Is there such a thing as ‘modern British’ cuisine? In practice, if you’re not talking about post-modern takes on such tried and trusted favourites as the hotpot and roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, then what most restaurants call the 2025 iteration of local cooking is in fact a mishmash of a number of different influences.
A dash of Middle Eastern-Ottolenghism here; a soupçon of French inspiration there; perhaps a little Italian, to serve. Throw it all together and you have a melting point of cultures and traditions, hopefully to delightful and delicious effect.
I was reminded of this idea on a recent visit to Crispin, a thoroughly fashionable place a stone’s throw from Spitalfields, which in any case would call itself ‘modern European’. It’s a small, stylish bar-restaurant, housed in a glass and zinc pavilion, with tables packed huggermugger to each other, and where the ineffably cool waiters (ours, Eliot, was a particularly witty and helpful delight) have good hair, a formidable assortment of tattoos and know precisely what’s cooking that particular evening.
Matters kicked off with a burnt butter Old Fashioned and a rhubarb gimlet, accompanied by some padron peppers and deep-fried olives with a little garlic confit dip. It was all about as good as you could imagine it being, but matters were only about to get even more exciting.
Under head chef Lewis de Haas, who has served time at the estimable (if pricey) Petersham Nurseries and The Shed, there are a selection of small plates and larger plates, as is the way of these things. It seemed to make sense to err closer to the vegetarian aspect of the menu to begin, and so top-notch dishes of Wolves Lane tomatoes with cucumber, picked lemon and sourdough and stracciatella with heavenly grilled peach and chilli were accompanied by Eliot’s recommendation, a cool, crisp Assyrtiko. London may have left its heatwave and be rapidly preparing for autumn, but, for a couple of hours, it was perfectly possible to fool oneself into thinking that summer holidays were never going to end.
There are five choices of main, on a menu that changes regularly, and the next door table were clearly enjoying their lemon sole. I, however, was not going to leave without trying the pork chop with creamed corn and salsa verde, and I was right not to. It was a triumph on every conceivable level, a dish so delicious it should have inspired a poem.
It may or may not have been better than the grilled chicken, which de Haas makes the excellent decision to accompany with chilli beurre blanc, which gives it the faintest, most moreish of kicks. It’s both substantial and light – this is a fairly carb-free zone, if you don’t opt for the bread to start – and everything is a triumph.
It would be rude not to end with pudding, and the brown butter cake with apricot and crème fraiche is a triumphant spin on an old classic. Still, I think I prefer the chocolate and cherry tart, which is dark enough and laden with enough antioxidants to make you believe that the espresso martini which it’s obligatory to order with such pudding is, itself, somehow healthy.
I must confess, readers, that it probably isn’t. But when you leave this delightful, smile-inducing place, questions of modern European, modern British or just modern love will barely matter. This is top-notch, innovative and friendly cooking, and a new entry into my comprehensive little black book. Long may it last.
Crispin, White’s Row, London, E1 7NF. For more information, and for bookings, please visit www.crispinlondon.com.
