G’day mate, fancy a tinny with the barby?
Well, sure, I know what you’re thinking…but clichés are usually clichés for good reason. That said, long gone are those heady days when being an Australian in London seemed to demand a hedonistic aura of benign but wide-eyed chaos. Clapham felt more like a Sydney suburb and the pinnacle of a good night out was the morning after spent in the (preferably topless) company of fellow countrymen and women collectively worshipping at the inebriated altar of the weekly ‘Church’ parties.
Yes, those days most certainly are long gone, but what does being an Australian in London in 2026 mean? Whilst Soho restaurant Milk Beach might not have all the answers – and probably wouldn’t want to answer all the questions – it flies the flag for a conceit not flown that much in the capital; Australian cuisine. And the emphasis for this particular cuisine, it should be noted, is not so much bottomless brunching but evening dining.
So, what exactly is Australian cuisine? Neither myself nor Larry, who have both spent some fair time down under, could quite put our fingers on it. Nor could our friendly and otherwise well-informed waiter (who was Irish), other than to say that as well as Australian, the menu offered up both Pan-Asian and Mediterranean influences – both of which have a bearing on what makes up Australian cooking.
Hidden from the madding Soho crowd in St James Court, a relatively newly refurbished passageway between Greek Street and Charing Cross Road, Milk Beach’s interior is bright, breezy and designed to uplift any grey London mood. Venetian plastered walls in soft magnolia refract imagined sun rays as a natural aesthetic dominates; expect woven rattan dining chairs, artificially inserted wooden beams and kon-tiki type lampshades. The space could be a slick safari camp canteen and its happy, clean cut vibe certainly sets it apart from many a nearby restaurant.
We both initially opt for the restaurant’s titular Martini but immediately talk ourselves out of it for no good reason. I defect to a Milk Beach Piña Colada which is no tribute to the kitsch sugar bomb of yore but a dainty, clean tasting sup which is punchy but pure. Dessicated coconut decorates the outside and a shocked Larry protests he’d never order a Piña Colada until he tries mine and does a quick about turn. Meanwhile, I try his Mango Chilli Margarita which burns a thick Aperol colour and is more dense (due to the mango) than your average spicy marg, but both prove suitably beach-themed elbow raisers for the plates to come.
The menu, as one might expect from an Aussie offering is designed around sharing, with one or two per person from the ‘Raw’ and ‘Plates’ sections deemed sufficient. We decide on the Carlingford Oysters as hors d’oeuvres but, alas, they’ve sold out. The scuppering of our plan throws us into gentle confusion so that we, by error if not design, and with some recommendations from our waiter, end up with five starters.
Larry isn’t leaning to the prawn toast, fearing it’ll be of the Chinese takeaway type; emaciated, dry and measly portioned. I hold firm and, of course, it’s nothing like the prawn-flavoured fried bread we’re accustomed to. Larry can’t quite believe it; it’s nothing short of a revelation. I wonder at some point if he’s going to phone home to relay the good news. Cut into four fingers, the bread slice is decent sized and fried underneath for super crunch. On top, black and white sesame seeds give it a glossy, exotic sheen and the prawn to toast ratio is generous. Is it as good as Alex Webb’s signature dish at Orion with lobster mashed in with the prawns? Probably not but still, it’s a must-order and, much like Webb’s, is best not shared.
The Tuna Tartare is pleasingly pure with little more than olive oil and lemon accompaniments. It reminds Larry of sailing into the fish markets in Sydney harbour which is a much more exotic memory of Australia than mine, stuck as I was, in the Brisbane Valley where beer and kebabs were the over-riding sensory sensations. The Hibachi Crudo swims in jalapeño sauce and comes, unusually, with slices of grape. The Aubergine Karaage is crunchy on top but still melts effortlessly in the mouth whilst our waiter’s favourite, the Charred Leek, is not quite the epiphany we expected but with a coconut tahini infusion remains interesting with the macadamia nuts propelling it into the unexpected.
So far, we’re starting to get a feel for where Aussie cuisine is going. The main section of the menu, ‘Robata’, is dedicated to the Japanese hot charcoal grill and thus similar to, yes, barbecue. Having just consumed our fair share of fish, Larry and I both opt for meat. There’s a Belted Galloway ribeye from the Cotswolds but the rest comes fresh from Australian slaughter and is, apparently, flown over on an almost daily basis – and, ahem, we don’t discuss the implications on carbon footprints. Queensland’s barley-fed Black Angus sirloin is conveniently chopped into slices to reveal its tender medium rare hue. Karashi mustard gives it a slight frisson but the bone marrow gravy provides it, overall, with more of a leisurely Sunday lunch vibe. We add lamb cutlets, too, from RedGum Creek in South Australia, and demand to be eaten by hand rather than dissected by cutlery. Both are ably washed down by a chilled Pizzini Sangiovese from King Valley, a fruity but light red, and a fine recommendation from our waiter.
Dessert is a refreshingly easy choice of three. The highfalutin and headily titled Milk Beach ‘Golden Gaytime’ Toffee and Buttermilk Parfait is a must for any self-respecting, linguistically inclined epicurean and it doesn’t disappoint. With a biscuit base, a honeycomb crumble and thin striations of chocolate, it’s like a loving interpretation of a Twix/Crunchie commingling. The Night Egg is less exotic but well titled for, indeed, it looks exactly like a fried egg. While not the most visually enticing of desserts, its quirkiness and simplicity – basically mango mousse stood in condensed milk – remind me of Thailand’s staple Sticky Mango pudding.
Following what amounted to a decent skip through the menu, Larry and I aren’t necessarily any the wiser about what exactly Australian cuisine is, but we’re most certainly liking the Milk Beach offering, its friendliness and hospitality. As for Australian clichés? Few to none, happily, although whilst we were leaving, I’m pretty sure the dance track featured a didgeridoo solo. Just don’t tell anyone else.
Milk Beach, Ilona Rose House, Manette Street, London, W1D 4AL. For more information, including details of the new spring menu, please visit www.milkbeach.com.
