The chocolate mousse is an outrageous creation, the sort of thing that should only be eaten behind closed doors
Spring onions dredged in cornmeal and fried until the green spears are pleasingly almost-scorched, the white bulbs a soft, sweet squidge, and their popcorny carapace a crunchy contrast: what genius is this? Utterly simple, completely seductive. Why haven’t we all been coating and deep-frying scallions for decades? Dunking these in chipotle mayo, I imagine festivals dedicated to the things, as the Catalans do with their calçots.
This dish is typical of the menu at a newly opened little outfit near London Bridge that promises “seasonal British produce with a splash of sunshine”: at its base something familiar, the finished item a frisson of delicious novelty. It was the editor of another newspaper who insisted I try Lupins, and while he’s not someone whose printed output I’m normally guided by, he sure as hell knows his restaurant, er, onions. This is a find.
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