“I’m A Food Journalist, And This Is The Restaurant Every Notting Hill Local Is Going For Dinner This Summer”
I love being invited to someone’s home for dinner. There is nothing lovelier than starting with drinks in the living room, heading to the table for supper as the night gets darker, eventually getting to crumbles and carafes whilst friends and family drift inside and outside through the terrace door, pausing for conversation along the way. My heart lifts at the thought; it lifts further thinking about The Latimer, a dining room which is just that, a night of entertainment at what feels like someone’s family home.
Upon trips to the bathroom at The Latimer, you might overhear a solo diner palming his forehead as he professes to the server: ‘This is real food… something we started looking for a long f*cking time ago.’
Mallory, Junior Food & Drink Editor
What sets it apart
The Latimer is a new neighbourhood pub on Latimer Road from the Spiteri family. Perhaps you know them, perhaps you don’t, in any case, you should. Two generations of hospitality powerhouses have come together to build what will become yet another institution of Notting Hill.
Perhaps I should rattle it all off just so you might actually grasp the level of genius swelling in this humble dining room. Jon Spiteri, an original partner in The French House, St John and Sessions Arts Club, is one of the greatest living names in London gastronomy. Melanie Arnold, co-founder of Rochelle Canteen, brings over 20 years of experience alongside their sons, Lorcan and Fin, who were the duo behind Caravel, and sister Molly, who was business development lead at Koya. Together, the angels grace us with a pub. Need I say more?
Thoughtfully curated and filled with the warm energy of familiar faces and impeccable hospitality, The Latimer is a family’s dining room, made better by the family within it.
A look around the room, a saunter through the pub, will risk several things: an impromptu drink with your favourite general manager of The Garden Bar down the street (i.e. iconic co-founder of The Cow, also down the street), run ins with servers who went to school with you, a multitude of meetings with boxers and bull dogs and greyhounds and spaniels, and an overwhelming envy for their custom made All Day Goods bar taps. Thoughtfully curated and filled with the warm energy of familiar faces and impeccable hospitality, The Latimer is a family’s dining room, made better by the family within it.
What we ate
We began with bread: fluffy, warm, buttery, almost stodgy milk buns, obviously right out of the oven, enhanced by soft butter and two pinch pots of freshly cracked black pepper, flaky salt and a generous plate of pickles (properly priced at £4 as opposed to the blasphemous trend of charging a tenner for batch-made, long-life, miscellaneous veg). Went down a treat.
A generous plate of pickles (properly priced at £4 as opposed to the blasphemous trend of charging a tenner for batch-made, long-life, miscellaneous veg).
Our initial starter order comprised grilled asparagus in herb sauce with the cider-braised pork belly skewers. This was met with an insistence from Fin that we also include the masala haddock with tartare sauce. This insistence worried my dear guest, as she has never been one for seafood, no matter how hard her loved ones (me) attempt to force-feed it to her. But even for my suspicious sceptic of sea dwellers, these glorified goujons were the decided favourite dish. While the asparagus was perfectly cooked and subtle, and the pork belly was a must-order in its warm, sticky, sweet glory, the haddock was, in all its deep-fried glory, brilliant.
But even for my suspicious sceptic of sea dwellers, these glorified goujons were the decided favourite dish.
Mains saw venison haunch with celeriac and hazelnut — pink and chewy, smoky and nutty — and tagliatelle. This pasta had us loudly and slightly disturbedly moaning at each other from across the table. Pasta turned orange from fresh yolks, with a texture only fresh dough straight out of its boiling bath can achieve, draped elegantly, although rusticly, over a mound of stracciatelli. This is the pasta of the Gods, and I believe there is no high-end Italian spot that could recreate it. Why? Because it is so imperfect, made for a specific person at a table rather than made to address the covers popping up on the screen downstairs.
Despite not having seen the kitchen or a silhouette of a chef, I felt that this pasta was specially made for me, and the guy over there’s pasta was specially made for him, too. This is pasta made not in a kitchen, but in the Spiteri family kitchen. Chips and salad only added to this impact.
This is the pasta of the Gods, and I believe there is no high-end Italian spot that could recreate it.
Just as dinner was homely and warm, pudding was, too. The section comprised a deconstructed apricot crumble and a humble chocolate mousse to pick at over second or third carafes of wine, which were so kindly refilled, and refilled, and refilled by the more than charming staff.
The section comprised a deconstructed apricot crumble and a humble chocolate mousse to pick at over second or third carafes of wine, which were so kindly refilled, and refilled, and refilled by the more than charming staff.
The verdict
Upon trips to the bathroom at The Latimer, you might overhear a solo diner palming his forehead as he professes to the server: “This is real food… something we started looking for a long f*cking time ago.”
It’s true, this is real food. Perhaps even more than that, it is family food. It is food for the home, that happens to be in a restaurant. It is all those dishes you eat out and think “I could’ve made that at home” — except these dishes are exactly those ones that you imagine at their best, made at home. Between bites of pasta, pats of dogs, hugs from neighbours and confabs with strangers — The Latimer is as hospitable as it gets, from the least pretentious bunch who just so happen to be the best in the business.
Where: 274 Latimer Rd, London W10 6QW
Website: www.thelatimer.co.uk
