Whole Beast

A framed photo of the ever-maniacal and much-missed Keith from The Prodigy greets you at the door of Whole Beast. It can mean only one thing; intensity awaits. And so it goes with this meat-lovers shangri-la, a place where flesh is king and vegans are politely asked to avert their eyes.

For a restaurant that’s more into meat than a big cat who hasn’t had its dinner, Whole Beast is surprisingly welcoming, bright and light. This isn’t the sort of doomy dungeon we’ve come to expect launching in the hospitality entrails of last decade’s dude-food crusade. In fact, it’s more like a provincial gastropub than a bacchanalian display of neon-lit abattoir-chic. There are a couple of seats by the big window, a shared high table by an open-ish kitchen and a bigger room out back. Whole Beast’s acid-house smiley face logo beams throughout; on walls, on menus and even on the toothpicks that hold together our gildas and peep out of our martinis.

Whole Beast opened after a series of acclaimed pub and brewery pop-ups, including a stint at the Montpelier in Peckham, when their impeccable cheeseburger was named winner at the National Burger Awards. Since starting out, their concept has been simple; combine the nose-to-tail approach of St John with serious barbecue expertise and the approachable energy of a high street fast food joint. Think Wimpy, but with a couple of award-winning pitmasters behind the pass. Alicja and Sam Bryant might not be from Texas, but they know a thing or two about smoking meat, Southern-style, with Sam honing his craft at the now-shuttered Smokehouse in Islington (currently Bistro Sable) and Peckham’s Coal Rooms (now Hausu), while Alicja’s Polish heritage brings funky stuff (pickling, curing and fermentation) front and centre.

The burger remains a triumph 

Take their dripping-injected wedge of hash brown for starters, as crispy as you’d hope, with a sizable dollop of indecently tangy whipped cod’s roe and handful of crushed Scampi Fries crumbled over the top. This won’t be the last time crisps make the menu. Our perfect little pork taco – home to a majestically melty meat and a thrillingly fruity smoked pear hot sauce – is topped with a shower of Frazzles. Shockingly, our smoked pigs head black pudding with smoked apple ketchup (is anything here not smoked?) doesn’t come with Doritos, but it’s all the better for it, somehow tasting like a full Sunday roast in one mouthful. The burnt hispi cabbage is a salad in the American sense; glossy with pork fat, full of sausage and capable of giving you a coronary. We love it.  

But let’s not forget why we’re truly here; to eat the burger. It remains a triumph. Aged beef is smashed to within an inch of its life and sprawls out of the softly steamed Martin’s potato bun (no other buns need apply) as if trying to outrun its demons. The square of cheese is luminous orange and does its best to hold the meat in place, while a bracingly sharp dill and mustard-infused mayo brings the whole thing together with the fluency and timing of a great orchestra. Is it a bit sloppy? Yes. Is that an issue? Only if you’re scared of getting a little meat juice on your chin.  

The vibe A friendly smokehouse in Brixton. 

The food High quality barbecue dishes with a brilliant burger and, for some reason, lots of crushed crisps. 

The drink Beer seems the sensible accompaniment, but there are also cocktails and three wines; red, white and rose, all from St John. 

Time Out tip Finish with an affogato which comes in Mini Milk-lolly inspired form.