When it comes to food, I’m prone to obsession. I’m not proud of my parsnip era, or the long winter of ribolitta, nor my thousandth watch of Escape to River Cottage, but at university, I found myself peculiarly spellbound by an author and farmer named Wendell Berry. His rugged individualism, defence of small farms, and sacral view of nature offered a refuge from the student life I was living. He became an instant hero. Consequently, I began performing lectures about the dangerous monopolies of the industrial food system to anyone who’d listen (my mum). They’d end with something like, ‘I believe we can only rebuild our relationship with nature if we take responsibility for the land beneath our feet. I stand for what I stand on!’
The whole charade amused my family, particularly my dad, who coined the nickname ‘Comrade Carrot’. Now admittedly I got carried away, but I do maintain that how our food is produced should be a concern to us all. As my old friend Wendell said: ‘When food, in the minds of eaters, is no longer associated with farming and with the land, then the eaters are suffering a kind of cultural amnesia.’
That leads me, belatedly, to Llewelyn’s in Herne Hill. Easier to say than spell, the restaurant’s MO is seasonable, delicious, just-about-affordable and flawlessly served food. It has prime positioning in the market, the best outdoor seating in Lambeth, large sun-inviting windows and an effortlessly stylish interior. That’s without even mentioning its younger sibling, Lulu’s, which opened in 2022 to offer coffee and sandwiches by day, then small plates and wine by night.
Llewelyn’s has a lot going for it – a bit like that friend who is maddeningly handsome, has an impressive job, runs ultra-marathons, but still manages to remember your birthday. I knew I was in for a good feed, but I had two ulterior motives: I wanted to understand why its customers kept returning and what had kept head chef Lasse there for over five years. The answer, it seems, is produce.
I eased myself in with bread and butter, boquerones (anchovies, oil, vinegar), and house pickles. Staples for pan-European fare but impeccably delivered. Lasse told me that Llewelyn’s are fully in tune with their suppliers – the list includes Shrub, Flying Fish, Swaledale Butchers, Natoora and Neal’s Yard Dairy – and their menu switches up daily depending on what’s on offer. There is a clear emphasis on quality, provenance and a menu ‘firmly based on larder cooking.’
I visited at the start of March – otherwise known as the hungry gap – but the food I was served was fresh and brimming with the promise of spring. I started with pickled mackerel – served with deliciously nutty Ratte potatoes and delightfully sharp crème fraîche. My meal then moved swiftly inland to the venison tartare, which, accompanied by beetroot and green peppercorns, was a Janus face of light gaminess.
None of the menu felt intimidating, and Lasse told me that they keep things simple on purpose – admitting that most of their guests are drawn back to enjoy an honest meal in good company. It’s easy to become cynical about movements like ‘farm to table’, but when a restaurant does its part to reestablish the link between consumers and producers, I think it should be duly applauded. And the food can be hedonistically good too – the first bite of my rump steak has stuck in my head like a Hendrix riff and the moment I shared with the rhubarb custard choux bun is almost too pleasurable to share.
Llewelyn’s is a wonderful neighbourhood restaurant and to put my old ‘Comrade Carrot’ hat on once again, proves the heartening point that the path to a better food system can – and should – be a truly delicious one.
