The Dish is a monthly column that shines a light on London's most thrilling plates.
Named after a sad 19th-century clown and centred around ‘shepherd’s food’ from the underappreciated Abruzzo region of southern Italy, Auguste is the recently opened space from chef Mike Bagnall and ex-Bambi GM Dylan Walter. Yes, of course it is in East London – sliding into the plot formerly occupied by trendy London Fields eatery Papi to be exact. Yet whilst its specificity and spotlighting of simple, rustic technique might not make for particularly ostentatious fare, Auguste digs deep into the age-old adage that you don’t have to shout the loudest to make a hefty impression.
At the centre of their offering are arrosticini, aka dainty skewers fired over a furnacella: a sort of long, thin grill designed specifically for accommodating charred sticks of meat in vast quantities, that sits in a tiny open-plan kitchen area at the back of the restaurant. A cornerstone of the region’s cuisine to which Auguste has nailed its flag, arrosticini are delightfully unfussy things. Originally, their function was a way to reduce food waste. With origins dating back to 1830, shepherds in the mountainous slopes of the Gran Sasso d'Italia would cut their mutton into purposefully small cubes to take it right to the bone. Threaded onto skewers, they would go on to remain the area’s signature culinary export almost two centuries later.
Auguste has given their arrosticini a suitably 2026 update for a hip crowd that are more likely to have spent their working hours creating content than toiling in the fields. There are £5 camparinos (a campari spritz, served long and tall). The staff all look like they could have fallen out of a Charli XCX video, which is handy as her creative director is sitting happily at a corner table the night I visit. There’s an undeniable frisson of cool to the atmosphere here, but the space is minimal and chic, with a pleasingly old-school taste for white linen that’s rare for the area.
As well as the grill, they offer a daily, changing menu of streamlined starters (a plate of fat-flecked Cobble Lane finocchiona salami; thick slabs of Pecorino Romano D.O.P.), and a fresh and enticing array of small plates designed for sharing. Glistening slithers of cured sea bream are topped with piquant, olive-y puttanesca. Sweet datterini tomatoes and smokey peperonata come muddled with a generous amount of creamy stracciatella. I’m told in advance by a friend in the know that their blue cheese-laden potato rosti is a must, but sadly word has clearly spread as it’s already sold out by 7.30pm.
Given the more colourful nature of some of their sharing plates, it’s surprising that it is indeed the arrosticini that shoulder their way to top billing. But such is the easy pleasure of simple things done well. The night we dine, they have a quartet on offer including rose veal liver and a more upmarket wagyu. We’re guided towards the Salt Marsh lamb, and the chicken hearts – one classic, one offaly. Despite being cut so small, the lamb (served in portions of six) is impressively tender and full of flavour. Maybe there’s a little salt on there but Auguste is letting the fire do the talking. It’s confident, and far more memorable than you might expect.
Five plump little chicken hearts nestle up on each of their two spikes. Here, they’re served with a silky bowl of bagna cauda, a punchy Italian dipping sauce made with anchovies and garlic. Hearts and anchovies – they’re not flavours for the weak. Pair it with one of their vesper martinis or a fulsome red and you’re firmly in Grown Up Dining territory. But if your palette leans that way, there is enormous pleasure to be found.
Only four-percent of Italy’s tourism, we’re told by our impossibly stylish waiter, comes from Abruzzo. It’s not a go-to destination by any means and, as such, its food remains fairly under the radar. Auguste might well help bump up their numbers. If you see a crowd of tasteful Londoners roaming the foothills this summer, you’ll know why.
Auguste, 1F Mentmore Terrace, London E8 3DQ. Book a table.