Dining Out 004: Yasmin
Dinner in Soho.
A rooftop bar is basic. It’s the “pineapple on pizza” question, it’s calling Beyoncé “Queen Bey”, it is Hinge*. We all know this.
But here is something else we know: once you are actually up on a rooftop bar – it’s a Bank Holiday weekend; the sun is on your shoulders as you slurp up so much Aperol that you might as well be receiving it intravenously – there’s no denying that it does feel pretty good. Like, as annoying as it is, being made to do cheerses for photos “with the Gherkin in the background!” by your one mate who is ironically obsessed with Boomerangs, you do look sexy in your sunglasses actually, and you are enjoying your panoramic view of London Town!
I’ve been to them elsewhere, but in my experience, rooftop bars do feel like quite “London” as a phenomenon, in the UK at least, I suppose owing to the ubiquity of the skyline. As such, I’ve noticed that across the city, these places share some similarities – cocktails, self-consciously cool Balearic soundtrack – which can also be extended to their food offerings. Their menus tend to conform to one of the city’s favourite dining styles.
Indeed, most of the time, what we think of as rooftop bars are actually rooftop small plates restaurants, though that’s not especially catchy. The food might not always be the main event, but it is certainly what keeps bums on seats, as the owners of the bums luxuriate and, crucially, order loads and loads of drinks. The dishes, then, tend to skew uncomplicated, while also feeling creative enough to pique interest, with a nod towards ingredient trends and seasonality. It is, in fairness, a tricky balance to get right.
All of this is quite well done at Yasmin, a new rooftop bar and restaurant in Soho. Last week, my friend Tom and I went along on one of the press nights, and we had a really good time. The weather was pretty overcast, so we didn’t get to see the place firing on all cylinders, but I’m sure if the sun was shining I’d have been ready to pack my cases and move in.
The dishes on offer at Yasmin are allegedly inspired by the executive chef’s time living in Istanbul (that chef, Tom Cenci, also heads up the kitchens at Nessa, a British restaurant, and Mortimer House Kitchen, an Italian, which are both in Soho, too). On the menu are interesting dips, and salads that make your tastebuds hum, served alongside skewers of meats, fish and vegetables, as well as some bigger plates. It’s great food to drink with on a hot day, and I think this is the best metric by which to consider Yasmin.
I think at this juncture – you and I are friends by now, I hope, and this is my first time talking to you about somewhere brand new – it might be helpful for me to talk a bit about how I think about the places I go to. When I am mulling over what makes a restaurant effective, I often think about the legendary film critic Roger Ebert (sorry, not to start a discussion about The Nature and Purpose of Criticism when I’m truly about to bang on about sesame seed hummus, but just let me cook for a second.) Ebert was one of the first critics of anything I ever read seriously. A central tenet of his mode of criticism was that in the absence of objectivity, which of course nobody can actually claim, you should think about whether the thing you are considering will be of use to its intended audience, and to what degree. He is, of course, not the only critic who uses this framework, but he’s the one I call to mind most.
“When you ask a friend if Hellboy is any good, you're not asking if it's any good compared to Mystic River,” Ebert wrote in 2004, “you're asking if it's any good compared to The Punisher.” I think this is a pretty great thing to apply to restaurants, and it felt especially handy for me as I was trying to decide what I thought of Yasmin.
What I mean by this is that it goes without saying that London is, obviously, full of excellent Turkish restaurants. If it is an ocakbaşı you are after, you are frankly spoiled for choice (if you are in the market for a specific recommendation, my knee jerk response would be an obvious one: get yourself and a friend down to FM Mangal, order a Set 1 and ascend accordingly). It would, though, be silly to think that Yasmin is even trying to compete with places like that, and it wouldn’t be helpful to compare them. It is doing something different, in that I suppose it is seeking to put a spin on the usual Burrata And Croquettes fare that dominates on your common or garden variety rooftop. And in that respect, it is doing a pretty good job.
Yasmin is up on the roof of 1 Warwick, which is a members club, though anyone can visit the restaurant (I wouldn’t be talking about it otherwise, because I think London members club culture is, frankly, Not For Me**). After a quick pit-stop for a pint at Epcot (otherwise known as The Devonshire), Tom and I took the lift up to the sixth floor, and were welcomed through the restaurant doors. The decor inside is plush, and the main focus of the room is a long bar lined with pink velvet stools, that look kind of like what Lola Bunny would have in front of her boudoir mirror. The main outer wall is all window, and outside there’s that terrace, with parasols in a neat row over the tables.
We were seated at the back of the restaurant, on a small table near the long window, and served a sharing menu that came out in four courses. The first dishes were za’atar crisps (the type I’d smash by the fistful on a European beach somewhere), a soft flatbread, hummus in a peanut dressing, and whipped sheep’s cheese with hot honey and isot pepper, which is a type of thickly textured dried chilli, almost like a breadcrumb.
All of this was great grazing food, which we ate as we drank cocktails (a round of Shapashes – one of the house drinks, which is a take on a margarita with watermelon, chilli and green strawberry added, making it a bit more relaxed than the classic), which, presumably, is the intended way to eat and drink at Yasmin. The sheep’s cheese was, for me, the best, because of the contrast between the salty cheese and the honey, though I am willing to accept that this is because I’m currently hot honey-pilled and will order absolutely anything that includes it. I am sometimes a bit miserly about “viral” ingredients and dishes – one of the sides at Yasmin is cucumber with chilli crisp which, fine as it is, is too much TikTok for my liking in this context – but I do reserve my right to be biased when it comes to hot honey. I would, for example, rather die than eat a banana, but if you put hot honey on it, I would at least stop screaming at you.
Next up I drank a Horizon – a sort of spritz, made with Luxardo Bianco, Cocchi Americano, plum and Prosecco, which was properly refreshing – and the next course arrived at the table. We had strawberry and feta salad, with tomatoes for a slightly more measured sweetness, which was perfectly pleasant, and basically did as you’d expect. On a hot afternoon, I’d say it’d be a boon. Unfortunately for this salad, however, it came alongside what was, emphatically, the best dish of the night.
It was pretty simple, to be honest: sumac smoked duck breast, its skin charred dark, the flesh pink. Served in thin strips across a corn salad, heavy with vinegary mayonnaise and spring onion, it put me in mind of an extremely “elevated” version of the flavours I love at a barbecue: the sear from a grill, and the would-be-horrible-if-it-weren’t-so-tasty creaminess of potato salad. Considering the summery vibe of both the restaurant and the menu, I liked that there was a tiny nod towards the great British summer too – specifically to the tradition of wearing a Kiss the Chef apron, cremating all fuck out of some sausages, and raiding the Tesco cold deli aisle, as soon as it gets to 16 degrees – on this very pretty plate.
The third course was ostensibly the main. We had each of the house skewers – one with za’atar spiced mushrooms, one with salmon and green olives, and a third with lamb rump and pomegranate molasses (drinks-wise I think we swapped to wine at this point but, as was the case in instalment 001, all I can reliably tell you is that it was a Chardonnay, because I made Tom choose. I promise to do a Dining Out soon where I am much more respectful towards Wine, The Concept Thereof than I have been thus far). The lamb was a little bit fatty, and the mushrooms didn’t grab me, but I thought the salmon was really good, blackened on the outside. The olives, obviously, didn’t relieve the saltiness of the fish; they doubled down on it, deliciously so. The skewers were served with a couple of sides (batata harra, the aforementioned chilli crisp cucumber), and though we were eating them on a cold Wednesday in April, I saw how, in the context of a warm, bright evening or lunchtime, they’d be exactly what you might fancy, kind of like a glam version of “picky bits for tea”.
Finally, pudding came in the shape of a Turkish Delight cheesecake, which was good, if a little light on the Delight, and pistachio ice cream with some baklava shards, which I preferred just because I’m a sucker for syrup, so sweet it makes your throat hurt (although it does have to be said: you can’t leave the house in London without having a pistachio dessert thrust in front of you at the minute). The whole thing all together was, for all intents and purposes, a very complete-feeling meal and a fun night, and I am very rarely asking for more than that.
I think, by the Ebert metric, Yasmin is good at what it does. On the London rooftop bar/restaurant spectrum, it’s certainly on the chilled end – more Forza at the NT than Frank’s – and the drinks, especially, were great. I can’t wait to get burned while I neck a Horizon on the terrace as soon as the sun is out, ideally while I tug some za’atar crisps through a bowl of whipped cheese. I will say, however, that some of the prices very much reflect that You Are In Soho, so it’s probably best for a warm weather blowout when you’re feeling flush (though in cases like that duck dish, however, priced at £15, I’d happily pay, and probably will at some point soon because I can’t get it out of my head, like a maddening crush but about a plate of meat).
Obviously, if you’re looking for an elite mixed shish, I’d have to direct you elsewhere. I know that, you know that, and Yasmin knows that. But if you just got paid, the weather forecast is saying “shorts”, and you’d like to order a few unusual small plates to go with really good cocktails in the sun on a roof in Soho? Well then, step right this way.
This visit was arranged by the good people at Tonic Communications; I didn’t pay but obviously all thoughts are my authentic truth.
* And it’s possible I’m saying this because I have had this wretched app back for about a week, heaven help me, and have of course already seen about 27 profile pictures in the Frank’s pink stairwell.
** Unless of course you are talking about Trisha’s – which, due to the fuss made by a load of freaks who moved to Soho and expected central London to be silent and village-like at all times, technically now has to have a members system – where I would like to be one day buried.
Dining Out is written by Lauren O’Neill and illustrated by Lucy Letherland. It’s free to read every Thursday, but if you’d like to support what we do, you can do so here. To receive Dining Out directly to your inbox, subscribe via the button below:
See you next week!