As a restaurant critic, I've tasted my way through countless culinary trends, but when we launched our House-Crafted Ferments accolade this year, I knew we were onto something special. These five establishments aren't just riding the fermentation wave — they're making their own splash, turning humble ingredients into liquid gold through time, patience, and a healthy dose of beneficial bacteria.
As I pushed open the door of Scully, tucked away in St James's Market, the aromatic symphony of spices and ferments instantly transported me back to my first visit two years ago. Ramael Scully's heritage — a beautiful mix of Chinese, Indian, Irish and Balinese influences — plays out like a fascinating autobiography on a plate. The open kitchen, with its wall of jewel-like jars containing house-fermented treasures, is absolutely mesmerising. I was completely smitten with his signature barbecued duck paired with jackfruit and beetroot sauce, where the fermented elements add an unexpected depth that makes your taste buds do a double-take. The aeroponic herbs growing along the walls aren't just for show — they end up in your cocktails, including my new obsession: the Tomato Shrub with house-fermented tomato vinegar. The industrial-chic interior somehow manages to feel both edgy and welcoming, much like the staff who clearly share Scully's infectious enthusiasm for experimental flavours. Average bill: £65-85 per person.
The moment I stepped into The Soak, housed in the historic Grosvenor Hotel building, I knew I was in for something special. The Victorian architecture provides a rather grand backdrop for what turns out to be remarkably unpretentious cooking. The restaurant's name isn't just clever marketing — it's a manifesto written in pickle brine and kombucha. I found myself particularly enamoured with their fermented butternut squash with sage, which manages to be both comforting and completely novel. The bar program deserves special mention — their house-fermented kombucha cocktails are nothing short of revolutionary. I'm still dreaming about the Blueberry Shrub Fizz, which makes most mocktails seem positively pedestrian in comparison. The space itself, with its soaring ceilings and modern art installations, creates an intriguing dialogue between old and new London that mirrors the ancient-meets-modern approach in the kitchen. Average bill: £45-60 per person.
Duck beneath the railway arches in Hackney, and you'll find yourself in Doug McMaster's temple to zero-waste cooking. Being at Silo feels like attending a masterclass in sustainability, except it's far more delicious. The interior, fashioned entirely from upcycled materials, somehow manages to look more Scandinavian design museum than eco-warrior hangout. The restaurant's commitment to fermentation borders on obsession — in the best possible way. I counted no fewer than thirty different fermentation projects bubbling away during my visit. The bread, made from heritage grains milled in-house, served with house-cultured butter, is worth the journey alone, as well as burnt beetroot garum — who knew vegetable offcuts could taste this luxurious? And I'm still trying to wrap my head around how they transformed venison sinew into something that tastes like the finest aged soy sauce. It's cutting-edge gastronomy that happens to be sustainable, rather than the other way around. Average bill: £95-120 per person.
Finding myself at Gaya one rainy evening, I discovered what might be London's most serious approach to kimchi. This unassuming Korean restaurant in Mayfair houses a veritable laboratory of fermentation. The owner proudly showed me their temperature-controlled fermentation room, where dozens of different kimchi varieties slowly transform into complex, living condiments. Their signature kimchi jjigae (stew) is a masterclass in umami, made with kimchi that's been fermenting for exactly 14 days — apparently, that's the sweet spot. The space is modern yet homely, with clever nods to traditional Korean design. What really got me excited was their house-made doenjang (fermented soybean paste) served with grilled vegetables — it's the kind of thing that makes you question everything you thought you knew about probiotic foods. Even their cocktail list features kimchi-infused sojus that somehow work brilliantly. Average bill: £40-55 per person.
Ottolenghi's ROVI proves that fermentation isn't just a trend — it's a revolution. The restaurant's stunning circular bar, surrounded by comfortable leather banquettes, sets the stage for what I can only describe as vegetable theatre. The tempura stems and pickled cucumber are my go-to start — these aren't your grandmother's pickles, unless your grandmother was a modernist chef with a PhD in microbiology. Their celeriac shawarma, slow-roasted over fire and served with fermented tomatoes, makes me question why we ever needed meat in the first place. The cocktail programme deserves special mention — the fermented grape soda is a non-alcoholic masterpiece that makes you forget you're being virtuous. The space, with its terrazzo surfaces and brass accents, manages to feel both swish and relaxed, much like the food itself. It's the kind of place where you can watch your vegetables being cooked over fire while sipping on something deliciously pickle-spiked. Average bill: £55-75 per person.