Copycat cafe needs a change

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, yadda, yadda. In which case Upper Street's Ottolenghi must be blushing with pleasure at the opening of Fig And Olive.

From the window display of salads, cakes and pastries to the stark white modernism of the decor, this is, depending on how you look at it, either a reverential homage or an opportunistic rip-off.

But sadly the food, unlike Ottolenghi, is mostly a mix of weird and bad.

Weird: everything came accessorised by a light dusting of what appeared to be chopped up Chipstix. My main course featured lamb, chicken, nuked fig, yoghurt, olives and tomato sauce. Oh, and chopped up Chipstix.

Bad: chicken livers were cooked into leathery impenetrability.

And I do mean sadly, because this improbable restaurant is genuinely attractive (glorious chandeliers), not wildly expensive and the staff are simply lovely - much nicer than the snooties at Ottolenghi. Especially our Spanish waiter, who led me through the (good) puddings with the zeal of a true fanatic.

They should take a pair of sharp scissors to the menu - simplify it, for goodness sake, and tighten up the quality. Otherwise Ottolenghi might sue, not for plagiarism, but for defamation of character.

Fig & Olive
Upper Street, London, N1 1RA