St John
ESTABLISHED BY FERGUS HENDERSON and Trevor Gulliver in 1994, St John took up residence in a former smokehouse adjacent to Smithfield Market. Neither bells nor whistles have ever played parts in its pioneering repertoire. Monastic in its severity, the stripped-back décor serves to focus one’s attention squarely on the predominantly British food and the exclusively French wines. Rooted in a doctrine of respect – respect for the produce, respect for its producers – St John is crystalline in its clarity of purpose and presentation. The menu alone is a masterpiece of economy. There are no corners in which to hide. And why would that be necessary in the first place? The ingredients are so superb, and they’re combined with such a super-abundance of love, that to add a single word to any of those printed on the bill of fare would be de trop. Take the cold roast lamb on anchovy toast. Once tasted, it’s impossible to imagine how something so plain but so good could possibly be bettered. From the mussels with white cabbage to the ginger loaf with butterscotch sauce, the same applies to every other dish. The fabled Eccles cakes, available to eat in or take away, have brought me limitless joy over the years.
As much a philosophy as a physical space, St John transcends its ‘bare bones’ approach to dining by proving that the simplest things are also the most satisfying.
See also: The Quality Chop House, Spring, Trullo
