Talk about a family affair. The Latimer, a new gastropub in north Kensington, is a full Spiteri production. There’s patriarch Jon, a true legend of London front-of-house, one of the founding partners of St John and The French House, and as lovely as he is snappily dressed. Then his ex-wife Melanie Arnold, chef and co-founder of the ever-excellent Rochelle Canteen; sons Lorcan and Fin, who opened Caravel on a north London barge; and daughter Molly, who ran business development at Koya, that udon noodle nirvana. In short, the coming together of a great dining dynasty. Anticipation, especially among pub-starved locals, has been at fever pitch for months.
It’s an odd street, Latimer Road; neither White City nor Notting Hill, a drab industrial hinterland with bland garages and lock-ups on one side, houses the other. The Latimer, with its handsome blue awning and smart new façade, is a very welcome addition. Inside, things are minimal but never cold. A longish bar, pub tables and wood-panelled walls in varying shades of green. Tables, in the small dining room on the far side of the room, wear white paper tablecloths. It’s my second time here, and The Latimer already feels like a much-loved local.
The Latimer ‘already feels like a much-loved local’
The menu is short and to the point, four starters and four mains, mainly modern British, with the odd foray on to the Continent and beyond. Homemade pickles, pert and not too sharp, cleanse the palate while fluffy, fresh-baked milk buns – shiny glazed tops sprinkled with salt – are torn apart and slathered with cold butter. There are excellent haddock goujons, the crisp batter gently spiced with a masala mix, a robust splodge of tartar sauce by its side. Then charred asparagus, sitting in a vivid pool of tarragon sauce. Pork-belly skewers are braised in cider, compressed then deep-fried. Seven hours’ work for a couple of magnificently meaty mouthfuls.
For main, onglet, cooked rare and suitably chewy, with that all-important offally tang. Proper hand-cut fries have a good crunch, pungent horseradish sauce is made with the fresh root, while an intense, sticky jus gathers everything together. A tranche of seabass, beautifully cooked, sits atop a pile of marinated tomatoes, with an aïoli best kept away from vampires and first dates. Puddings need more work. Chocolate mousse is rich, but a little ponderous, while an apricot and amaretti biscuit crumble, drenched in custard, is a touch sparse.
Still, these are minor quibbles. The Latimer is everything I hoped it would be: good food, good beer, and very, very good cheer.
About £40pp. The Latimer, 274 Latimer Rd, London W10; thelatimer.co.uk
