Café Kitty, Underbelly Boulevard, 6 Walker’s Court, London W1F 0BT (020 3772 3922; cafekitty.co.uk). Small plates £8-£15, steak £24 per person, dessert £6.50-£8, wines from £30
Outside Café Kitty the lights are twinkling. It’s nothing to do with Christmas. They belong to the Mood Sex Shop on Walker’s Court in London’s Soho. LEDs alternating blue and red spell out the words “Fetish”, “Femdom”, “Spanking” and “Bondage”. It’s quite the menu and while I don’t judge, it’s not quite what I’m after right now. I prefer the sound of the menu in front of me, with its hot promise of devilled eggs and buffalo chicken with stilton dressing. That’s the kind of spanking I really fancy.
It’s common to mourn the passing of the old Soho and its cast of consciously raffish characters with their dilated pupils and gin-ravaged breath. The protection rackets have gone and almost all the little red lamps in the upper floor windows, those tiny lighthouses each warning of a life dashed on the rocks of poisonous lust and exploitation, have been switched off. Mourning that is ill-considered nostalgia. The old Soho may have had “characters”, but most could be bloody annoying gone 10pm, and if there’s less of the drugs and fewer young people being forced into prostitution, then all to the good. In the digital age, when stimulation can be sourced easily from the blue-grey glow of a computer screen, the survival of the Mood Sex Shop is almost sweet. It’s like finding a gnarly prehistoric species of fish ill-suited to the modern world, which somehow swims on.
Of course, bits of Soho have been redeveloped. Everywhere has, including me; my prosthetic hip is a necessary bit of structural underpinning. In these narrow streets there are outcrops of new-build and shiny bits of glass. But the area is still full of bars, clubs and restaurants that are worth visiting. They are rooms you want to be in, offering cocktails you’ve never heard of before and innovative ways with miso or hispi you’ve never eaten. The fact is, Soho has never quite been what it once was. It has always moved on. A perfect example is to be found at the Boulevard Theatre. The modern redevelopment of this alleyway, which has been here since the early 18th century, occupies the site of what once was a sister venue to the Raymond Revuebar.
Now it’s one of the most innovative and intimate of performance spaces in London, which can rotate and be reconfigured in a whole bunch of ways. It originally opened in 2019, with exciting plans, but the pandemic did for that. Finally, in October, it was taken over by Underbelly, producers of comedy on the South Bank and the production of Cabaret at the Playhouse, which has converted the whole theatre into the Kit Kat Club. They like offering a total, rounded experience, do Underbelly.
Hence Café Kitty, in the low-ceilinged first-floor restaurant space. The banquettes are a deep ultramarine. The walls are a dirty salmon pink, inlaid with long ovals, some of them mirrored, as if it’s a modern take on the Parisian art nouveau brasserie, complete with globe lights. There is even a slightly knackered piano in the corner. I am temperamentally predisposed to like a restaurant with a piano, however battered it may be.
The restaurant comes from the team behind the much-adored Kitty Fisher’s in Mayfair and Cora Pearl in Covent Garden. This means the menu includes the Kitty Fisher’s “crispy potatoes”, which are another take on those finely sliced, confited, compacted then deep-fried spuds that have become all the rage, for the simple reason that they are sharp-edged blocks of striated, deep-fried, golden carb loveliness. You have desires, do you? Well get out of Walker’s Court and get your arse up here to satisfy them. They have crispy potatoes. Unlike the original Kitty Fisher’s, where the menu gives an impression of starters and mains, here it really is a set of small plates, mostly priced in the low teens, plus one of those salt-aged steaks from Hannan Meats.
Some people find these parades of small things unsatisfying, disjointed and a little random, because it’s too much like the rest of life. I get the point. We crave structure and familiarity. Then again, these are very good small things, so we should accept the randomness. The devilled eggs, from the snack list, are not some fancy take on the 70s stager. They just are the 70s stager, the yolk whipped up with mayo and cayenne and reintroduced to its resting place. They also serve a real Caesar salad, unblemished by deathly cotton-wool chicken breast or spongy industrial prawns. It is romaine, salted anchovies (not the horror of boquerones), croutons and the right dressing. It’s on a par with the superb version served by Hawksmoor.
Crispy potatoes, devilled eggs and a proper Caesar salad. That sounds like dinner to me, but other things are worth your time. There’s a picture-pretty tarte Tatin made with roasted, chewy squash and crisp, caramelised onions on buttery pastry. There are dense slices of trout gravadlax, the colour of a Christmas satsuma, with a mustardy coleslaw. There are those hunks of crisp battered chicken thigh, with a hot-sour buffalo chicken wing sauce made by someone who has read the recipe. There is also what they call the “Very Welsh” rarebit, because it’s a little spicier than most. I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t risk an incendiary title like that. I assume it’s meant to be the edible equivalent of Michael Sheen, with exploding lockdown salt-and-pepper hair and beard, shouting a battle cry at you from the western side of Offa’s Dyke. It kind of is, though the toast element is a little flimsy and thin. If you’re going to call something “Very Welsh”, nothing should ever be flimsy and thin.
But that’s me picking at nits. The main feeling is of a new space in Soho, which manages to feel both tucked away and right in the heart of things at the same time. Come here just for a Bad Kitty cocktail. That’s gin, sloe gin, elderflower, lemon and cava. Or perhaps start with one of those and finish with a boozy knickerbocker glory, plump with liquored up cherries. Maybe have their pear and gingerbread mousse under drifts of biscuit crumb. Or simply make a night of it and stay on to take in a show. You’re in Soho. The lights are twinkling. It’s what the area’s for. Next week I’ll be looking back at 2023. In the meantime, have a great Christmas.
News bites
I’m dedicating these last news bites of 2023 to a few things close to my heart, starting with a brilliant charity called the Food Chain, of which I am a patron. It began in 1988 as a one-off lunch on Christmas Day for people with Aids/HIV. Tomorrow, therefore, marks the 35th birthday of a charity that provides vital nutritional advice and support to those vulnerable people with HIV who, despite huge advances in pharmaceuticals, need help. Many referrals to the Food Chain come from the NHS and yet the charity receives no state funding. They are always grateful for donations. Here’s a link to their fundraising page.
Also doing brilliant things is Well Grounded, a not-for-profit social enterprise that gets people facing blocks to employment into work, through professional barista training and general experience of the coffee industry. I’ve been lucky enough this year to see what they do closeup and they are one of the most inclusive and supportive organisations I’ve ever come across, with a profound commitment to diversity. They could always use extra funds for their services, which are provided free to users. Their crowdfunding page is here.
And, finally, the actor, painter and cheese-maker Sean Wilson has just published a book called Jazz Food. Given my twin roles as restaurant critic and jazz pianist, how could I not mention that? It’s a beautiful volume bringing together essays on jazz, Sean’s vivid portraits of greats like Nina Simone, Charlie Mingus and George Melly and suggested playlists, with recipes for the likes of crab and chicken gumbo, Kansas-style ribs and Caribbean rice pudding. It’s available to buy direct from Rachel Cooke Publishing.
Email Jay at jay.rayner@observer.co.uk or follow him on X @jayrayner1
