Sugarcane London, 517 Wandsworth Road, London SW8 4PA (020 7498 8758). Starters £4-£6, mains £8.50-£10, platters for two £30, desserts £5.50, wines from £20
Sugarcane London is a small, tidy Caribbean café on the Wandsworth Road serving, among other things, very good jerk chicken. The skin is crisped and blackened and has a sweet, aromatic warmth from an enthusiastic assault by a seasoning mix heavy with the wonder that is allspice. This is a restaurant review, so obviously we care about these things; the food matters and it will get its moment.
But for now, there is another story that needs to be told: that of the man responsible for the jerk chicken and all the other deep, enfolding dishes coming out of the tiny open kitchen. I first heard about Tarell Mcintosh, self-styled as Chef Tee, courtesy of his neighbours. A few weeks ago, the restaurant was broken into. The shutters were wrecked, equipment and stock filched, the till emptied. Sugarcane London, one neighbour told me, had been a labour of love for Chef Tee, who had precious few resources when he started out and now had nothing. The local community, his neighbours and customers, crowdfunded the money he needed to get the place back on its feet. We talk earnestly about the importance of neighbourhood restaurants. We talk about their significance to communities. But this suggested a next level kind of love: a next level kind of importance.
With good reason. As Chef Tee explained in the press release he put out in 2020 when the restaurant first opened (and which, to my shame, I completely missed), he grew up in care and wanted to do something for other care leavers. He is now 27, but has packed a lot into that short life: a bunch of degrees and time as a teacher, alongside jobs at restaurants such as Negril and Blues Kitchen in Brixton. He loved working and reworking Jamaican recipes at home, but by the point the pandemic arrived had decided to retrain in midwifery.
Then one morning, during a head-clearing lockdown walk, he came across what had once been a corner shop, but was now empty. He convinced the landlord to give him the lease. He bought secondhand kitchen equipment that would just about do the job. He painted the signage himself because he didn’t have the money to get anyone else to do it, and nailed together the frame of a beach shack within the shop. There are wooden struts painted red and blue, and colourful sheets of corrugated iron playing the part of sloping roofs. There are wooden tables and chairs. Within a few weeks he had enough money to employ four care leavers. As he wrote, “I’m a helper, a changer, and this is what Sugarcane London is about. I am trying to use my company as a vessel for others.” Accordingly, the words “become a part of our story” are painted in his own hand across the front.
I thought I would, not just by reporting the gloomy break-in news, or the better fable of the crowdfunder, but by eating there. Because that story starts to wobble if the food doesn’t stand up to examination. It really does. This is Chef Tee’s gentle journey around the islands. From Trinidad comes soft, flaky roti with a deep, sweet and sticky spiced gravy for dunking into and, as ever, if no one is looking, a little light sippage. Although, even if they were looking, no one would really care. It’s not that kind of place. Sip away.
Alongside the half jerk chicken for £9, we have the jerk ribs, which have been braised until ready to leave the bone they called home, appropriately drenched in a sweet, hot glaze. Ask for more napkins. We have the curry goat, apparently “cooked in the Dutch pot for four hours the way my nan taught me”. His nan taught him well. There is a fiery power to the gravy, which makes my scalp sweat, and lots of bones to be nibbled clean. The same would be true of the 24-hour slow-braised oxtail, full of fresh spinach leaves now wilting gently in the heat, except that the meat has all but fallen away to make the deepest of stews. I suck at the bones anyway. There is jerk rice and a big bowl of kale and callaloo, to make sure you’ve eaten your greens. This is all comfort food, made by someone who knows a bit about having to find a place of safety and now wants to offer you one, too.
We try their cocktails: a Dark ’n’ Stormy for £6.50, and something the colour of candy canes made with pink gin and pink Ting for Valentine’s Day. Both display a generous approach to measures. Mind you, if a little light inebriation is desired, you could miss out the cocktail list and head straight for dessert, which includes a section entitled “Alcohol-soaked cakes”. The ineffably light and crumbly chocolate cake comes doused in almond liqueur. On the side is a pot of their own custard, containing a depth charge of dark rum. Or there’s the bread-and-butter pudding with more dark rum. Chef Tee likes rum. At the bottom of the menu, it says, “No service is added to your bill so please tip so I can buy my staff rum.” Tonight, he says, is one of the first times the kitchen has handled service without him while he works the tables. “They’ve done a terrific job.” They’ve earned both their rum and their tips.
Chef Tee is a gentle but charismatic figure, who somehow manages the important business of showing the love to his regulars while getting the dishes out and servicing the delivery drivers who turn up at the door. We fall to talking; there is no space in a small, intimate room like this for any pretence. He knows why I am here and I make it clear how well we have been fed. Chef Tee admits that from the very dark moment in the immediate aftermath of the break-in, business is now good; support from the community has been amazing. I tell him what he has done has been equally amazing.
He nods gently and, without any side, says simply, “I’m a care leaver from a disadvantaged background. I’m black and gay, one of the youngest restaurateurs in the country who opened his restaurant during the pandemic by himself with just £3,000. I should be a statistic. Instead, I’ve broken the narrative and the barriers. Despite everything against me, I’m still standing.” In a space this small everyone can hear our conversation. Spontaneously, his customers give him a round of applause. Quite right, too.
Jay’s news bites
The Creameries in Chorlton, Greater Manchester, has a new identity. Founding chef Mary-Ellen McTague has handed the restaurant over to her head chef Mike Thomas, who has relaunched it as a southern European restaurant called Campagna at the Creameries. The menu will include palourde clams with chickpeas, cuttlefish stew with braised fennel, pappardelle with beef shin ragù and a hazelnut torte with zabaglione cream. On Sundays there will be a three-course menu for £30. Visit thecreameries.co.uk.
The industry body UKHospitality has warned that the sector will need to raise prices over the coming year to cope with rising costs for food and energy and the end of the reduced VAT rate introduced during the pandemic. The organisation surveyed over 340 businesses representing 8,200 outlets. Nearly 50% of respondents said they expected menu price increases of over 10% in 2022, with 15% of them anticipating a rise of more than 20%.
Flor, the restaurant and then bakery opened in London’s Borough Market by James Lowe and John Ogier of Lyle’s in 2019, has ceased trading. Flor was backed by restaurant group JKS which retains the site. They have announced it will now become a second outpost of the Iranian kebab-focused restaurant Berenjak. At berenjaklondon.com.
Email Jay at jay.rayner@observer.co.uk or follow him on Twitter @jayrayner1
• This article was amended on 15 February 2022. An earlier version mistakenly gave James Lowe’s first name as “Jason”.
