Thoughts on A Restaurant………Brat…….London Fields

You go to Brat in London Fields, and immediately you realise something very unsettling:

everyone looks like they have a better relationship with their life choices than you do.

Who eats at Brat (a slightly anxious field study)

It’s not a “type” in the normal sense. It’s more like a collection of people who all seem accidentally well put together, as if they just happened to fall out of a magazine while trying to find oat milk.

They sit there under a railway arch—because of course it’s under a railway arch—eating grilled fish that arrives whole, staring at them with the calm indifference of a philosophy professor.

And nobody seems troubled by this.

1) The “I work in something creative but won’t specify” people

You look around and there are a lot of people who say things like:

“I’m between projects.”

Which is London Fields for; “I am absolutely employed in a job you can’t explain to your parents.”

They wear:

• £300 jackets that look second-hand

• shoes that suggest they might own a bicycle but emotionally cannot commit to cycling

They order orange wine like it’s a personality diagnosis, which in London Fields it sort of is.

The restaurant feels casual—open fires, smoke, chalkboard menu, people taking photos of it like archaeologists documenting an artefact.

But the bill quietly reminds you this is not casual. This is “casual with consequences.”

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2) The “couples who have already discussed therapy” crowd

You see couples who look stable.

Too stable.

They’re not arguing. That’s suspicious.

They’re calmly sharing a whole grilled turbot—because apparently fish is now a relationship test.

I can’t share chips without resenting the other person’s right to exist, and here they are dividing up delicate flakes of fish like diplomats negotiating a treaty.

One of them says:

“Let’s get the cheesecake too.”

And the other says:

“Of course.”

No hesitation. No fear of commitment. It’s terrifying.

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3) The “food people who know too much” people

These are the dangerous ones.

They lean slightly forward, watching the grill like they’re observing open-heart surgery.

Because Brat is all about cooking over fire—Basque-style, wood, smoke, precision, the whole ritual.

And these people don’t just eat it—they analyse it morally.

You’ll hear:

• “This is very restrained.”

• “The smoke isn’t overpowering.”

• “It’s confident.”

Confident?

It’s a fish. I’m the one with low self-esteem.

Also, they know the wine list. This alone disqualifies them from my social group.

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4) The “loud table of six that ordered everything” group

Somewhere in the room there’s always a table that is:

• slightly too loud

• slightly too happy

• sharing six dishes you didn’t even see on the menu

They’re passing plates around like it’s a communal ceremony.

The space encourages it—it’s got that social, high-energy, pass-the-food atmosphere where you’re meant to talk, drink, lean in, and pretend you’re part of something meaningful.

Which is great—until you realise you are part of it, and now you have to contribute socially.

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5) The London Fields “locals who aren’t really locals”

This is the most subtle category.

They behave like:

“Oh this place? Yeah, we just walk in.”

Nobody “just walks in.” There’s usually a booking involved and possibly a small emotional breakdown beforehand.

They like that this version of Brat is more casual, louder, and slightly chaotic than its Shoreditch sibling.

More smoke, more noise, more people who look like they have a podcast.

They sit on slightly uncomfortable chairs, which I think is intentional—to keep everyone alert, questioning, spiritually engaged.

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The uncomfortable conclusion

The people who eat at Brat are:

• successful enough to afford it

• relaxed enough to pretend it’s effortless

• knowledgeable enough to talk about food

• detached enough not to care if you overhear them

And then there’s you.

You’re sitting there thinking:

“Am I enjoying this correctly? Is there a correct way to enjoy grilled fish?”

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Final thought

Brat is a place where:

• the food is simple but taken very seriously

• the atmosphere is casual but not forgiving

• and the people all seem like they know something you don’t

Which, now that I think about it, is essentially all of East London