Campania & Jones
Campania and Jones, Columbia Road, London
Just off Columbia Road lies an enchanted cobbled street, curiously snaking its way round the bend. If you’ve ever seen it, you won’t have forgotten it. Ezra Street, with it’s ricketiness and wonky thatched buildings is a marvel, and the closest I’ll ever come to being cast as the busty landlady in a revival of Oliver.
It’s on this street that you can find a building marked S. Jones. You would be forgiven for mistaking this restaurant - with its chipped wooden framing and elegant glass frontage - for a Victorian boot maker. But alas, it’s a restaurant. A restaurant called Campania and Jones.
The Vibe
The popularity of Campania and Jones is part of trend that t I like to call the Cottagecore wars. For those who are lucky enough to not know what Cottagecore is, it’s a lifestyle aesthetic that “celebrates an idealised vision of rural life". Popularised on Tumblr throughout the 2010’s, it centres on sexing up traditional rural clothing and crafts such as foraging and baking, and pottery. You may recognise some similar aesthetic movements such as grandmacore, goblincore, and faeriecore.
Yet this utopian vision of a farmyard paradise has not been restricted to cyberspace. As rural goes mainstream, London has been awash with restaurants trying to out farm-yard each other, battling it out to see who can have the most wax dripping of their candles, or the most mismatch chairs.
But in this war, Campania takes the proverbial homemade spelt biscuit. In what appears to be an actual barn, the space is unfathomably scant, yet still somehow cosy, making the farm that my WW2 evacuee Grandpa hid in look like The Ritz.
There’s an unquantifiable effortlessness in the beauty of Campania, typified in the way that its shutters rattled in the wind with the just the right amount of force. The service was just so and staff were knowledgeable on the season appropriate all Italian menu, without being pushy or aloof.
The only flip side to the ultra intimate setting, was that I was practically on the lap of a painfully drab yogi date sat next to me. Cue the next 15 minutes waiting for my companion, listening to yogi one drone on about how her meditation made her realise that she doesn’t really love her Dad.
The Food
But don’t get used to the glowing cliched platitudes, as from here on in, the meal descends into a sea of averageness.
It’s been a while since I’ve visited a restaurant with such great promise, and as I sat perusing the menu, with a beautifully light glass of Dettori Renosu Bianco, I thought I was in for a gastronomic wonder. Instead, course after course arrived that fell far below the exceedingly high bar Campania had set for itself.
The local Hackney bread was nice, but had a whiff of the ‘day olds’ about it. It didn’t give that chewy, salty, tingling punch that other great local breads deliver with ease - such as Pophams just down the road. Next brought my first taste of Gnudi, a ricotta filled pasta dish that falls between a Ravioli and Gnocchi. Served with a sage butter, it was enjoyable, if a little flat. If something is naughty I want it to be naughty you know what I mean?
A pleasant, if a little watery, pumpkin broth with fagioli and mussels rounded off our starters, before we were on to mains. I ordered my 100th beef shin ragu, and as such, was gifted a prize cow from Hackney City Council. On the ragu, I hate to sound like a complete tight ass - because I’m not - but at £20 I was expecting a main. In fact, I was told that it was a main. And in my head, a main should fill you up. I could count 8, maybe 10 ribbons of pappardelle tops. I also expect ragu at this level to be meltingly soft, yet I found the chunks of beef to be chewy and cumbersome. Campania even made a side dish of Cavolo Nero feel a little sad.
The one redeeming moment in this soliloquy of disappointment was an outstanding tiramisu which balanced the timeless trio of mascarpone, sponge and coffee, to perfection. Oh how I wish the entire meal had the same level of enduring Italian flair.
The Verdict
Yes, minimalism can be stylish, cool and no frills. But minimalism can also be sparse, unaware and, in the case of Campania, a little mean.
When I think of Italy, I think of how indulgence can be found in the simplest of ingredients. Campania has simplicity down in its recipe for success… they just need to add a little bit of indulgence.
Was the food stunning 3/5 – Under-seasoned and a bit mean
The Vibe 5/5 – Very sexy in a Call Me By your Name meets Soho Farmhouse meets Groundforce kind of way
Scream factor 3/5 - The whole restaurant is equal parts beautiful and ridiculous
Pricey? – Needed to be better to warrant the price
Would you recommend to someone you just met at a party? – I actually probably would, if only to experience the exquisite setting