There’s Burgundy by the glass for Bloomsday, and with it, a small Joycean crisis: could the food in Ulysses shape the menu too? A Gorgonzola sandwich seems unlikely, which leaves grilled mutton kidneys with “a fine tang of faintly scented urine”.
The Yellow Bittern, the 18-seater, lunch-only restaurant opened by Belfast-born chef Hugh Corcoran – which quickly became the most controversial restaurant in London – was just the sort of place to have this on the menu.
Not long after it opened in late 2024, The Yellow Bittern triggered a storm. No card machine, no online booking, cash only. When Corcoran posted about diners treating the place like “a public bench”, a table of four nursing two mains and a single starter, some saw it as principled, others as combative. But it revealed something simpler – discomfort with a restaurant that asked for your presence.
Corcoran runs the kitchen, drawing on six years of cooking in the Basque Country and four years in Paris. He owns the restaurant with two friends – Lady Frances von Hofmannsthal (née Armstrong-Jones), who looks after the room and also publishes Luncheon magazine, and Oisín Davies, who bakes the bread.
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Some rooms carry a feeling that goes beyond what’s in them. It isn’t just the colour on the walls – though here, it’s the yellow of unsalted butter – or the light, which is soft and forgiving. It’s something less visible. You cross the threshold and feel yourself ease.
There are white paper tablecloths with small jars of loosely arranged rosebuds, buttercups and daisies. Pictures are mismatched – a map of Ireland, black-and-white prints of Samuel Beckett, Brendan Behan and Lenin – hung with casual care.
The kitchen is visible from our table, the two chefs chatting quietly as they plate at the counter, a few pots, a single stove, and shelves of glassware. There’s a gentleness to the room – as if someone had made it with the hope that you might read more Elizabeth David.
A blackboard lists the day’s dishes, written in cursive chalk beneath the date ‘16th June, 1904′. There’s egg mayonnaise, ox tongue with green sauce, seafood chowder, hotpot, beef and parsnip pie for two, and three desserts.
There’s no printed wine list – Corcoran pours what he loves, then talks you through it. It feels generous, not prescriptive.
But it’s a hot day, so it will be water (£4) and wine by the glass (£10) – a Savoie white, a cloudy Loire chenin, and a bright young Burgundy – all poured generously.
[ Baba’de restaurant review: You won’t eat like this anywhere else in IrelandOpens in new window ]
Lunch begins with half-moons of boiled egg (£9), firm yolks just giving way, on a thick spoon of yellow mayonnaise. The mayonnaise tastes like it was made minutes before, and the eggs are cold – not chilled. It makes a strong case for the underrated brilliance of boiled eggs and emulsified fat.
Waxy new potatoes – properly salted and cooked to a tender firmness – are tumbled with green peas and long stalks of watercress (£14), lightly dressed.
We relax into the room, into its friendly blur of talk – a mix of tourists and regulars – as we wait for our mains. Corcoran is in deep conversation with a table for four, opening bottles he ordered with them in mind.
The seafood chowder (£20) reveals itself as quiet comfort, cloaked in herbs and cream: chunks of white fish and scallops, with greens and soft potato, all held in a butter-light sauce. The balance, the restraint, the seasoning – it speaks of someone who cooks with quiet precision and no urge to show off.
The Lancashire hotpot (£25) appears. Slices of potato browned at the edges sit over pieces of tender lamb, carrots, peas and onions. The broth is thin but full of depth, slow-cooked with assurance.
We order dessert, then Lady Frances reappears about 15 minutes later with an apology. The soufflé has not turned out as planned, they will not be serving it. Would we like something else? At the next table a spoon cracks the brûlée, its top evenly torched. But today feels like a day for strawberries (£9), a bowl of hulled berries lounging in a pool of red wine.
For the most controversial restaurant in London, The Yellow Bittern is disarmingly lovely. There’s no pretension. The pricing is honest, the wines are poured with generosity and a modest profit, and the people are kind. If this is radical – asking you to be present, to pay fairly, to take your time – then maybe we need more of it.
Lunch for two with two bottles of water and three glasses of wine was £115 (€130).
The verdict Just go. Book the 2pm sitting and have a glorious long lunch with your pals.
Food provenance Henderson’s fish and shellfish, Swale Dale beef, vegetables from Shrub and garden, and Mike’s Fancy Cheese.
Vegetarian options Limited.
Wheelchair access No accessible room or toilet.
Music None.
