious entrances, a plain wooden door, on a nondescript Shoreditch backstreet, with a faded, sky-blue awning, surrounded by a technicolour splurge of graffiti. The sort of place you might stumble across early on a Sunday morning, in search of illicit thrills. But there’s nothing remotely dubious about One Club Row, a restaurant I’ve been meaning to visit since it opened, to rapturous reception, last year. Once inside, you climb a steep set of stairs (it sits above The Knave of Clubs pub), the air heavy with the fug of grilling beef, before emerging into a large, bright, high-ceilinged space.
This is an old room with an old soul, imbued with the feel of faded Georgian decadence, and the ghosts of bewigged rakes, roués, Jezebels and comely wenches. They’ve kept the original fireplace, and plaster cornices, and reassuringly scruffy wooden floor. Much fun has been had here, with much still to come. Tables are clad in crisp white linen and you can perch, solo, by the bar. Inspired by the ‘taverns of New York and the bistros of Paris’, One Club Row has an easy, unaffected charm, the cooking far better than it need be. Martinis are ice cold, dry as hell – and gone in three sips. One is never enough.
‘Much has been written about their burger, and it’s a beauty’
Gougères have the lightest of choux-pastry shells, filled with a rich, jalapeño-spiked cheese béchamel. Classic French, with a kick. Cantabrian anchovies, sweetly intense, come in a puddle of grassy olive oil, alongside strips of marinated red pepper, an inspired addition that softens any baser edges. Lobster croquettes are surprisingly delicate, but show skill at the deep-fat fryer. A pristine pile of white crabmeat, freshly picked, is garlanded with soft leeks and hazelnuts, while tuna crudo, pure and clean with a bracing acidity, has the sultry whisper of smoked aubergine.
Much has been written about their burger, and it’s a beauty: reassuringly simple. The patty is made from a superior beast, cooked pink, laden with raw onion and pickles and draped with oozing cheese. At its side, a silver jug of au poivre sauce, for dipping. Too much? Depends on your mood.
But what really lifts One Club Row from damned good to very fine indeed are the staff. I don’t think I’ve come across a more genuinely lovely bunch in years. As warm as they are professional, they infuse the place with joy.
About £35 per head. One Club Row, 1 Club Row, London E1; oneclubrow.com
