Walking down Golborne Road in the autumnal chill, the street was quiet in that way only October can be – crisp air, streetlights with a slight haze, the odd murmured conversation from inside narrow Victorian houses. Identifiable along the street by the empty outdoor seating, filled only by one smoker, Caia looks completely ordinary. But the moment the door swung open, the contrast was total: heat, light, the hiss of something searing over flame, a sudden shift in tempo.
Inside, it was full already. A glow from the open kitchen cast flickers across wine glasses, and the loud roster of murmurs, laughter and appreciation coming from every person filling a seat made the atmosphere undeniable. The best seats were at the bar, up close to the heat of the kitchen. You could feel it, smell it: grilled lamb, charred flatbread, citrus and shellfish and smoke. And beyond the pass, there was John Javier, calm as anything, plating like he was working in a silent room.
Tonight, Caia had handed the wine list to Newcomer Wines – Dalston-based, boundary-pushing, and fully embracing what Caia is achieving here. Their presence brought an extra pulse. Wines poured at pace, with flexible conversations working their way between tables. Suggestions, tasters and experiments all happening alongside the serving of exquisite food – everything felt just on the right side of untucked.
The food came fast but never rushed. Tearable, spiced and salty flatbread for scooping mountains of creamy, sea-rich bottarga taramasalata. Whole fried olives, stuffed with pork and prawn, sharp with brine and fat. Perfectly grilled lamb cutlets arrived slick with anchovy and white wine with a moreish chilli sauce for an added kick. A courgette carpaccio with stracciatella and pesto cooled things briefly – just long enough for the chef’s favourite to arrive. Red prawn and crab cream risotto. The perfect amount of bite from the rice with incredible sharp red prawn paste in every mouthful. The crab cream foam layered on top might not look the best, but rest assured, this dish is a crowd-pleaser.
Sweetbreads, oyster, steak tartare – the feast went on and the wine kept coming. And then the final turn. Lemon granita served in a lemon with burnt pear and honey cream was more than a cleanser. But it was the tiramisu – ube, matcha, white chocolate – that stole the last word.
Back outside, the street was exactly as it had been – dim, still, indifferent. Inside though, Caia had delivered the kind of evening that doesn’t need retelling to feel complete. John Javier’s new menu isn’t chasing attention; it’s built to hold it – quietly bold, tightly executed, and entirely at home in its setting.
