Restaurant Review: Cinder (NW3)

Max Raphael celebrates hospitality reopenings by getting his teeth back into London’s restaurant scene.

Source: James Harris via unsplash

Throughout the last lockdown, there was one thing above all others that kept me going. Not the promise of friends, or 6,000 bottles of red wine a day, or the prospect of a holiday to the Sandwich Islands. No, it was something else. Restaurants. My sweet, wonderful restaurants. Like the exiled Dante looking over Florence, I had stood on the hilltop of lockdown and gazed longingly at the awning of the little neighbourhood Italian 30 seconds walk from my front door. It had been so long since I’d felt the hard seat of a marginally uncomfortable outdoor chair. Since I’d smelled the sweet scents of a kitchen in full swing. It had been too long.

I was, for a while, a restaurant critic with no restaurants to review. I don’t have the name recognition of other, older players in this game, so I couldn’t just pop off and host a radio show or create  a podcast or do whatever the hell Jay Rayner did with his time until restaurants reopened. I was a man overboard, drifting alone on an infinite sea of dishes ‘soaking overnight’, with only prawn crackers and despair for rations. And then, suddenly, it was over. The sun came out for about 10 minutes, and the pubs sprang into glorious life. And I went for a meal.

I had been looking forward to this meal for months. There was so much riding on it. I went with my flatmate to the Kensington staple Il Portico. It couldn’t have felt more perfect. The weather was warm. It smelled amazing. We had a phenomenal bottle of wine. And then the food arrived. And it was a little bit mediocre. Sorry Robbie Williams and Gladys from the Ken High Street neighbourhood association — it just wasn’t very good. Overpriced, a-little-on-the-cold-side food. In fact, I didn’t even get what I wanted to eat: they’d run out by 8 o’clock. Michael Gove was there when we arrived, and Piers Morgan loves this place. Make of that what you will.

Restaurants needed redeeming. I needed somewhere that oozed passion for food. A drive to impress. Somewhere with a bit of fizz to it, you know? Il Portico is basically a restaurant from the 80s that hasn’t changed in the last four decades. I needed youth. Something to combat Gove and Morgan and all things stale. My flatmate, who was equally disappointed with that meal, suggested that we try the first new restaurant in London to open up after lockdown - a little spot in Belsize Park called Cinder.

I said yes, I’d love to go, partly because I’d heard good things about this place and partly because it’s the only place I wanted to review within a 10 minute walk of the flat. He booked a table and we, along with another friend, braved the cold North London air at seven on a Friday.

It’s right in the heart of Belsize Village, a really very pretty patch just north of the Finchley Road, and thus gets top marks for general aesthetic loveliness. “It’s like being in a square in Italy somewhere”, said my friend. She was right, apart from the cold, the people, the off-licence three doors down, the fact that all the signs were in English and the general lack of will to live that, miasma-like, permeates the air everywhere you go in this miserable hell hole of a country. The restaurant itself is nice enough to look at, too, as is the food. It’s a long wait - or at least it feels like it when everything that passes you just seems so appetising. Cinder’s whole thing is cooking over an open flame, so from the second you arrive you’re greeted with that lovely charred smell. I love it when a restaurant smells good. It puts you in the mood to enjoy your meal from before you’ve even seen a menu.

Now, the food. As anyone who’s ever done it (or seen the most recent Masterchef semi-finals) will tell you, cooking over an open flame is about as difficult a technique to master as you get. At Cinder, however, you’re in good hands — head chef and owner Jake Finn came up in the kitchens of La Petite Maison, Coya and The Ritz. So, naturally, I was expecting good things.

We decided we might as well go all in, and ordered a delightful array of lovely looking dishes. First up came the flatbread, an absolute mountain of the stuff, with confit garlic tahini and an appropriately smoked tomato dip. Then this thing which none of us had heard of before, called ‘mastelo’. The best way I can describe it is if — forgive me, older readers — halloumi got thicc. It’s softer than halloumi. Less squeaky, the salt flavour more subtle, and here it’s glazed with a gently sweet sauce and garnished with fresh oregano. “Holy mother of God”, I whispered when I tried it. “That’s fantastic”.

We pressed on - neither of the wines we ordered were particularly good, so avoid the Xarel-lo and the Muscadet, but the main courses lived up to the starter. The ‘cedar plank salmon’ was smoky and rich and practically dissolved the second it touched your mouth (and might have been my favourite meat of the evening). The lamb leg skewer with sage and maple was the perfect balance of herbaceous and sweet and just a little gamey. The chicken thighs with confit lemon, chilli and garlic were fantastic. Soft, juicy, charred on the outside. New potatoes were crunchy, and salty, and the green beans were, well, green beans (albeit elevated to more of a ‘haricot vert’ with the addition of a confit shallot vinagrette and crispy shallots sprinkled over top. “It’s basically the best barbecue you’ve ever had” my flatmate said at one point. It’s certainly better than ashen sausages and 10,000 wasps…

There was one dish, though, that was the absolute standout. It wasn’t what you’d expect. The hispi cabbage, with chilli, red onion, pine nuts has stuck in my mind. It was all we went on about after the meal. It’s all I really wanted to eat the day after. It’s this little plate of vegetables that ostensibly serves as a palette cleanser between meats that is just absolutely bloody delicious. It’s fresh, sweet, a little tangy because the onions are pickled, these little red strands of delicate sourness weaving their way through the dish, perfectly complimenting the nuttiness, the kick of heat from the chilli. It’s damn good food. Simple, but damn good.

I should also briefly mention the service. Rumour has it that when Michelin inspectors visit a restaurant they’ll place a fork on the floor to see if the waiters notice it. Not that I did that. But, when my cigarettes fell out of my pocket without me realising, there was a waiter, so quick to notice that they practically caught them before they even hit the ground. He handed them back to me with a polite “excuse me” and a smile. “Thank you”, I wheezed. That’s good service. It’s surprisingly rare these days. Well done Cinder.

I paid about the same for this dinner as I did at Il Portico, and I only regretted one of them. These two restaurants were leagues apart. Youth and passion has beaten Piers Morgan. Soundly. I’ll be returning to Cinder. There are dishes on their menu that I’m still desperate to try. If this is the first restaurant to open up post-lockdown, then it’s a high bar indeed for others to top. A sign of exciting things to come. Of quality cooking, and meals out with friends making their way back into our lives in a big way. It’s good to be back.