“I Eat Out In London For A Living & Auguste Is Where Everyone Under 30 Is About To Start Going”
Honesty is to be free of deceit, to be truthful. It is the foundational virtue of sincerity. It is one of my most valued traits. In having full trust in someone to be honest, there is a consequential ripple effect that might occur: comfort, congeniality, and confidence. With a total submission to honesty in a given environment, you will find that what may follow is unbounded artistry and genius.
I went to a restaurant that embraced honesty, and all of those things followed. The restaurant is called Auguste, the latest Italian spot to open up shop in London Fields, inspired by central Italy.
These are not huge plates, nor are they small. It is not a big restaurant, nor is it little. It is not too big for its boots, but it is not swimming in them either. Auguste is just right…
Mallory, Food & Lifestyle Writer/Creator
What sets it apart
While Italian food is a dime a dozen in London, Auguste is different. In their deep dive to Abruzzo, they have unveiled what feels like an entirely new education in Italian food. But Auguste does not claim to be an expert, nor does it flaunt intellectual superiority in its skill or menu development. Instead, Auguste is honest.
It is honest in its “bastardisation” of some authentic dishes, and the result of those creative choices has led to greats on plates. It is honest in its ingredients and inspiration, in the central regions’ storied history of lambing. From Pecorino to skewers, to broths made of excess trimmings and waste, Auguste is honest in its use of meat, every part of it.
In their deep dive to Abruzzo, they have unveiled what feels like an entirely new education in Italian food.
What we ordered
We began with the arrosticini, which Mike Bagnall, the head chef and our over-the-counter dinner date for the night, seemed to push as his pièce de résistance. It’s what many have come for: wagyu beef or lamb on skewers, cooking over coals as the fat drips, hisses, and smokes the meat on its way back up to the ceiling. In a glorious feat, and I’m sure a necessary win for the ethos of the place, the lamb beats the wagyu by a landslide, made better only by a dab of green goddess dressing. For the wagyu, perhaps the alioli, or as Mike called it: “a cross between mayo and savoury custard”. Are we sensing the honesty yet?
The chicken — you watch it from point A, over at the coals, to point B, on the plate, drowning in chicken jus and sofrito, hugged by crispy prosciutto. You think, ‘this is what one might crave for lunch tomorrow…’, salivating over the grandiose use of sage.
The sea bream puttanesca — delicious, simple, almost a spicy intermission between mains, made far better by a vodka martini — succeeded by a finger food (at least I thought it a finger food), a spanner, my partner’s favourite, and my vote for most unique. A potato rosti with a more than generous dollop of raw tuna and an even more generous grating of bottarga. The potato, crispy; the tuna, buttery; the bottarga, an intense, briny, deeply savoury final touch on one of the more well-balanced dishes I’ve had in several months.
Whilst the skewers are Mike’s thing and the tuna was another’s, my end-all be-all, my golden halo, was the capolleti in lamb brodo, although I could have anticipated that. This was what earned the adjective “bastardised” from Mike, who said that what would usually be ricotta has been replaced by cream cheese.
My end-all be-all, my golden halo, was the capolleti in lamb brodo, although I could have anticipated that.
“It reminds me of home,” I said.
“Where are you from?” he responded.
“America.”
“Makes sense, that means a lot. I love Philadelphia cream cheese.”
A semifreddo to follow, with whatever produce is in season and in the shipment (this week it was rhubarb, score).
Semifreddo because it is “easier to make than ice cream”.
I’m glad for this no-fuss truth, because in my opinion, ice cream is overrated. May semifreddo prevail in both ease and texture.
The verdict
These are not huge plates, nor are they small. It is neither a big restaurant nor a small one. It is not too big for its boots, but it is not swimming in them either. Auguste is just right — just cool enough, just serious enough, just cooked enough… the staff, the story, the space, just honest enough.
So, while the loo seat might be off its hinges within the first week, there will be a candid sign above it asking you to “perch carefully”. For the seat might be “in the post”, but the restaurant is, by all estimates, a permanent fix.
P.S., £5 Camparinos and £8 Negronis.
Just cool enough, just serious enough, just cooked enough… the staff, the story, the space, just honest enough.
