Hope for meaty eats

Everyone, it seems, thinks they can turn their hands to restaurants. What with all these No-Going-Back-Living-The-Dream type shows on TV and every It-person, actor and minor popstrel imagining that their name above the door is their guarantee of groovester longevity, having a bash at the world of catering has never been so popular.

But the number of new restaurants that fail every year is testament to a business fraught with pitfalls. And even if you've got the venture capitalists on board, every buzz component box ticked and a location to die for, there's still no guarantee of success. Because there's one box you can't tick no matter how experienced/loaded/whatever you are, and that's chemistry. It's an indefinable alchemy that money can't buy. And, whatever it is, the guys behind the Anchor & Hope - Robert Shaw and Jonathon Jones, ex-St John, and Harry Lester, previously of the seminal Eagle - have got it in spades.

They've got an unmistakable hit on their hands. On a drizzly, dismal early-week evening, the place was packed with an enthusiastic bunch of drinkers and diners, from willowy gals in diaphanous skirts with their saturnine dates to barrelshaped matrons.

A great, democratic mix. The decor's basic: ye traditional gastropub mismatched furniture, blackboards, walls painted an agreeable oxblood, but that's not the point. As soon as you come through the doors, your hunger is teased by a steamy, seductive fug of charred meat, simmering broths and mutton fat: from brilliant St John sourdough bread to well thoughtout puddings, it's the food that's the draw.

You can trace the St John heritage from the pared-down and thrillingly old-Brit menu. For once I wished I was with a crowd; several of the choices are for sharing: Lancashire hot pot for three; slowcooked stuffed duck for three; cassoulet for four. Dishes are earthy, honest, un-mucked-about-with, and mostly very, very good.

Sometimes there's a lack of cohesion or sophistication - snail and bacon risotto was, well, snails, bacon and rice without the sensuous gloopiness of proper risotto; desserts of chocolate tart and polenta cake with quince were a little rough hewn - but that's only to be expected.

We kicked off with an omelette Arnold Bennet - a difficult to master, heavenly mix of eggs, cheese and smoked fish. It was very nearly brilliant, its sumptuous, squidgy centre showed just how fabulous it could've been if it hadn't been slightly overdone.

Star of the main courses was an improbably fat skate wing, vaguely gelatinous, subtly flavoured, punched-up with chard and tart anchovy. My teal - a small, profoundly gamey wild duck - defeated attempts to get more than a tiny amount of meat off its spindly bones; a cabbage-wrapped faggot studded with pungent nuggets of offal made up the shortfall. Wether - somewhere between a lamb and a sheep - came as a falling-off-the-bone tender shank. I was a bit turned off by its greyish demeanour, but it tasted great in a granny's-kitchen kind of way. The mound of barley it came with was nutty, bland and soothing. And I'm happy to sing hymns to the crispy gorgeousness of the duck fat potato cakes.

Nothing dented our enjoyment of our meal, not the fact that several dishes had sold out, nor having to wait and wait for a table beside the lavs (there's a no-reservation policy). And good food reasonably priced isn't the entire basis for the success story, even backed by service that's affable and informed. Maybe the secret, the chemistry, is all about charm.

The Anchor & Hope
36 The Cut, SE1 8LP