A lunch-only restaurant in King’s Cross where old-school charm and no-card payments still reign supreme …
Named after an 18th-century Irish poem about a bird unable to crack the ice for a drink, The Yellow Bittern is a restaurant that takes nostalgia seriously. You could call it old-fashioned, but that would undersell its deliberate eccentricity. When it opened in late 2024, it was the most talked-about table in London. Chef Hugh Corcoran ignited controversy when he took to Instagram to chastise diners for not spending enough. The post sent the internet into meltdown and, for a while, it appeared as if a line had been drawn. Predictably, bookings soared. Devotees include Nigella Lawson, Darina Allen and Fiona Beckett; Jay Rayner adored the roast pork, but was unmoved by the potato and leek soup. The response captured the restaurant’s appeal – divisive, opinionated and entirely true to itself.
Simple Pleasures
Corcoran runs The Yellow Bittern with Oisín Davies, who bakes the bread, and Lady Frances Armstrong-Jones, who manages front of house and publishes Luncheon magazine. Between them, they’ve built something that feels clever, yet humble and defiantly non-conformist – a single-room restaurant with an open kitchen, seating just 18, open for one weekday lunch sitting only.
There are no online bookings, only phone calls and postcards, and the restaurant accepts cash only. In an age of contactless everything, this obstinacy feels almost radical.
By the time we arrived, the room was already full. It’s small but elegant, with a faintly domestic warmth, all chatter and clinking glassware, the air filled with steamy warmth from the bubbling pots in the open kitchen. On a damp afternoon, it was difficult to imagine anywhere more welcoming – it felt less like a restaurant and more like someone’s dining room.
It’s Not “Only Lunch”
The blackboard menu offers a set four-course lunch for £50. Once upon a time, there was choice; now there is none. Optional extras (half a dozen oysters or a cheese plate) are £20 apiece. There’s a certain liberation in surrendering all decision-making, though I did feel a pang for the rumoured pies of old. The mushroom vol-au-vent was buttery, deeply savoury and went a long way towards consolation. Corcoran, clean-shaven and softly spoken, moved between stove and table with practised ease, topping up glasses, chatting to guests, keeping an eye on pots behind him. There is a rare lack of theatre, just quiet confidence and calm hospitableness.
Lunch began with the now-famous wheaten bread, thick-cut and still warm from the oven. Then a vegetable and bean broth, clear and comforting, the sort of dish that feels restorative and hearty in equal measure. Next came the vol-au-vent, all flaky pastry and umami depth. Then the roast pork – a generous cut, served with slow-cooked onions and a green salad. The meat was tender, flavoursome and perfectly seasoned, though I couldn’t help thinking it cried out for a few floury potatoes to mop up the juices. But that’s the Irish answer. To drink, Corcoran recommended a La Musa Nebbiolo from Irish winemaker Deirdre O’Brien, which turned out to be the perfect partner: light, aromatic and dangerously moreish.
Cheese, Moss And Other Mysteries
Dessert was Carrageen Moss pudding with blackberries, a traditional Irish seaweed set cream that tends to divide opinion. I admired its intent more than its texture, though the blackberries were spectacular. Truthfully, my attention had long since wandered to the cheese trolley, which had been winking at me since I sat down. The all-Irish line-up featured Young Buck and St Tola Ash, both excellent. The absence of crackers was both infuriating and, mercifully, limiting. We were offered more bread, but even I have limits.
A glass of Aptekarsky aquavit finished the meal neatly; just bracing enough to send us back into the drizzle, well-fed and mildly dazed.
Verdict
The Yellow Bittern is a restaurant out of time – self-assured and entirely uninterested in modern convenience. As unassuming as it might appear to be, there’s an admirable confidence in the entire operation. Some will find it maddening; others, quietly thrilling. For me, it was as comforting as a pair of fur-lined slippers, though infinitely more satiating.