Everything has the feeling of a gentle caress rather than a whack over the head with a flamethrower

Time Out

a day ago

While there are no shortage of live fire restaurants in the capital - from small plates at Dalston's trendy Acme Fire Cult to whopping great slabs of cow at the City's pricey Ibai - there are few who wear their smokey status so coyly as Cinder, which has the honour of a nomination for Best Local Restaurant of the Year. Where many chefs wield their Josper grills like an upmarket version of your dad at the barbecue, restaurateur Jake Finn poetically describes his wares as being 'kissed by the flames'.
The second outpost of his enterprise, following the teeny, 18 cover Belsize Park original, Cinder's St. John's Wood branch is even daintier; all vintage tiling, sage green hues and exposed, dusky pink plasterwork. Individual booths are curtained off like a chic French bistro, while a massive framed Lego artwork should feel out of place but somehow doesn't. With the sun pouring in and a bustling terrace of diners out front, it underlines the idea that, despite picking a pair of ultra swanky north-west London neighbourhoods to take root in, Cinder still wants to feel relaxed: the fun mum at the barbecue who's topping up your prosecco, to continue the analogy.
Their sharing plates menu comes good on Finn's promise of a fiery smooch. Everything has the feeling of a gentle caress rather than a whack over the head with a flamethrower. There's homemade hunks of bread, grilled and served with a slippery confit garlic tahini dip and burnt tomato salsa, as well as charred yellow courgettes that retain their bite, draped with pine nuts and sat on a rich, creamy bed of stracciatella (burrata's less intense cousin). Burnt leeks are soft, unctuous and essentially a carrier for the mountain of pecorino and hazelnuts on top, while the BBQ octopus is an absolute winner: slathered in a sauce with just the right dose of spice and sat atop a pile of potato salad and pickles. It's like a posh seafood alternative to a chicken wing.
A larger plate of pull-apart braised sticky beef rib comes perched on its bone, just to show that Cinder can do big and meaty when they wish, while there are non-fired items to add a different flavour to the party too. We tried the spicy tuna ceviche, which came with lashings of a tomatoey, Bloody Mary-esque marinade that I would readily slurp by the bowlful like a gazpacho. If you go to Cinder, however, be prepared to slurp (or, at least, be sure to order the aforementioned bread). Finn is clearly not a fan of dipping vehicles and a lot of his dishes are of the fairly wet persuasion; I had to ask for a change of plate midway through to get rid of some leftover liquid.
Absolutely stuffed, we were told that the doughnuts here are a must. A trio of small sugar-dusted balls were perfectly nice - and served with an exceedingly good banoffee sauce - but I wouldn't skimp on the savoury section to save room for them. Instead, finish off with (or start off, or drink continuously throughout) their speciality margarita. Made with a burnt jalapeno paste that gives a perfect, smooth slow burn from the hint of smoke, it summarises the subtle brilliance of Cinder in a glass.