EATING OUT

A new London cafe named after a courtesan? In a pocket of still-seedy Soho? Tom is game

Cafe Kitty at Underbelly sounds as Soho-sleazy as it comes. Albeit coincidentally. Because despite its coquettish name (with shades of Tinto Brass’s Salon Kitty), and a nod to the area’s murky past (‘London’s dark underbelly’ etc), the café is an offshoot of Kitty Fisher’s, in Mayfair (itself named after a famous courtesan), above a theatre run by, you’ve guessed it, Underbelly, that renowned ‘live entertainment’ outfit.

But it sits in one of those last pockets of old Soho, with the sex shops flogging ‘marital aids’, and the handwritten ‘model upstairs’ cards stuck to grimy walls at the bottom of shabby staircases.

All watched over by the nudgenudge, wink-wink neon of the Raymond Revuebar sign. It’s just past 2.30 on a glum Tuesday afternoon and the restaurant is all but empty. No real surprises there, as this is essentially a night-time venue. Still, the service is lovely, the banquettes comfortable and the food really rather good.

Devilled eggs, now ubiquitous on snack menus across the country, have an oozing confit yolk and a good whack of cayenne, too. ‘Very’ welsh rarebit (so named, somewhat puzzlingly, for its liberal use of Tabasco) uses sliced white

A good club sandwich always fills me with joy. This one’s a belter

bread, as is right and proper, is generous on the cheese, well browned and bubbling. There are croquettes filled with ’nduja and roquefort, a strident, spicy mouthful. And boneless buffalochicken bits, expertly deep-fried, with a buttery piquant sauce and a mellow, cooling stilton dressing. ‘Wings for people who don’t want to get messy,’ says my friend Joe.

He says I can have the line for free. Joe is a most generous man.

Scallops, plump, fresh and cooked just under, sit beneath a crunchy, herby, grilled Rockefeller topping. I think it works better here than it does on oysters but then I’ve never been a fan of hot rocks.

A good club sandwich always fills me with joy, and despite lacking any egg, this one’s a belter. Three layers of thin white toast with roast chicken, melted cheese and, best of all, a few slices of Pete Hannan’s magnificent bacon. You

can also order his ’Double B’ sirloin steak, for me one of the best there is. That’s for next time. Instead, we gnaw a couple of herb-crusted lamb chops, perky and pink, order another bottle of wine and gossip like fishwives, while Soho gets on with its business below us.

About £30 per head. Cafe Kitty, Underbelly Boulevard Soho, 6 Walker’s Court, London W1; underbellyboulevard.com

‘On a Tuesday at 2.30 it is all but empty,’ says Tom, ‘but the food is really good’