I visited Whytes during the final week of its London residency, before the team — led by founder Whyte Rushton (Brat, Skully St James, Kerridges) — jetted off on a global tour until November 25th. Happily, it’s been heavily hinted that they’ll return to their London home.

The pop-up sat in a snug venue tucked inside a strangely futuristic shopping centre — the kind better suited to hair salons and flats than a restaurant. However, the restaurant itself very much fulfilled the vibe you’d want from a cool London pop-up. Low lighting, bare concrete walls, open kitchen. Most of the space was taken up by the kitchen, with bar seating wrapped around it and a scattering of tables. Dining solo (a recurring theme), I took a seat at the bar — my favourite spot for watching the kitchen double as evening entertainment.

The service deserves a special mention — warm, attentive, and genuinely memorable. My server was a young woman who was, incredibly, 8 months pregnant (She assured me that she was not travelling with the pop-up departed on its tour). She was an absolute delight to speak to, and we had a few conversations throughout the evening about babies and wine and food that I found charming — an excellent addition to my experience.

A Hinge match I never met recommended Whytes — one of those odd little exchanges where you follow each other on Instagram, the chat dies, and then... nothing. No hard feelings. Just digital ghosts haunting each other’s feeds until one quietly unfollows the other into the metaphorical beyond.

My ghost had an obvious affection for Whytes, dining there three times over a couple of weeks—an obsession that piqued my curiosity. After sliding into their DMs to ask for a recommendation, they were quick to suggest the Full English. Something about the idea of having breakfast for dinner felt whimsically appealing, so that’s exactly what I ordered. I did ask my server for her take, though, and she mentioned either the Full English or the fried chicken with clotted cream mash and bone marrow gravy—both sounded tempting, but I couldn’t resist the charm of the English breakfast twist.

If there’s an oyster on the menu, I’m ordering it — non-negotiable. Whytes’ version was a Rockefeller remix: oyster and snail, aged Comté, Monster Munch (yes, really), and Café de Paris butter. A bold combo. It was tasty, though with that much flair I expected something more memorable. Honestly, I might’ve preferred a classic oyster — especially with the richness of everything else I ate. Still, I appreciate a bit of flamboyant risk-taking.

Next up was the cheeky English Breakfast-for-dinner — a refined, elevated spin on a dish that usually conjures more builder’s café on a hangover than sexy London dining. A playful choice for the pop-up, it could have veered into gimmick territory, but the quality spoke for itself. The plate featured a maple-glazed bacon chop, black pudding, cassoulet beans, confit winter raf tomato, and a silky egg yolk.

This was comfort food made high-brow, and arguably worth the £36 price tag. The bacon chop (essentially a fancy pork chop) was an incredibly tender and sizeable hunk of meat, packed with flavour. It had the heartiness you’d expect from a traditional fry-up, but the subtle complexity of the maple glaze gave it a gentle lift. I’m not usually one for sweet notes in savoury dishes, but this was so well-balanced I couldn’t help but enjoy it — the sweetness brought out the lightly smoky, full-bodied umami of the meat beautifully. The black pudding (generally a favourite of mine) was luxurious, melt-in-the-mouth smooth; the beans, creamy in texture, cut through by the sweet, very mildly tartness of the tomato (most of the sharpness removed, I’m sure, through the confit process), finished off by the silky richness of the egg yolk. I’m sure you can gather from this description, I was completely stuffed after polishing off the whole thing. I wouldn’t call it anything close to a light bite, and I may have benefited from a partner to tackle this (somewhat) small plate. Still room for dessert, though.

For dessert, I finally tried a Basque cheesecake — a classic I’d somehow never gotten around to. It was the safest option by far (the others: chocolate ice cream with coffee and crickets, or a cheese plate of Brillat-Savarin, Old Gouda, honey and hobnobs). In hindsight, maybe I should’ve gone bolder. Still, it was dense and satisfyingly rich — tangier than I expected, with a savoury edge that, paired with crème fraîche, made for a surprisingly light finish.

Whytes was one of those dinners that lodges itself into your memory not just for the food, but for the warmth, the quirks, and the fleetingness of it all. The team may be off gallivanting around the world for now, but this short-lived residency left a lasting impression — a confident, characterful showing of playful food, served with heart, in a space that felt like a secret worth knowing. If the whispers are true and they return to London come November, I’d happily go back — though next time, I might just brave the crickets.

Review: Whytes

Quick Bites: Boro Bistro