AT POPOLO
Tasked with writing a restaurant review in the style of Jonathan Meades, read my take on Shoreditch's Popolo.
London’s East End has now established itself as a stylish social hub, magnetising London’s cool and trendy young people with a centripetal force. It is a force so strong that the streets have begun to hiss with the excitement of being the place where people desperately want – need - to be.
It was only two decades ago when Londoners would turn their noses up at the arduous journey out to the East, the poor transport links making this too onerous a journey out to an economical suburb where you could get more for your money. The East End was an economical, not luxurious choice, where young couples spilt out to find room in anticipation of swollen families. And at this time, the notion that the East End would become the buzzing epicentre of hipsterism was one as ludicrous as suggesting that the overground was a practical transport link.
But now the East End bears the heavy weight of its own modishness. Shops and restaurants clamber up walls, piling on top of each other and wrestling for floor space. Meandering side streets leading from Great Eastern knit together restaurants and bars, and these patchwork avenues of chicness can overwhelm East End dwellers, unable to choose between one Time Out hotspot and the next.
Popolo lies nestled in one of these avenues, a box-like, cramped set-up over two floors. As in most of E1, tables are uncomfortably close; close enough to share the conversations of the couple bickering next to you, but also to cast an eye over their choice of dishes to help you make an informed selection.
It is the same spirit of sharing that inspires the dishes, small Italian plates designed to enjoy in pairs, exuding a sense of romance. Agnolotti is swelled with delicata squash and crumbly ricotta, pulling on the pasta’s delicate skin, and giving it a slight sense of translucency in the dimness of candlelight. A waiter, with a Shoreditchian effortless cool, presents it with a sly smile suggesting he is quite aware he is offering a small plate of luxury.
Even better is the meaty cappellacci, delicately wrapped parcels of pork cheek basted in butter, quite literally dripping with indulgence. Each piece is so heavy and luxurious and rich that you forget the plates are so small, and focus on the opulence overwhelming your senses.
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In the hipster haven of endless, overwhelming choice, one thing is for sure: Popolo earns its, albeit tiny, place.