‘Have you heard about those burgers at Jackson Boxer’s new place? No, not the one in Selfridges, the one in Notting Hill. They only make ten a day. It’s because the meat in the patty is so hard to come by. It’s basically a steak tartare in a bun’.
The beef-based whisperings that preceded my visit to Dove were exciting and surprising. Protein-wise, it felt like quite a departure for the space on Kensington Park Road that used to house Orasay – Jackson’s chi-chi seafood restaurant that opened in 2019. It closed in 2024, giving way to an easier, altogether more unbuttoned site, fronted by Klein blue outside tables and filled with good music, beautiful young gastronomes – and food you really want to eat.
It feels – by design – like a restaurant for right now. Natural light floods in through huge windows, ensuring every plate and glass is camera-ready. Service is relaxed and unstudied but with heaps of charm. I sort of want to make friends. And the menu itself is a veritable bingo card of the ingredients London lusts after the most: Mortadella. Vermouth. Truffle. Pickles. Burrata. Café de Paris butter. Castelfranco. Fior Di latte. Olive oil soft serve. It’s all there. And happily, it’s all delicious.
Because as much as I’d like to think my palette is unique and far superior to the person sitting on the table next door (who just so happened to be Bruce Palling on that particular Friday lunchtime – enjoying steak, chips and a glass of Pinot Noir), there is a reason that light, milky cheeses, wafer-thin cured meats, buttery umami sauces and indulgent puddings are universally popular. It’s a scientific equation of salt, fat, sugar and acid, so lower that raised eyebrow, loosen your waistband and enjoy leaning into it.
And lean we did, starting with a jewel-like bowl of olives and pickles, then two little potato cakes topped with sliced raw scallops. The shaving of finger lime on top was perhaps a little heavy-handed, but it was a crisp and aromatic mouthful that complemented my vermouth and soda very nicely indeed. Next came the big-ticket items – both deep-fried and unashamedly rich. First, a pair of mini lasagne bites layered with taleggio and Wiltshire truffle and then a pillowy, almost doughnut-like mortadella and burrata pizzette that I have thought about quite often since. Next came lemon and ricotta dumplings – exquisitely parcelled, impressively balanced with lime leaf oil and wallowing in a silky pool of lobster cream.
Now, to the burger that lured me there in the first place. The patty is made using a mix of 50-day-aged rib cap, brisket suet and chuck mince. The cheese is a thin, melting blanket of young Gorgonzola dolce from Northern Italy. And the relish is a sweet, jammy Lyonnaise of white onions – cooked for six hours in caramelised butter and Champagne. Despite all this detail, it looks pleasingly simple on the plate. It’s undeniably elevated. The restaurant equivalent of ‘quiet luxury’. And probably the best burger I’ve been served on a ceramic plate – because sometimes the allure of a clammy paper box or greasy foil wrapper at an ungodly hour is hard to beat. For the sake of my arterial health, I thank goodness there really are only 10 up for grabs each day.
Keen for a full house in terms of the bingo card, we finished with Fior Di Latte soft serve drowned in early harvest olive oil and accompanied by two wholesome oat cookies. A comforting end to a lunch that left me full of joy and Taleggio – but also confusion around the restaurant’s choice of name. Dove it is not – more a phoenix risen from Orasay’s already-forgotten ashes. A very welcome reinvention, if you ask me.
