London plane trees shudder in the faltering evening sun, a man with a boombox and military beret struts by playing Jungle, and we've snagged one of the best seasonal tables in the city.
Let me tell you a story: Ernesto Gabriel, bearded and beaming, opened Table 464 a year ago. Although "opened" is putting it mildly, he birthed, crafted and built every inch (apart from the new wooden doors): taps, clouds of grey spackling, exposed bricks erupting like leopard spots, figured wooden tables and bar, the blooming lot. In the early days he advertised for front of house and gathered Francesca from an advert stuck to the old doors. He would arrive, continue building the restaurant and then leap into the kitchen and go on creating. If that doesn't deserve flowers I don't know what does. Francesca now runs the drinks offering, ranging in price from £6 to £60; the wine list is three times the size of the food menu. So as the dappled light caresses our faces we spring for a Breton Crémant de Loire, and the world looks suddenly a smidgen brighter.
The menu changes sometimes weekly with wines themed to match the atmospheric pressure and local demand "around here they want orange, pet nats etc…" Fran says.
Start with homemade bread with clotted cream butter, brought to you warm by a real Italian (Francesca) in a space handmade by a man who genuinely cares. Then come the summer salads: little red pearls of skinned tomatoes tang at us in lime vinaigrette, pickling with disks of cucumbers. This is one of the few times where I say ‘order both salads’. The pickled watermelon is perfectly situated between the sweet and savoury, nodes of ricotta lend their creaminess, radish and big purple leaves offer crunch. Pick and pilfer to your heart's content.
What do you associate with summer in London? Barbecue smoke? Unbearable tube journeys? You were right with the first one, grilled octopus is treated sparsely. Flaming funk, coconut and confit fennel add the lightest medicinal lick and greens and sea herbs clump on the side, but it's the cephalopod's twisting arms that are front and centre. A chicken wing skewer just collapses under its own weight and tenderness off the spear, onto a bed of wakame, a dollop of shiitake mayo and a flint of skin-crisp. Kelp might seem more fitting with the oceanic dish, but the Japanese-inspired chicken sauce not only works but captivates. Pork loin chop is the other main, a slab of again nicely burned flesh, with capers on top and spiralised courgettes sliding around next door, a little expected considering the inspiration of the chicken and sea creature course.
Sink back, pleased with yourself, and have the recommended Terras Gauda Albariño - pear, melon and subtle white spices - or a Botivo and tonic, you've chosen well. Well almost. The Jersey Potatoes are a little swampy in their butter, looking very much like a side, but at a pound a spud, and arriving "when ready", meaning before the mains they would pair well with. The only dessert, the trifle, has tubes of black pepper meringue, like the casing of long-dead Martian microbes and a cakey, white chocolate centre, but with jelly mixed in. I warn you fellow adults, just have a dessert wine instead.
Ordering all seven dishes on the menu comes to £52 per person (before drinks and service charge); that will satiate entirely, and you can make eye contact with the two people your money is going to. Your next summer obsession is here, now begins the scramble for those two tree-shaded tables, racers, on your marks, get set, GO!
Table 464
464 Kingsland Road
London E8 4AE
