We all probably have a somewhat idealised vision of what we our perfect neighbourhood restaurant ought to look like. 28 Church Row (its address as well as the restaurant’s name), located just off Hampstead’s main drag, is a strong candidate, offering generally comforting food in an intimate but relaxed setting.
You could almost miss the venue since its somewhat austere exterior provides no hint of what to expect on arrival. Diners descend a spiral staircase and then have to confront an awkward entrance before being welcomed into an underground cavern. 28 Church Row’s culinary angle is ostensibly Mediterranean and while this was not always evident to your reviewer, certainly the vibe of the restaurant would not have been out of place in either Spain or Italy. There’s an air of relaxed chic. Locals were sitting propped on bar stools shooting the breeze and snacking on small dishes (the ubiquitous tapas angle being heavily deployed here). From our comfy corner table, we could survey all the action. On an early midweek night, 28 was busier than might have been expected, which speaks to how they clearly must be doing something right. Beyond the main bar/dining area, there is an additional space, away from the action, but perhaps suited for quitter circumstances.
Food-wise, the quality of a venue’s bread often acts as a template for what to expect elsewhere. Here, it is brought to the table gratis and the menu highlights that it is made by ‘the bread lady NW3’ – another nice local touch. It was moist without being heavy and acted as a great substance with which to mop up the oil from several of the dishes. 28 Church Row was on safe ground in its delivery of classic Spanish tapas offerings (olives, a charcuterie board and anchovies), all of which were comfortably above average. However, when the chef went somewhat more off-piste, the quality also deteriorated, in our opinion. I’m normally an octopus fan, but here, the stifado (onion) sauce and fava cream felt heavy-handed and out of balance, undermining the texture of the octopus. An artichoke offering similarly fell wide of the mark. To an extent, it didn’t matter too much given the fun we had, the joy of the ambience and the sheer number of dishes that came to the table. Everything was helped along by a wonderful bottle of white from the Alto Adige (made by the Terlano cooperative) and chosen from an intelligent and eclectic list. 28 did redeem itself from the two meat options with which we ended. Pulled rabbit was a genius conception, especially when paired with gnocchi. Meanwhile, the pictured chicken liver and rice parcel, wrapped in filo, looked as good as it tasted. Pricing was inconsistent across the meal (rabbit undervalued, octopus overvalued – for example), but it was all part of the joy of a good neighbourhood venue. Rules sometimes matter less than providing a great experience.