London on a plate: 11 places I ate (and why you should too)

I love to eat. Not in the neat “foodie” way, but in the way that maps a city through its kitchens, basements, bars and bakeries. London is endless in that sense — one week it’s dumplings under a phone shop, the next it’s mezze in Notting Hill or a cheesecake that changes your whole idea of dessert. This is my running diary of meals, drinks, and places that made the past month taste like something worth writing down.

Uzbek Corner
I’ve somehow managed to go there twice this month — which says more about me than about them, but still. In November, they’re opening a new location, this time with proper shashlik (MEAT), which feels like the natural next step in their quiet expansion across London’s stomachs.

For now, it’s hidden in a basement next to a row of smartphone shops. You walk past phone cases and suspiciously cheap chargers, then suddenly find yourself in a room filled with the smell of fried dough. It’s a bit surreal, like slipping into a parallel Tashkent under Queensway.

What to order? Always the manty (dumplings) — and don’t be shy, ask for extra sour cream. Then plov, heavy, fragrant, exactly what you need to forget you’re technically in Zone 1. And mint tea — not fancy matcha-mint fusion, but proper green leaves in a pot, strong enough to cut through the rice and oil and remind you that life is, in fact, good.

Hampstead Chicken
This one’s personal: it’s on my street in Hampstead, which makes it dangerous in the best way. The chicken here is a full performance — roasted, dripping, with gravy that deserves its own fan club. The potatoes? Golden, crisp, and designed specifically for dunking into that gravy until you lose count.

But the real revelation is the Basque cheesecake. I’m not being dramatic when I say it might be the best cheesecake of my life: burnished edges, creamy centre, the kind of dessert that convinces you autumn evenings were invented for this exact purpose.

Marjorie’s, Soho
Some places make Soho feel less like a joke about late-night clubs and more like an actual neighbourhood with taste.

Upstairs it’s a bar, downstairs it’s more of a candlelit cave where the kitchen is close enough to hear the pans hiss. The menu is small but sharp: chicken liver rocher that looks like dessert until you bite in, fried courgette with trout roe that actually crunches, lamb tartare for when you feel bold, and a mille-feuille.

The wine list is unapologetically French: small producers, natural bottles, a few vintages that make you quietly nod to yourself. Or have a cocktail. Or two.

Price-wise it’s not cheap, not insane either — small plates plus wine put you somewhere around £40–70 depending on how far down the list you dare to go.

Rita, Soho
Rita is the kind of place that doesn’t need a long introduction. They serve a mini martini with a gilda (anchovy, olive, jalapeño) on the side. Just try it.

Nina, Soho
Dinner at Nina was exactly what you expect: rich, heavy, satisfying. The kind of food that fills you up and makes you a little sleepy (and horny). But the real highlight wasn’t the mains, it was splitting a bottle of red after two weeks of abstinence. Add the focaccia with parmesan butter, and suddenly the whole evening feels romantic.

Cafe Mama Sons.
I still haven’t made it to the hyped Filipino restaurant Belly in Kentish Town — it’s on the list, but life has been throwing plenty of Filipino things my way lately (hi, yes, I know you’re reading this). In the meantime, I tried the famous ube croissant at Cafe Mama Sons. Verdict? Pretty, purple, photogenic… but taste-wise, let’s just say it didn’t quite change my world.

Kentish Delight, Kentish Town
Call it a hidden gem, or at least the most unlikely one. Kentish Delight is a kebab shop that somehow ended up on London’s cultural map thanks to Taylor Swift — it appeared in her End Game video and now lives forever on the mayor’s official “Swiftie trail.”

By pure accident, I went there the day before Taylor’s engagement news broke. The kebab itself? Let’s be honest: a bit dry. But the story beats the flavour. Swift’s go-to order here was chicken with double salad and garlic mayo, apparently eaten with the boyfriend who inspired London Boy.

When we stopped by, there were actual tourists ticking it off their Taylor itinerary, phones out, documenting every plastic chair. It’s the kind of place where the mythology is bigger than the menu.

Wing Fest (just don’t wear white)
Consider this your reminder: buy tickets early. Wing Fest isn’t just a food festival, it’s a full-blown pilgrimage: queues of people holding paper trays, beer in plastic cups, everyone trying to look casual while secretly keeping score.

I went in ready and left sticky. The most outrageous plate? Wings drowned in condensed milk and chocolate sauce. Yes, it sounds like a dare, but somehow it worked, sweet and smoky at the same time, like dessert decided to crash the BBQ. Then came the classics: buffalo dripping in red heat, honey-soy that glazed your fingers for hours, Korean fried with sesame crunch. Every stall is battling for your loyalty, every bite a little heavier than the last.

By the end, you smell like fryer oil, your lips are tingling from spice, and you wonder how many chickens had to die for this party. But then you look around at the crowd and everyone is licking sauce off their wrists, grinning. Gorgeous.

Basement, Soho
After wings and kebabs, it feels good to slip back into the world of pretty, fashionable things. Basement in Soho is exactly that: low-lit, polished, full of the kind of people who look like they’ve thought about their outfits twice.

The drink to order is their White Russian Serve which is part cocktail, part ice-cream. It arrives looking too composed to ruin, creamy edge balanced with just enough kick.

Also, the bar is basically a dating machine.

Goodbye Horses, De Beauvoir / Islington
This is the kind of place that quietly turns your evening cinematic. Tucked away on Halliford Street, Goodbye Horses is part wine bar, part neighbourhood living room — dim lights, vinyl spinning, a ten-metre oak bar that feels like a stage.

The food is all about small plates that invite sharing: oxtail ragout, crab toast, a cheese toastie that’s far too grown-up to call comfort food, oysters on ice. The wine list leans natural, organic, biodynamic — and the staff actually enjoy guiding you to something “a little surprising but not too much.”

It’s candlelit, softly buzzing, romantic in a way that feels effortless. On my photo from that night, my beautiful friend Polina, somehow making the whole place look even better.

Zephyr, Notting Hill
Zephyr has made Portobello Road feel like Mykonos with better tailoring. A Greek-inspired restaurant that does modern mezze with serious polish, it’s the kind of place where every plate looks designed to be photographed (and priced accordingly).

The mezze spread is what won me over: smoky aubergine dip, spicy feta, warm pita straight from the grill. The orzo with mushrooms is decadent enough and the charred sea bass swims in a slick of amarillo butter that you want to drag every last potato through. Even the olive oil feels curated.