Jimi Famurewa reviews Royale: An extended ode to the simple joy of expertly roasted poultry

The interior of Royale

David Yeo; Justin DeSouza

Jimi Famurewa @jimfam5 November 2020

I think we probably all remember the Great Restaurant Pivoting Frenzy of the first lockdown; that hectic period when each day brought a new haute-junk takeaway spin-off or small-plates establishment mounting a reboot by simply adding the word ‘provisions’ to its name.

Less well documented was the quiet swing back to business as usual. Nascent pizza concepts were quietly dissolved. Noma in Copenhagen, briefly a reservation-free burger bar, returned to proffering fermented deer broth and a £340 tasting menu. Order was restored. And the implication seemed to be that it was time to step away from all that carb-heavy, gastronomic comfort and get back to the serious, mind-expanding stuff.

The happy news (especially in light of the unsurprising plot twist of a second lockdown) is that no one appears to have told the team at Royale. Because this stripped-back rotisserie chicken concept — launched in May as a delivery business by the founders of Michelin-starred Shoreditch restaurant Leroy — has doggedly stayed the course. And having tried it recently during a (now mothballed) hit residency at East London Liquor Company in Bow Wharf, I think it may be one of the more quietly scintillating openings of this deeply weird year. Yes, it is an extended ode to the simple joy of expertly roasted poultry. But, in its focus, detail and pleasure-forward philosophy, it feels like so much more.

It was the dog days of Tier 2 when my wife, my sons and I went along, trundling there from Victoria Park to find the winking festoon lights and bobble-hatted outdoor diners that now already seem to belong to a distant age. If Royale’s proper restaurant residency at ELLC returns — and I really hope it does — then the intricately wrought starters are worth your attention.

Cured duck ham brought fanned, vigorously peppered slivers of gamey charcuterie. Tenderstem broccoli, cushioned by (deep breath) stretchy stracciatella cheese, flaked almonds, orange segments and a bagna càuda-influenced anchovy dressing, took a successfully expansive route to deliciousness. A mildly bullying campfire musk didn’t overly hamper a decent Welsh rarebit.

Royale’s signature, lightly burnished chicken

Of course, the auxiliary dishes (which include hazelnut hummus on the delivery side) are merely a warm-up for the headline act. And, from the moment our whole bird was heaved to the table — lightly burnished, patched in splodged continents of deeply caramelised herb rub and set in a silty puddle of roasting juices — it didn’t disappoint. Let’s not muck about: it is quite the flex to make something as simple as roast chicken the centrepiece of a restaurant menu. But a first bite justified the fuss; a flood of mouth-drenching succulence, humming garlic and rapturous, self-basted depth of flavour had me quickly abandoning cutlery and decorum to winnow out hidden pockets of meat with my hands.

The sides (triumphantly fresh, crunching leaves of butter lettuce; a supplemental fermented Scotch bonnet hot sauce; wrinkly, red-skinned potatoes sopping in dripped chicken fat) were just as impressive. While the menu, hilariously, suggests a whole chicken as ‘for two’, all four of us were fed comfortably enough that a climactic round of Happy Endings ice cream sandwiches — the only available pudding — were both utterly perfect and completely unnecessary.

A first bite justified the fuss; a flood of mouth-drenching succulence and rapturous, self-basted depth of flavour 

Royale’s monomaniacal focus will not be for everyone (vegetarians are given what feels like short shrift). But there is something radical about its commitment to picking one thing and doing it brilliantly. It is a delivery-first business born from calamity that suddenly looks extremely durable — and it is a reminder that the simple pleasures that have made this year bearable are to be celebrated and prolonged, rather than cast aside.