Flor review: Inventive as a tasting menu, but with an unbelievably accessible price tag

Sometime in the depths of lockdown, as owners scrambled to pivot because of restaurant closures, ASAP Pizza was born. It was potentially the best pivot of all, although to attribute that idea to it might be doing it a disservice, as I feel (or at least hope) that it will outlive the pandemic. The brainchild of James Lowe and Pamela Yung, ASAP pushed the boat out on the London pizza scene and created an entirely new definition of the famed food in a city that tends to prefer sloppy, Neapolitan-style pies. The mythological element of ASAP kept me going during lockdown. As someone who gets joy from pre-planning meals and digging out new spots, ASAP offered up these same levels of lust, adrenaline and jealousy of everyone who managed to nab a slice. Finally, I put my sneakers on and made the pilgrimage from Dalston – daily exercise motivated by gastronomical reward.

I am ashamed to say it took the development of ASAP Pizza to put Flor on the map for me, but I quickly realised that anywhere that can turn out pizza this good and inventive must be doing some equally as exciting things with their regular menu. I can firmly say this was an assumption that is entirely true. Going to Borough Market for dinner is a special experience. It is the closest I have come to feeling like I’m on holiday in recent months, and it made me nostalgic for the experience of exploring new places. No matter how often I visit Borough Market, there still seems to be a new surprise to discover among the hodgepodge of streets and lanes in which I inevitably lose my way.

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Flor is tucked underneath the railway at the mouth of the market, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of spot that epitomises the term hole in the wall. As the offshoot of lauded British restaurant Lyles, Flor had much to live up to. Instead of trying to replicate the first restaurant’s overwhelming success, it feels instead like the rebellious little sister. A focus on in-house baking makes way for the highly experimental kitchen – one that we had a front row seat to, thanks to our spot at the bar. This ended up being the perfect place to see this culinary innovation in action. In a lull between services, we watched the chefs dig a jar out of the back corner and try its contents, which, seemingly, were wads of bark marinating in oil. Blackberry sticks, I’m told, that they’re trying to infuse into the oil. From the looks on their faces, it hasn’t quite worked yet. This kind of trial and error approach to cooking is not just reserved for quiet moments, instead, it finds itself sprinkled throughout the menu in many weird and wonderful ways.

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Take, for example, the cucumber. Lightly smacked and marinated in what I believe was an elderflower vinegar, it is served atop a creme fraiche that has been made in house and infused with an elderflower kombucha – from which the aforementioned vinegar was made. I was manically trying to guess what it was before giving up and asking, thank god – because really, who would have guessed that? The sweetness of the elderflower adds a buoying lightness to the acidity of the marinated cucumbers and little dollops of gooseberry serve to tie it all together. It is the kind of dish that would only come from a highly creative brain.

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The sheep’s ricotta with a nettle roll was like an entire meal in itself, and slightly missed the mark, but even the attention to detail here is to be applauded: the ricotta is made in-house from milk sourced in the Cotswolds. The whey offcuts from the ricotta process are then used to make a polenta, of all things, which is used in another plate, stuffed inside tempura courgette flowers, a testament to the restaurant’s desire to utilise everything, even those ingredients that might be deemed “waste”. The flowers are served with lightly fried discs of courgette, brightly acidic with a kick that cuts through the intensity of the dairy.

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The standout dish was the raw beef. My partner carries a torch for the potatoes at Prawn on the Lawn, a carbohydrate that he truly fell in love with. I do, however, believe he is considering dumping them in favour of the raw beef at Flor, proclaiming it the best meat dish he’s ever tasted. The melt in your mouth beef was dressed with a mussel emulsion, mixed through with breadcrumbs, capers and little nuggets of jerky made from offcuts of Ventricina. It was a thing of beauty. The kind of dish you would return for, time and time again. Other highlights included the crisps, anchovies and nori, a deceptively simple teetering pile of featherlight potatoes, meaty fish and a sweet and spicy sauce packed with umami; the kind of plate you wish accompanied every after-work drink, yet takes the kind of quirky creativity of a place like Flor to adequately pull off.

In my research for this write up, I read a few of the reviews written upon Flor’s opening. They were largely glowing, bar one. But what struck me was that despite two years, one pandemic and one overwhelmingly successful pizza pivot, Flor has remained both reasonably priced and steadfastly sure in what it does. The dishes you get here emulate the inventiveness of those you might see on an overwrought tasting menu, yet with an almost unbelievably accessible price tag and an air of considered simplicity. You will struggle to find anywhere else in the city cooking food quite like this.