The food industry is one of the few industries that have survived the rise of AI and remains irreplaceable. No matter how much technology advances or how much labour is replaced in other industries, human touch, experience, and techniques in cuisine stay.
The culinary world has always spoken deeply to people worldwide in an artistic and meaningful way, communicating culture, history, and tradition while embodying creativity, innovation, and hard labour. Cooking is a mix of intelligence, artistry, and effort; it’s a way to nourish ourselves through a re-designed, de-constructed or constructed part of nature.
Cooking, therefore, is philosophical in practice; it makes me care more about the climate and how human labour is an irreplaceable art form that will forever be passed on through generations.
The space was found on the corner of Englefield Road and De Beauvoir Road, natural light shining through its windows. It was a quiet area, filled with beautiful trees, bikes roaming by, a nice silence, a welcoming local feeling, in Hackney, London. The restaurant itself is named after the founder Scott Pattinson's dog, who was named after the artist Joseph Albers, a nod to Scott's previous life as an artist before he moved into food. That story presents itself in the walls, artwork, and intention of the establishment.
The space itself was carefully curated but intentional and personal. The music was upbeat but measured, jazzy and free. The paintings were bright, unique, colorful, and large windows allowed for fresh air and natural light to shine through the wooden furniture, creating an elevated space that was a rather Hackney elegance that is quite rare to find. It was as if spring was on the verge of arriving within the colorful natural space at Albers. And so it did.
We were welcomed by the owner, Scott, and he was dressed memorably and personally to the space itself. The patrons of the restaurant was dressed similarly, a place of taste, but not in a pretentious way – rather in a way that says, I just dropped by the neighbourhood, I'm a local or I'm visiting this spot from the other side of London because I have taste, but I don't need to show it off.
The first thing I noticed, besides the space, were the menus. The texture of the food menu was soft, translucent and light, while the drinks menu was placed on the bottom of it on a thicker opaque bright orange paper. The sun was shining and its light calmly radiated through the translucent menu as I held it up. The color and texture were doing the same work as the food: everything was connected and intentional. We ordered two cocktails, one golden with a glacé cherry garnished on top, one deep bright red with a blood orange slice. Both were easy to drink and very flavorful, sweet in the right way and matching perfectly with the freshness of what was to come. The colors of the cocktails connected with the paintings on the walls like siblings, familiar and tonal. It felt as though this was going to be the start to a fun, tasty, beautiful and seasonal spring experience, but it was so much more.
Usually, restaurants start with hard bread and butter. Albers started with soft, warm milk buns and salted butter on the side to spread. The milk buns melted in the mouth and, as someone with a sweet tooth, they were the perfect opener. That small contrast already told us Albers was going to be different.
The comte cheese puffs with honey and fennel were a perfect contrasting companion to the freshness of the other plates. Comte, originating from the Jura mountains of France, is one of the oldest and most complex aged cheeses in the world. The juxtaposition of its depth and age against the lightness of everything around it made for a quietly surprising combination.
The devilled egg with white crab, cedro and trout roe was an explosion of flavour, the trout roe popping in your mouth between the fresh bits of crab. Small in size, enormous in purpose.
The venison tartar decorated with blueberries and mustard was fresh, spring, special. The blueberry adding a pop of sweet against the richness of the venison, the mustard had the perfect kick alongside it. It worked with nature instead of against it, showcasing the humility of seasonal cooking, the chef submitting to what nature is offering in the season instead of imposing on it, going with the flow of where we are at. Seasonal menus always feel intentional, if done correctly, working with nature instead of against it.
The asparagus covered in toasted milk, which I asked about out of curiosity, was explained to have been made by caramelising sweet milk in the oven. This was the star dish. It brought out an element of asparagus I did not know existed, but also made me feel nostalgic. There was something childlike about it, the toasted milky touch felt like a warm embrace from the past. Taste is one of the only senses that unlocks memories. As Proust writes in In Search of Lost Time, specifically in Swann's Way, food is a form of time travel, and everyone's memories can click differently with different flavors and tastes. The flavors were so incredible, tasty and smooth that it made you want to lick the plate clean.
The fizzy red wine, Solco, was an Italian wine from Modena, fizzy and red, rich in taste but also light and refreshing, bringing back my memories of an Italian summer with friends. It was recommended by Scott and it paired beautifully with the dishes, a perfect and elegant accompaniment and the perfect transition from cocktails. As the evening moved forward, the sunset closed in slowly, its orange hues catching the wine and the colorful spring plates, bathing everything in a warm, calm light. The recommendations showcase the attention to detail that Scott and the team puts in to ensure everything works together perfectly, the space, the food, and the atmosphere.
The tuna steak was divine, perfectly cooked, with sichuan peppercorn and capers that melted on the tongue in a moment. Fresh herbs on a delicate finish on the tongue. The pop of green on the plate felt less like garnish and more like composition, as if meeting the tuna as an art form.
The chicken schnitzel arrived hot and crispy, deep from the kitchen. The wiggly greens on its side felt like artsy theatre, a philosopher's plate. The mustard on top seemed to pop into things in a way that felt complementary and whole, spring and fresh. It connected us to the idea that some of the most elevated and tasty dishes can be the most familiar ones re-imagined. Homemade cooking meets gastronomic skill.
For the finale, the dessert, the white chocolate mousse was very unique. A special, salty palate cleanser, the buckwheat broken into crispy oat-like bits split through the mousse. The ingredients felt clean, pale and pure. English in the finest sense, re-inventing itself in a new age. The Albers mood felt like 1960s English living, bringing an elevated journey of flavor, love, pace and patience. The color palette was not brown or bland but yellow, green, bright and light. The music, atmosphere and conversation throughout the evening created a soothing white noise that made our Tuesday night feel easy and the evening relaxing in the best possible way.
The menu itself speaks to something larger. Very seasonal, fluid, always changing, using what is in season and doing so resourcefully: a local butchery, a locally-driven kitchen, a big community behind it. This is not a restaurant that exists in isolation. It knows exactly where it comes from and who it is feeding. The staff made a point that stuck with us. Restaurants are the only industry that cannot be replaced by AI. Still about people. Still about community.
At the end we were also lucky enough to take a moment with the chef, Ania Stanton (@aneeyea), a young, brilliant mind and talent with a Polish-British background. At just 21 years old, Scott seemed to trust her vision completely, and having become head chef so quickly it became definite that her work is special. The flavors she produced were clean, seasonal and deeply considered, pale and bright all at once, carrying a warmth and intention that stayed with us long after we left. We left satisfied, more connected to the community, more knowledgeable on the season we were entering and reminded of a place where thought and conversation merge beautifully. A meal at the end of the day is not just about nourishment, but an intellectual experience. And Albers understood the assignment.
