A partnership with a fruit and veg wholesaler is the dream of many a chef, and Shuli Wimer is no different. Collaborating with Smith & Brock, Sylva’s menu is a hymn to the overlooked and the imperfect: crates of so-called ‘second-class’ produce reborn as vibrant Mediterranean and Middle Eastern-inspired dishes.
Take, for example, the specials board. One day, it might yield swirling ‘morning buns’ topped with raisins and ricotta made from spent steamed milk, the next, leek fritters with tzatziki. Today it’s a steaming pastry parcel stuffed with Munster cheese, peppers, and spinach, with a scattering of radishes and pickled cucumber to brighten it up. It’s a simple thing, and all the better for it.
Meanwhile, chicken schnitzel arrives golden, crisp-edged and slathered with earthy tahini and a zingy zhug tucked into fresh homemade frena bread. It’s joined by roasted aubergine, its silky flesh crowned with slow-cooked chickpeas and drizzled with grassy olive oil. If there’s a quibble here, it’s that both could use a hit of acid, but even so, they prove that ‘nourishing’ and ‘indulgent’ need not be mutually exclusive terms.
With desserts, Sylva does leave room for unapologetic hedonism. Chief among them is a gigantic pecan tart laden with golden syrup and butter - a testament to Wimer’s River Cafe pedigree. We pair it with a lovely 100% Medjool date roll, made from a recipe borrowed from her grandmother.
Bright, small, and white, Sylva could easily veer into clinical territory. Instead, it balances between modern minimalism and homey comfort. Terrazzo flooring nods to Wimer’s Israeli roots, while upcycled furniture and houseplants create cosy areas for solo diners and larger groups alike. It’s a neighbourhood spot through and through. It’s so local in fact, that all suppliers sit within a roughly two-kilometre radius – a detail that feels less like virtue-signalling and more like an extension of Sylva’s deep rooted sincerity.
You’ll find no hype-stoking sustainability buzzwords here. What makes Sylva special isn’t just its low-waste philosophy or a knack for transforming ‘ugly’ veg (though both are admirable). It’s the way it feels utterly unpretentious yet quietly revolutionary – a neighbourhood cafe that feels both new, and like it’s been around for ages. Long may it continue.