I was late to Twitter. Looking back, and it’s a long hazy look back of hangovers and comedowns, I think that Mangal II was one of the first accounts that caught my attention. I never knew much about Kingsland Road back then other than that my friend Sophie lived there and that she said it was great for Vietnamese food and Turkish food. I quickly learned that Mangal II disliked Mangal I, though they never mentioned the other two hundred mangals on that stretch of road. I laughed at their transfer deadline day tweets (usually involving a ten year old in a menial kitchen role) and I still vividly remember the Valentines tweet of a table that said “all this needs is two people desperately trying to save their failed relationship”. That tweet is the backbone of my adult work. Whenever I talk to anyone about growing their brand organically on socials I tell them it’s not about hashtags or reels or generic messages, it’s about creating an identity for the restaurant that is relatable and human. Mangal II taught me that.
So, getting to the restaurant has been a long time coming, sped-up by a £25 lunch menu that forced us to rethink and rebook our original plans of staying central. They’ve rebranded since the Twitter days, no longer an ocakbasi by name, the cooking is more serious, more modern, whilst still being unmistakably Turkish. The inside is a worn shade of cobalt and paintings from when they opened in Dalston in 1994, backed-up with a one-off Babak Ganjei piece unlike the print we have in our dining room. The playlist drifts from Wet Leg to Midlake to Bjork. The smell of rendered fat loiters in the air.
I could go back and just have the first bit of food. Gorgeous flatbreads, one brushed with a smokey cull yaw fat, the other au natural with butter on the side, both vehicles for plates of green ezme with grilled peas and a hummus that’s anchored in smoke and plenty of tahini. We both order additional koftes of cull yaw with a condiment of burnt apple. These are the very essence of aged sheep, deep and moreish, the undisputed highlight of lunch.
Sophie has roast aubergine with mushroom ragu, peppers, and shoestring fries. She likes it, though not as much as the first courses, given that it all merges into one and the shoestring fries quickly become limp. I get roasted poussin, tasty if a little overcooked on the breast, with sumac onions, rice, and a puddle of chilli sauce. It needs that heat of the chilli as it needs the smoke from the grill. It is very nearly, but not quite, excellent.
I don’t like the dessert we order on top. The pear sorbet has a heavily pureed texture and the rest of the ingredients blend into a baby food-like mush. I do really like the smoked cardamom negroni, the sumac margarita, the wonderfully cheeky pickle rak(i), and the chilled service. The bill is £144 between the two of us, with a good amount to drink, the set menu, the koftes, and the dessert. In my head I’d set it to be the holy grail of meals, a bonafide ten, and the place I’d tell everyone about. The reality was a very good meal, not perfect, but earnest and confident.
8/10
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