When Ploussard first opened in 2023, it achieved a sort of minor cult fame. The lamb and anchovy crumpet became its calling card: rich, saline, and a little bit louche. Since then, like a well-thumbed paperback, Ploussard is slowly acquiring a patina. Some might mistake it for fatigue – they’d be wrong. Founders Tommy Kempton and Matt Harris move with the times, most recently opening Busters down the road in Brixton, flying the casual-luxury flag for Wagyu burgers.
Ploussard, meanwhile, is altogether more elevated. On a Friday, Clapham’s serious eating constituency has packed its way into the narrow dining room. Age-old bottle vs glass debates reverberate, backed by jazz trumpet riffs and overdue debriefs over glasses of ruby red 2022 Boomerang Poulsard – all fine tannins, raspberry aromas, and soft spices. Just don’t let the tiled walls, concrete floors, and general wine-bar buzz fool you - the cooking here is a world away from anchovies and cold cuts.
The best and most cost-effective way to experience it all is the £85 Carte Blanche – a chef’s choice menu promising a tour of Harris’ modern French cooking. Miniature potato pancakes come layered with silky lardo and three-cornered leek, all sandwiched by a thick gooey drift of Vacherin cheese. It’s rich, but there’s control here: a wild, garlicky flash to keep the fattiness in check.
Elsewhere, the kitchen puts pedal to the metal. Cured mackerel, skin torched, arrives in a lip puckering grape vinegar dressing with bright, sweet blood orange for lift. Bronzed shiitake mushrooms deliver an unapologetic thwack of umami: crunchy caramelised hazelnut, a rich 65-degree egg yolk, and a fluffy blanket of Comte sauce. They’re two polar opposites in a wild, rollicking ride.
The star is a fillet of red mullet: crisped to perfection and set against a velvety kimchi velouté flecked with sticky-sweet preserved tomato and a scatter of salty fingers, it encapsulates Harris’ cooking - simple in spirit, electric in execution.
French classics aren’t left behind either. Packington chicken sees black trumpet mushroom farce tucked beneath its burnished skin, matched with a mushroom puree and a glossy slick of vin jaune. A duck spring roll on the side is arguably surplus to requirements – if only because it’s a worthy snack in its own right. We’d order them by the handful.
For cooking of this calibre, the value borders on absurd. Service drifts occasionally, but it’s warm and thoughtful, entirely in keeping with the room’s cheerful, contented hum. Anyhow, no one here is in a hurry. Nor should they be. The cult lamb crumpet may have had its moment, but Ploussard’s altar boasts many worthy successors. Everything here is a riot.