Italian-Middle Eastern-Mexican fusion? Why not, if it works this beautifully?
When Waterstones opened its “secret”, unbranded bookshops in small towns, book purchasers were up in arms at the subterfuge, the stealthy creep of corporates pretending to be warm and cosy little independents. Restaurant biz observers, however, simply raised a weary eyebrow: we’d seen it all before, from brick-tiled Harris + Hoole coffee shops, largely owned by Tesco, through “edgy” burger joints that turn out to be backed by squillionaire private equity firms, to the “hidden” beards-and-tattoos cocktail dive that’s quietly part of an extensive group. So many restaurants open these days, not with hopes of sending away happy, well-fed customers, but with an eye on being the first link in a lucrative chain, big-biz wolves in fluffy, indie sheep’s clothing. Worst, of course, was Cereal Killer Cafe, its target audience of sugar-hopped schmucks manipulated into queueing for bad American breakfast fodder by expensive publicists – then it showed its true e-number colours by abandoning any pretence of hipness and opening in a giant Birmingham shopping mall.
So I was sceptical about Popolo in fashionable Rivington Street, with its bar dining around an open kitchen, its distressed tiles, its industrial ducting. Yeah, yeah. We’ve seen yer Dishooms and Meatliquors, we know the score. It’s small-plates-for-bloody-sharing. Plus there’s the name: so close to Polpo, spreading its tentacles everywhere from Brighton to Exeter while somehow hanging on to cool credentials. I figured that Popolo, like so many others (Paesan, Zucco et al), was on that bandwagon and clinging on for dear life.
Related: James Cochran EC3: ‘A great chef. But not yet a great restaurateur’ – restaurant review
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