I walked past a luridly pink outfit in Soho recently and was astonished by the number of people jostling to get in behind a roped enclosure. With no idea what it was I bunged it on Instagram Stories, captioned: “Whyyyyy are people queueing for this?” The response was immediate and unimpressed: “Because it’s pink?”; “So gross”; “Influenzas?”; and, trenchantly, “Ugh”.
This is EL&N (formerly Élan). Everyone seemed to know it. The owner — or at least, public face — is one Alexandra Miller, a beautiful young woman. (She clearly thinks so too, if the video wall at this branch in central London, showing her prancing about on a loop, is anything to go by.) Without my even noticing she has opened ten branches in parts of town where stealth supercars are the norm and “vocal fry” the dialect. Perhaps I’m pink-blind.
Painfully aware I’m not its demographic, I’ve co-opted the Instagram-native youngest pal. Because it’s not just targeting the yoof, but a particular subset: those for whom social media, not food, is the draw. The pink-neoned tunnels of video games between its two rooms form the backdrop to endless posing for the camera. We take what looks like an unoccupied booth only to be booted off by an exuberantly eyebrowed couple, pouting, “We only left to take our selfies” — as if this were as essential a part of eating out as menus and waitstaff and debating the tip.
Finally seated, we mournfully chomp through our lunch. I order chapatis with akkawi (a creamy-curdy Middle Eastern cheese; immaterial as it doesn’t turn up), pickles and za’atar, but they’re identical to the ones I buy frozen from my local Asian grocer. The pal has, obviously, avocado toast. As avocado toast goes it’s fine and comes with poached egg, a dandruff of micro-herbs and edible blossom. Both dishes are art-directed for the camera, image more important than content, style literally over substance. This is probably the least I’ve ever written about the food in a review. Hey, I’m showing it as much love as they do. “I don’t think you’re supposed to actually eat here,” says the pal.
Those initials stand for Eat, Live & Nourish. Hilarious, as the offering is so devoid of nutritional value. Everything apart from various brunchy dishes — which we appear to be the only people ordering — is sugared up to the eyeballs. Especially the drinks. Nourish what? A diabetic spike? Witness the likes of Chemex strawberry mojito (Chemex is a brand of coffee filter jug — not, as I imagined, something chaps do in the privacy of their own dungeons), featuring strawberry syrup and Sprite. Under “Instagrammable drinks” is blue sapphire iced latte, which includes blue flower petals, condensed milk, vanilla syrup, “our exclusive blue matcha” and, apparently, crushed sapphires. Eat your heart out, you with your so-last-century gold-plated steaks.
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Food too, if you can call it that: cinnamon s’mores waffles (pink waffles, torched marshmallow, “Lotus sauce” — I’m guessing Biscoff — and cinnamon sugar). Their “ride or die bestseller” is Nutella French toast, fat slabs of bread piled high with the spread and snowed with drifts of icing sugar. It’s less menu and more an advert for bulimia. Miller is, according to her LinkedIn profile, “a fervent proponent of healthful eating”. She evidently practises it elsewhere.
The cakes section is where the real action is. They’re surprisingly good, deliberately indulgent and OTT. We have a red velvet cake — moist and loose-grained, with a thick cream cheese frosting and a massive chocolate-covered log of ganache, caramel and nuts, as slick as anything from a Parisian patisserie but three times the size. Leaving, we walk past uncleared plates left on the tables, towering pistachio blocks and dulce de leche cakes abandoned almost untouched, of no further interest once they have posed for their close-ups: the Gloria Swansons of baked goods. How this meshes with the company’s “nourish” statement — well, your guess is as good as mine. Oh, wait — it nourishes your soul, they say. Gotcha.
We come out into a Soho that looks, suddenly, many shades greyer before scuttling off to a penumbral dive for a couple of bone-dry martinis, possessed by the urgent need to recalibrate palates. And retinas. And cleanse them both too. The EL&N aesthetic is too garish. I mean, I get the Instagrammability, but it makes you feel vaguely nauseous, like eating in a carnival fun house. I walk past one in St Pancras station that has as its window display a vast, shiny pink poodle, its carefully moulded testicles facing the world, a kitsch statement of intent.
So why review this at all? Because EL&N is not just an aberration, it’s a trend. There’s a slew of these places springing up, all waffles and candy-coloured cocktails: 202 Kitchen in Manchester, with its Barbie aesthetic (coming to Birmingham soon too); or Boujee (Liverpool, Chester, Manchester), “owned” by a Real Housewife of Cheshire, complete with flamingo-studded living wall and closet full of Technicolor shoes. Or another egregiously called the Skinny Kitchen — London, Ibiza, Canterbury; bottomless brunches — a further bludgeoning by neon and fuchsia. EL&N isn’t even coy about its ambition: “London’s most Instagrammable hot spot”, its website trumpets — I nearly said “without a blush”, but given its colour scheme, who’d know?
Facebook, sorry, “Meta” changed the way people think. Its image-driven sibling is changing the way people consume. I recognise the irony of being led to EL&N, albeit indirectly, by Instagram. It may be a silly superficial place for silly superficial people, but it’s winning. Snobbery? Sure, if you like. But if we don’t tread carefully we’ll end up with the restaurants — and media, and lifestyles — we deserve. EL&N has just opened in Paris. Be afraid.
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Twitter: @MarinaOLoughlin
Instagram: @marinagpoloughlin
From the menu
Brunch
Smashed avocado on sourdough £9.95
Chapati za’atar £8.50
Desserts
Nutella French toast £9.50
Red velvet cake £7.50
Drinks
Matcha rose iced latte £7
Blue sapphire iced latte £15
Total
For two, including 12.5% service charge £65
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EL&N, 112-114 Wardour Street, London W1; elnlondon.com
Plate of the nation
Chick’n’Sours will ruffle feathers with its spicy meal kit
Since restaurants have been open I haven’t done one of these national “elevated deliveries” —but it’s good to see the initiative going strong. Here’s Chick’n’Sours, which I rate for making the art of fried chicken occasion-worthy, with its cool little joints and killer cocktail list. But will it travel?
With a bit of faffing about, yes — I’d forgotten how fiddly these kits can be, especially when each dish features many components (the burger itself: bun, breaded chicken to deep-fry or shallow-fry-plus-oven, chipotle ranch mayo, slaw mix, pickled pineapple rings, lime and jalapeño sauce, shredded iceberg). But the meal is a joy, a powerhouse of electrifying flavours; even watermelon salad packs a chilli-fish sauce punch.
Particular love for the chicken and bacon ragout that tops a rather measly portion of nachos: insanely resonant flavours, a tingle of Sichuan pepper, gorgeous. (There’s also cheese sauce, chillies and kimchi — pow.) This is a limited edition, but there are new ones to discover regularly. Next time I’m getting “sours” cocktails too.
Piña Picante meal kit, £35 plus delivery; chicknsours.co.uk
