Why Russell Norman was a restaurant genius

Polpo, Russell Norman’s celebrated and original Italian restaurant in Soho, was in full flow when I visited for the first time: busy, loud, glasses full and meatballs rolling. I had returned to London after some years away in my early twenties, and had little money. Polpo welcomed diners with its buoyancy and affordability. It was a good restaurant for everyone. Importantly, it was one that we could afford.

There is much to say about Norman, a pioneering and visionary restaurateur who died suddenly at the age of 57 on Thursday. I’ll leave the more personal and intimate conversation to those who knew him well. What I want to say is that it is a rare and fine cause to open restaurants that are quite so approachable. Before Polpo they hardly existed in London and today they are expected.

The first Polpo opened in 2009 and immediately changed things. Small plates were not yet everywhere; waiting staff in fashionable restaurants were supposed to appear well turned out, not almost effortless; tables were booked, not chanced upon. Diners who were used to white linen questioned the use of brown paper on tables. You can bristle against small plates being everywhere, at no-reservation policies being everywhere, but at their heart they are democratic ideas. Norman once conceded that his food wasn’t complex, it was comforting and simple. The Instagram bio for one of his restaurants reads ‘Noisy. Not too fancy. Don’t expect too much.’

More than a decade on, and Norman’s restaurants have been and gone. There is still a Polpo in Soho. Who knows how many £5 negronis have been sipped (he’s to thank for their comeback). Brutto, his latest, launched to much fanfare in 2021 and the Brutto cookbook was only released a few weeks ago.

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Brutto, by all accounts, is a considered fixture. As with Norman’s concepts before it, it is a highly fashionable place. Tables are not always forthcoming, but persistence pays off. A lunch last year brought tortellini in brodo with a generous broth, anchovies, and a pork tonnato to the tune of someone who really did know hospitality and what it should be about: openness, care, generosity, good food. Even on a Tuesday lunchtime, the dining room was rammed. Only the other day I enjoyed one of his negronis with a food critic who admired him and whose recognition is not easily bestowed. Naturally, Norman would always make time for his guests, whomever they were.

He leaves behind a grand legacy. And Brutto will, I hope, endure in the hands of his son; an unfussy place for people in search of something, but also somewhere for those less romantic and for those who just want to have a bowl of pasta or a Florentine steak that isn’t bank-breaking.

When restaurants can be stuffy and exclusive, Norman’s Brutto was a beacon. Rabbit pappardelle? Around £15. Sausages and lentils? Just a pound or two more. Negroni? Always a fiver. Diners have much to thank him for.