Soulful slice of minimalism: the main dining room
(Picture: Adrian Lourie)Even as someone who grew up in the shadow of Bluewater, with an avowed soft spot for massive shopping centres, the revamped Battersea Power Station is a challenge. In fact, it is probably something more actively unnerving than that. Served by a lavish new Northern Line stop and heralded by toe-curling, Brentian signage (“Electric buzzing vibes this way!”), it manages, somehow, to simultaneously bewilder and underwhelm; a gleaming airport mega mall of already-ubiquitous brands, suspicious security guards, and acres of “coming soon” hoardings that underline the sense of an inadvertent monument to lots of things that aren’t quite ready yet. Roll up, roll up — but not until summer 2023.
However, if you stroll a little way towards Nine Elms, that freshly prospected haunch of the capital near Vauxhall, you’ll find something unexpectedly grounded, soulful and fully realised. Because there, opposite the shimmering fortress of the US Embassy building, sits a dim-lit slice of careful Japanese cool and beauty. This is Evernight, the brainchild of chefs Lynus Lim and Chase Lovecky. And it really might be one of the most quietly remarkable restaurants currently operating in the city.
That it is also what feels like London’s gazillionth spin on an izakaya only makes this all the more impressive. These relaxed, occasionally misinterpreted Japanese watering holes are generally described as the equivalent of pubs or tapas bars. But in any case, Singapore-born Lim (ex-The Laughing Heart) and US-raised Lovecky (former Clove Club) seem to be consciously channelling something more formal than their east London bona fides might suggest. Cubist light fixtures jut into a moody room of sweeping pale wood and low-slung, squishy benches. Aproned chefs can be seen working behind an unadorned counter as nu-jazz murmurs on the stereo and a well-dressed older crowd, with the slight air of business travellers, squint at the menu. Ceiling-height wooden slats evoke a luxury onsen. Where near neighbour Darby’s counteracts sterile surrounds with live music, big windows and the bustle of kitchen production, here you are transported by lowered, cocooning blinds and, of course, food that quickly announces its subtle artistry.
It all amounts to a profound emotional crescendo, and the magical feeling of being sated rather than stuffed
A gushing orb of sweetbread katsu bun was quickly chased by mallard gyoza, fried to a greaseless bubbled crisp, and, as my mate Simon observed, packing “the perfect balance of crunch and squidge”. Then there were prettily fanned slices of yellowtail and trout sashimi with accompanying micro hillocks of wasabi and yuzu salt. Then, a little after that, tender chicken heart skewers, startled by a citrus-forward schichimi powder, were so good that I ordered a second-round mid-bite. But if I search a memory slightly fogged by glasses of Rihaku Dreamy Clouds sake — in an izakaya this is, of course, basically an act of Pulitzer-worthy investigative journalism — then the dish that really jerked me to attention was the chawanmushi: a slightly set savoury custard, garnished with smoky eel pieces, contrasted by pickled mushrooms and primed with body-shuddering, oceanic depths of umami.
If this procession of dishes sounds a little chaotic then that is intentional. Izayaka food is kind of a deliberate Jive Bunny megamix of varied Japanese dining styles, but there is a processional logic to the elements (pickles, raw fish, fried things, a vast rice dish) you need to tick off. The portions here are modest and, notably, the prices are not. But if you follow the broad track that we did — edging from the skewer section to the flawlessly executed glory of a shared Aylesbury duck donabe rice bowl before a climactic wibbling, hypnotically rich miso crème caramel — it will all amount to a profound emotional crescendo, and the magical feeling of being sated rather than stuffed.
We were politely herded out before 10pm (a reminder that this is still a well-behaved part of town, built around the desires of residents) and stepped into the cold. The streets were abandoned, construction cranes loomed in the distance, and the notorious, dystopian sky-pool could be seen glowing above us. Nine Elms still doesn’t make much sense. But Evernight has put it firmly on the capital’s culinary map.
