At first glance, the emblem of St John restaurant appears  to be a flying pig, its closed eyes and beatific smile hinting at a meditation-induced state of bliss. However, on closer inspection the drawing is revealed as an old butcher’s guide, dotted lines marking out the various cuts of pork, and the pig’s trotters have been cut off – a fate that would surely have ruffled his composure, had he owed his serene expression to a healthy yoga session rather than the slaughterman’s knife.

As an emblem, it could not be more accurate. These days, most company logos represent what businesses would like to be, rather than what they are: BP’s green flower logo is a classic example. But this restaurant is housed in a former ham and bacon smokehouse, standing in the shadow of the City’s 800-year-old Smithfield meat market, and co-founder Fergus Henderson proselytises the principle of ‘nose to tail eating’ with a menu which changes every day to reflect Smithfield’s changing wares and emphasises simple and traditional recipes.

Just to bring home how appropriate St John’s porky mascot is to its daily business, I was nearly bowled over by a flying pig as I tried to enter the restaurant. Having crossed the sparse, attractive bar and excellent little bakery and embarked on the metal steps to the restaurant proper, the flying pig came hurtling towards me, lying in state on a huge tray borne by a struggling kitchen worker. To be fair, the guy was scrupulously polite: though the pig was large and its bearer small, he gave way rather than trottering me aside.

Within, I found another simple room, whose bare white walls and basic furniture suggest a single-minded concentration on the quality of food. In fact, a lot of thought has gone into this apparent simplicity. The restaurateurs, determined to demonstrate their focus on the food, have artfully concealed the building’s other former incarnations as a squat, beansprout greenhouse, Chinese beer store, rave venue and Marxism Today offices behind bare metal stairs and whitewashed walls. With the bar and a bakery housed inside the former smokehouse’s fat chimneys, all the other detritus has been carefully hidden.

A similar dynamic operates in the food, which combines simple, straightforward ingredients and recipes with a close attention to the quality of the produce and its treatment. We had to forego the starters – which on the day of our visit included British oysters, hare broth and roast bone marrow – but all of us greatly enjoyed our main dishes: calf’s liver with shallots, rabbit with mustard and bacon, and brown lentils served with a generous dollop of goat’s curd. Each meal arrived without substantial additional flavourings, and the cooks had clearly spent more time on taste than on presentation: this is food that looks, and tastes, like its ingredients.

When a restaurant takes such care over its food, cooking each ingredient carefully according to its needs, then it need not attempt to distract the diner with herbs, spices and visual spectaculars. Its cooks are freed up to concentrate on flavour over frippery, giving the diner confidence that there are no duds on the menu. Of course, it’s possible that one dish or another might not work, but given St John’s priorities I’d say it’s unlikely – and after all, as a close inspection of the restaurant’s logo will reveal, this pig ain’t flying anywhere.

Matt Ross

Written by Matt Ross