Food > The Big Eat Out: or IN

Brix and Bones

09/04/22

68 London Street. If you’re not familiar with that address, let me sum it up: there is more tantalisingly good stuff happening in that tower of rooms than many cities would deliver in whole streets or postcodes. On the bottom you have Gonzo’s Tea Room, a burger slinging, poutine serving eatery by day, dancefloor mecca by night. Just above, Gonzo’s Two Room, with arguably the best soundsystem in Norwich and a calendar of DJs that punches above its 200-cap (I’m guessing) weight. Just this month they welcome Maribou State in a run of standout gigs. Climb to the Rooftop terrace and you’re greeted with a space that begs you to leave your emotional baggage at the door, grab a couple of cocktails and if you’re lucky, lose yourself to the music of visitors like Horse Meat Disco (this Thursday - don’t miss it).

And then Brix and Bones… nestled right between these various dens of (beautiful) iniquity, they decided to slot in a boutique little restaurant called Brix and Bones. Being very well acquainted with most other nooks and crannies of that building, I was delighted to get the chance to review this missing piece. 

If I hadn’t gleaned from the name, Brix and Bones nails its flag to the mast of coal-fired cooking and a nose-to-tail respect for meat. Just a few steps into the restaurant and that’s immediately obvious. There is an aromatic smokiness and a row of glass-fronted air dryers, housing a hung pig and racks of beef. It’s like a carnivore’s red light district; your evening’s indulgence dancing in the windows tempting you to commit. 

I sat at the bar, ordered a big glass of Primitivo and started pouring over the menu. How was I going to decide? The menu, although streamlined in number of choices, piqued my interest with every option. Head chef, George Wood (formerly of Soho barbecue restaurant, Temper) gallantly took on the mantle when I coyly asked him if he wanted to choose for me. Let me tell you, that was the right decision. 

I usually try to surmise at the end of a review, but let’s put our cards on the table: what is to follow is an attempt to do justice to one of the most exciting, most exceptional meals I’ve had in a long time. I’ll level with you; a few years back I watched every cooking show, planned city breaks around restaurants, bought every (expensive) copy of cult food magazine, Lucky Peach. But of late, food had got samey, boring and even good (great) meals weren’t giving me that hit I craved. I have been chasing the culinary dragon, and I was finally getting my fix.

Facing the kitchen, I had a great view of those open-coals, the rows and rows of mason jars of homemade ferments and ketchups, dry curing sausages and salamis hung from the ceiling – but what came out first was surprisingly delicate looking: prawn toast with burnt lime togarashi. Lord. Jesus be a toasted shrimp because that first bite has left stigmata on my taste buds. If I meditate a while, I think I can fully recollect that alchemy of flavours; the salty shrimp, sharp lime – tempered with its smoky, charred edges  – the heat from the Japanese togarashi 7-spice that I love stinging my lips. Man, I saw that starter off so quick. 

Next, a blood-red beetroot tartare, topped with a single duck egg yolk was a joy to plunge your knife through. The yolk cast a silky robe over the multi-textured beetroot, which had been cooked three ways, but it was the mix of ember oil and fennel cracker crumb (we’ll see more of him later for pud) that rounded it all off with crunch and a slight sweetness. 

Tipping my cap to the pig hung up in its glass tomb to my right, the pigs’ head taco was a little parcel of flavour that instantly made me think of Samin Nosrat’s best-selling book, ‘Salt. Fat. Acid. Heat’. Nosrat attests that it’s these four pillars that make up good cooking, and she makes her way round the world exploring restaurants who champion them. I think she’d love it here. Delicate pickling and a crunch from what i’m assuming was their curried pork scratchings (also on the menu) cut through the rich meat.

On to the mains and I was served the most delicate piece of red mullet sat on a BBQ fennel gravy. I hope it doesn’t make you doubt how much I enjoyed the fish if I say it was actually the side dish of sprouting broccoli, wild garlic sauce and hazelnuts that had my pupils dilate on every bite. It’s just that there was more thought in this side dish than most restaurants afford their main courses.

Next, (yes, I’m still eating my way through chef Wood’s suggestions, coming thick and fast), I was delighted by the confidence of the kitchen who told me my pork chop would be served medium. If you’re in any doubt, pork doesn’t have to be cooked until it assumes the rubber-like properties you’re used to. It comes down the attention of the kitchen, who know both inherently and scientifically what the temperature of safe-to-eat meat is. 

It’s a good time to tell you that the pork, like the rest of Brix’ produce, was wearing its origins on a chalkboard hung up in the restaurant that told you which providores were responsible for each ingredient, even down to the fruit and veg. The pig was a Norfolk black, sourced locally, of course. It was the Korean pesto though – KOREAN PESTO! – that had my heart. How can I ever pick up a jar of Sainsbury’s green pesto sludge again when I have had my head turned by something unforgettable?

Do I have room for pudding? Christ, no. But can I turn down another opportunity to see what the knowledgeable, poetic chefs I see in front of me have to offer? Also, Christ, no.

I should be talking to you about the goats cheese ice cream, beetroot coulis and fennel cracker tasted like (a fun move, smashing the cheese board into the pudding), but I was told I needed to try the bone marrow fudge sauce that usually oozes out of their signature donut. Oh, alright. I dip my spoon in that sauce and I’m drunk. Oh. My. Days. I’m not a sweet lover but you couldn’t fail to be intoxicated by the creamy (that’s the emulsifying bone marrow for you) unctuous pot in front of me. 

I didn’t tell you about the steaks that I didn’t try, but Brix are famous for; I didn’t tell you about the cocktails that I saw being tested and crafted in front of me; I didn’t tell you about the vibe - like walking into Hotel Costes with Stephane Pompougnac on the decks. The truth is, despite the many dishes I was so kindly offered to try, I didn’t scratch the surface, and I can’t wait to return. 

I guess the sign of a good meal is who you tell. I resisted the urge half way through the meal to text every foodie friend I have to implore them to visit if they hadn’t already. And I implore you: go and discover the magic they’re serving at 68 London Street, from top to bottom, nose to tail. 

Checkout more info on Chef Wood here