Review of the reviews


Camille is a supremely creative and confident new-wave bis- tro that has a cool quality and enrapturing lightness of touch that can be appreciated without the softening influence of any- thing stronger than a cup of tea. This is not enormously sur-


Jimi Famurewa says Camille in Southwark in London is one of the year’s most intoxicating openings


prising given the pedigree. Camille comes from Clare Lattin and Tom Hill (the found- ing duo behind Soho’s Duck- soup), serial investor Ratnesh Bagdai and St John-trained head chef Elliot Hashtroudi. Smoked eel devilled eggs sounded like the apex of umami-drunk modern Brit- ish yet had an enjoyably old- fashioned decorousness: three country club-ready halves of egg, packing just a measured ankle flash of chilli heat, and effectively garnished with sliv- ered fish and a kitsch sprig of chervil. Crispy fried mutton was a handsomely crumbed, giant lamb nugget, well teamed with a bolshy, weightless onion aioli. Trotter and parsley terrine was ravishing and delicate and utterly unforgettable when pushed into perfect, crackled baguette from Rotherhithe’s Snapery Bakery. As for the ragged clump of man- galitza rillettes? Possessed of a narkier, oinking intensity, but no less sumptuous smeared


Giles Coren is delirious after a visit to Joro in Sheffield Everything is black or char- coal grey: walls, ceiling, tables, chairs and servers’ outfits. The vibe is faintly reminiscent of Gareth Ward’s revered Ynyshir in Ceredigion, complete with the in-your-face soundtrack, although that day it was less of the hip-hop that others have noted and more in an early 1980s vein: Talking Heads tak- ing turns with late Bowie and a bit of Kim Carnes, Peter Gabriel, that sort of thing. There was a beautiful, little,


glazed warm loaf of milk bread with a muscular roast garlic and miso butter. And then after the chawanmushi a Scottish sea trout aburi: tight little slivers of salmon,


12 | The Caterer | 8 March 2024


torched for a smoky flavour, in a green dashi high with wheat- grass notes, and a slick curve of kombu (which is seaweed- cured) caviar. This last ingredi- ent I had changed up from the advertised salmon roe with a sly tenner to the right man . [Next] a rare roasted saddle of


local hogget, juicy as hell, and a little grilled kofte popping with high kebab flavours, a prickly jam of Cambodian peppers and tapenade, a wild garlic raita and a dense potato cake spread with lamb fat. Just the right amount of meat for me (in my youth, I might have clamoured for the rest of the sheep) and crying out for a well-aged Pinot Noir. Pudding: a blood orange sorbet


over an opalys (white chocolate) panna cotta, topped with cornflow- ers and little pink meringues, that was very pretty, in a Barbie kind of way. I left Sheffield stuffed and sober, delirious with the thrill of such good food for so little money.


onto toast and dotted with sharp cornichons. Occasionally, as with a determinedly brown riff on the classic stew lamb navarin, the rustic heaviness can dull the impact. But there is usu- ally a well-selected drink to cut through the tide of richness. I fell gratefully into multiple spritzes made with the godly non-alcoholic aperitif Botivo. We finished with a toffee-


brown, fabulously creamy burnt milk tart, and made


plans for a less constrained do- over once people’s respective periods of martyrish new year abstinence and marathon training had elapsed. Camille truly is a good-time establishment; a place with a bottle opener in its hand, a song in its heart and wafting escar- got butter on its breath. But, crucially, it is the skilfully rendered romance of the cook- ing that seals it as one of the fledgling year’s most intoxicat- ing openings.


We could’ve gone for a game


Gaby Soutar is left confused by the Taybank, Dunkeld On the casual lunch menu, they’ve got a promising list of options. I went for the Shetland mussels (£12, also available as a main for £22), which came in a creamy saffron and garam masala-ish broth, with plenty of leeks. It was simple and lovely. My dining partner had gone


for their salad (£12) option, which consisted of roasted celeriac chunks, frilly trim- mings of kale, orange seg- ments, crispy sage leaves, whole hazelnuts, endive and a subtle citrus dressing. There were none of the billed dates in there, but they’d replaced those with other miscellaneous bits, so they were forgiven.


and mushroom pie (£20), gnoc- chi (£18) or chickpea panisse (£18) for mains, but I opted for the roast pork belly (£20). I was presented with three slabs of white meat, which seemed overly flabby. I know this is a fatty cut, but there was barely a hem of meat. Instead of crack- ling, they’d given me a beige and bubbly pork puff sail, but it was as tough as Kevlar. Oh well. I concentrated on


the salad, which was thankfully relatively separate from the gravy they’d poured over the pork. (I don’t like the twain to meet). This mixture featured an interesting and vibrant choice of bitter leaves and fennel, as well as chunky halved green olives, and more crispy sage. So, prices are reasonable and


there’s lots of lovely produce at the Taybank. However, I’m not sure they quite know what to do with it. We left feeling a bit confused.


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