The exterior of Karpo looks incredible. Like a bag of Dolly Mixtures. Or box of felt tip pens. Inside, it whispers cafe in Frederichshain, or bar in Vesterbro: wooden benches, candlelit tables, a ‘living wall’ of plants, atrium, open kitchen. There’s a subterranean loungey-bar with books and cocktails, where we sipped a perfect Negroni. ‘In short’, declared Mrs Kentishtowner rather grandly, ‘this is where we shall now meet in King’s Cross.’
Seated by the living wall, we were thrilled to be served boxed white wine – yes, just like your gran back in the eighties. But granny’s tastebuds were never treated to a dry Sicilian number with big apricot flavours to accompany asparagus mousse with sorrel, mint, and peas. ‘It tastes like the perfect spring garden,’ said Mrs Kentishtowner, having one of her ‘leporine’ moments.
A richly battered Southern-fried quail with celeriac slaw was of Barrafina quality in simplicity and execution. There is, we believe, no higher compliment than this and weren’t surprised that the Head Chef Daniel Tayor is of north Carolina extraction. A dish to return for.
We continued with a smoky Gamay to accompany Turbot steak with herb dressed sorrel, its flesh chewy, tasty, meaty. Perhaps not one hundred percent successful, but quite complex and intriguing nonetheless.
The other main, rare Ryeland Lamb with artichokes and carrot, artfully thrown together on the plate, scored more highly: tender, sweet and earthy flavours lifted right up by some joyously scattered fresh mint.
‘Is it a bit too bright where we’re sitting?’ was Mrs Kentishtowner’s one concern as the evening wore on.
And it was true – the atrium and hot open kitchen conspired to make us think more daytime diner than romantic evening. But there are plenty of dark, candle-lit corners – next time, we think we’d nestle in one of them.
Fabulous desserts: bitter grapefruit granita and a creamy pistachio & rhubarb, Mrs Kentishtowner now happier than a ‘bulldog licking piss off a stinging nettle’ (she can be so coarse sometimes). But the climax was still to come: an orange and almond cake whose perfectly burnt denseness was offset by citrusy ice cream. ‘Like drugs’, were her last words, ‘for people who’ve given up drugs.’
It was quiet in there for a Thursday night, despite Twitter heat after a good Marina Metro review a day earlier. And the few solo guests from the adjoining hotel drifting in and out didn’t help the feeling of transience. If it had been up the road in Camden or Kentish Town, or eastwards towards Clerkenwell or Islington it’d be rammed. This is a place that deserves an audience.
But then again we like Karpo where it is, on stinky Euston Road opposite one of the great buildings of London. And like St Pancras, it’s winningly confident and experimental.
Three Courses & wine for two will set you back around £80.
Words & Pictures: Stephen Emms
2 thoughts on “The Big Review: Karpo, King’s Cross”
I was meeting a friend who I haven’t seen for ages. We both work in town. We both live
North.So deciding on Kings Cross (she’s on the Piccadilly Line and I’m on the Northern) we looked on the site and found this. Having seen its extraordinary exterior we ventured downstairs to the bar, ignored the absinthe (!) asked for wine that was dry, white, cold and fabulous and were recommended something rather lovely that I forgot to note (probably due to its fabulousness). it’s a cosy space, not too self aware, not too basementy and, at least when we went, not too crowded. We stayed for hours, and gossiped like banshees, so its anybody’s guess what the rest of the clientele were like. At a point of inebriation we sensibly ordered some nibbles. Disappointing fish fritters, excellent human (cumin apparently but thats what it sounded like) cheese straws, comedy cheese platter and nice ham and bread. The guy behind the bar did spend a lot of time behind the bar and was quite hard to engage with,we did a lot of waving and coo-eeing to get his attention, but to be fair we didn’t muchwant to be disturbed.
A jolly night, the atmosphere was perfect for our needs, and with an entrance to the tube right outside to banish all thoughts of a taxi, not a bank breaker.