In 2012 a small restaurant called Honey & Co. opened in London’s Warren Street, a stone’s throw from the BT tower. Married Israeli co-owners Sarit Packer and Itamar Srulovich, both successful professional chefs, set up the business on a hope and a prayer, with a tiny budget and secondhand furniture. Their concept was Middle Eastern home cooking, a mix of traditional mezze with simple stews and salads, showcasing the region’s quintessential ingredients and spices: sticky-sour pomegranate molasses, fragrant orange blossom, fiery Aleppo pepper and lots and lots of bulgar wheat.
The menu featured dishes such as apricot and pistachio tabouleh, smoky aubergine dip, slow cooked lamb with saffron rice, prawn tagine with preserved lemon and a whole host of exquisite homemade pastries and cakes. With bare walls and just ten tables they described their project as “a desperate act of faith.” Five years later, with glowing reviews, several awards, two cookbooks, a deli and a grill restaurant all under their belts, I think it’s fair to say that their prayers were answered.
Taking the advice of a food-savvy teacher, my family and I snatched a cancelled table at Honey & Co. at 9pm one chilly Wednesday night in 2013. Squeezed into a corner by the bar, we were served the best mezze we had ever eaten, with surely some of the nation’s greatest falafel. Soon we were fighting over the remaining drops of the criminally moreish tahini dressing, scooping it up with pieces of fluffy pitta.
You’ve had a few very busy years since setting up Honey & Co - do you ever get any time off?
It depends, in 2015 we’d established a good team at the restaurant so Sarit and I had a lot of time to travel around with the Baking Book. Then in 2016 we were just running around, working day in, day out to get Honey & Smoke and Honey & Spice off the ground. Now we’re twiddling our thumbs a bit! I think we’ve come to the point where we can admit to ourselves that our life is crazy because we make it so. And we like it. We’re now in the luxurious position of being able to choose projects because they interest us. It’s just Sarit and myself, we don’t have big commitments, we don’t have kids, we don’t need a lot of money. We’re driven by what we think will be fun.
Apart from wonderful recipes, your books contain many great stories. Do you see food writing as an art in itself?
I think a beautiful piece of food writing can really entice you to go to the kitchen and cook, and even change the way you see the world. English is not our first language and writing is not our profession, but it’s something we take very seriously and something we enjoy very much. We try to be really honest and say “this is how we are, this is what we do, this is our life”. We’re not inspirational, we don’t live anywhere glamorous, nobody really wants to be us, I don’t think, and if they do, more’s the pity. What we can do is open the doors, and whoever wants can come and join in.
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Selected photographs (including header image) by Patricia Niven
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| Mezze at Honey & Co.: egg with roasted peppers and fresh borlotti on Moroccan sourdough. Photo: Quirk and Spoon |
As I left the restaurant, signed cookbook in hand, I realised that I had just encountered a whole new world of Middle Eastern cooking: simple yet beautifully detailed, familiar yet foreign. Honey & Co. took ingredients I knew (aubergines, chickpeas, baharat, sumac) and transformed them into something utterly new and unexpected. I was officially obsessed.
Beyond the wonderful food, what drew me to love the Honeys was their writing. Home alone one evening, I picked up the book with the intention of browsing for new recipes. But I started with the introduction, and was so completely engrossed that I bypassed all the recipes and read the stories instead. I was sucked into the love story of an unlikely pair who met in a sweltering restaurant kitchen in Tel Aviv: “I was a skinny 23-year-old beach bum...she [was] a plump 24-year-old war machine with a Bolshevik work ethic and a spreadsheet for a brain.” I laughed aloud at the wry description of their meeting and of the chaos involved in setting up their dream restaurant (“I carried four chairs from Ealing to Brixton on the tube...we emptied our flat of kitchen equipment, cleaning equipment, in fact any equipment we could use.”) Each chapter revealed another aspect of their journey from Israel to Britain, of the struggles and heartbreaks along the way, the highlights and hiccups of their newly opened restaurant.
Beyond the wonderful food, what drew me to love the Honeys was their writing. Home alone one evening, I picked up the book with the intention of browsing for new recipes. But I started with the introduction, and was so completely engrossed that I bypassed all the recipes and read the stories instead. I was sucked into the love story of an unlikely pair who met in a sweltering restaurant kitchen in Tel Aviv: “I was a skinny 23-year-old beach bum...she [was] a plump 24-year-old war machine with a Bolshevik work ethic and a spreadsheet for a brain.” I laughed aloud at the wry description of their meeting and of the chaos involved in setting up their dream restaurant (“I carried four chairs from Ealing to Brixton on the tube...we emptied our flat of kitchen equipment, cleaning equipment, in fact any equipment we could use.”) Each chapter revealed another aspect of their journey from Israel to Britain, of the struggles and heartbreaks along the way, the highlights and hiccups of their newly opened restaurant.
With chapters covering everything from pickles and dips to simple suppers and slow-cooked meats, the book contains a host of comforting, accessible recipes to be made and eaten joyfully with the ones you love. What stands out to me is the down-to-earth tone of the writing. It does not speak to the chef you wish you were, but rather the cook you become every day of the week, tying up your apron, hoping for a satisfying, stress-free solution to your hunger. There are tips for saving electricity, how to best clean your pans after scorching the life out of them, and good alternatives when you can’t be bothered to go the whole hog with a recipe.
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| Well-worn and much-loved, the Honey's first cookbook. Photo: Quirk and Spoon |
Neither the Honeys nor their recipes have airs and graces; their goal is simply to share tasty food with others. They do not lecture about best practice, but offer light-hearted advice, speaking to the reader as a friend, rather than a student. This sense of familiarity and the Honeys’ affection is prominent throughout the book - for their staff, their customers, and, most clearly, for one another. Theirs is a love entwined and entrenched in food, which is both their passion and their profession. Food brought them happiness as a couple, and it is food that they use to bring happiness to others. I know of no other cookbook driven by such love, and it is this that makes Honey & Co. unique.
After enjoying far too much food at the deli this summer (succulent slabs of griddled aubergine, refreshing watermelon salad and soft hazelnut babka, to name but a few) I realised I wanted to know more about the Honeys, and discover the story behind their story. I was lucky enough to interview Itamar Srulovich one sunny Saturday afternoon in August. We perched on a brick wall near the restaurant, drank mint tea and talked about the evolution of the restaurant, and why family is so important to his and Sarit’s work.
What drove you to make a career out of food?
It was something of a fluke. I didn’t go into kitchens thinking “this is what I’m going to do all my life”, I just needed a job and knew how to cook, so I said, “I’ll do this until I decide what I’m really going to do.” 10 years later I said “ok, this is what I’m doing.”
Were you happy with your choice in the end?
I am now, but I wasn’t for a long time. Cooking in restaurants is really hard work. It can be very abrasive and quite soul-destroying, if you work in the wrong place. Plus the money’s crap. So I didn’t see it as a particularly joyous occupation. But now that Sarit and I are doing our own thing, and we work for ourselves, it is. We’re happy with what we’ve achieved and we’re invested in it, so it’s completely different.
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| "We’re not inspirational, we don’t live anywhere glamorous, nobody really wants to be us." Photo: Patricia Niven |
What drove you to make a career out of food?
It was something of a fluke. I didn’t go into kitchens thinking “this is what I’m going to do all my life”, I just needed a job and knew how to cook, so I said, “I’ll do this until I decide what I’m really going to do.” 10 years later I said “ok, this is what I’m doing.”
Were you happy with your choice in the end?
I am now, but I wasn’t for a long time. Cooking in restaurants is really hard work. It can be very abrasive and quite soul-destroying, if you work in the wrong place. Plus the money’s crap. So I didn’t see it as a particularly joyous occupation. But now that Sarit and I are doing our own thing, and we work for ourselves, it is. We’re happy with what we’ve achieved and we’re invested in it, so it’s completely different.
Could you highlight any particular food experience that had a big influence on the way you cook now?
Well, I’ve always been quite a greedy person, and I’ve loved restaurants ever since I was a kid. But recently I went to Tel Aviv and visited the first restaurant I worked in, and it reminded me so much of Honey and Co. It’s a little place, but with a very ambitious kitchen, which really focuses on the details of the food, just like us! So clearly that early experience had an effect on me; going back was like looking at the DNA of our restaurant.
Your marriage to Sarit is portrayed beautifully in your books, and it’s very clear that you have a strong working relationship. How has she influenced the food that you make?
Sarit is an amazing chef, an amazing baker, and we learn a lot from each other every day. But I think her biggest influence on me was the fact that, before I met her, I would never cook at home. I had already been cooking for a couple of years in professional kitchens, but I would always grab something to eat at work, rather than make things for myself. Sarit changed that. One day when we first started seeing each other she cooked us something to share at her flat, and it was so great. By the time we moved in together we were cooking regularly in our own kitchen.
Well, I’ve always been quite a greedy person, and I’ve loved restaurants ever since I was a kid. But recently I went to Tel Aviv and visited the first restaurant I worked in, and it reminded me so much of Honey and Co. It’s a little place, but with a very ambitious kitchen, which really focuses on the details of the food, just like us! So clearly that early experience had an effect on me; going back was like looking at the DNA of our restaurant.
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| Honey & Spice - a treasure trove of Middle Eastern produce Photo: Quirk and Spoon |
Your marriage to Sarit is portrayed beautifully in your books, and it’s very clear that you have a strong working relationship. How has she influenced the food that you make?
Sarit is an amazing chef, an amazing baker, and we learn a lot from each other every day. But I think her biggest influence on me was the fact that, before I met her, I would never cook at home. I had already been cooking for a couple of years in professional kitchens, but I would always grab something to eat at work, rather than make things for myself. Sarit changed that. One day when we first started seeing each other she cooked us something to share at her flat, and it was so great. By the time we moved in together we were cooking regularly in our own kitchen.
And why has that been so important for you?
Home cooking is a different kind of discipline to working in a restaurant; when you cook on such a big scale, you can sometimes lose a bit of the sensitivity involved in making food for yourself and your family. When you’re cooking for someone at home, even if it’s just eggs, you want it to be nice so that they can really, really enjoy it. As a professional chef it’s very easy to just detach from the customer; the minute you put the food on the plate that’s it. But by doing so you forget the most important bit of the job: the interaction with the customer who eats the dish. It was by cooking at home with Sarit that I came to appreciate that aspect. Now, whenever I leave the restaurant I say to the chef “everything that leaves the kitchen needs to be of a quality you’d be proud to serve to your family and friends.”
Home cooking is a different kind of discipline to working in a restaurant; when you cook on such a big scale, you can sometimes lose a bit of the sensitivity involved in making food for yourself and your family. When you’re cooking for someone at home, even if it’s just eggs, you want it to be nice so that they can really, really enjoy it. As a professional chef it’s very easy to just detach from the customer; the minute you put the food on the plate that’s it. But by doing so you forget the most important bit of the job: the interaction with the customer who eats the dish. It was by cooking at home with Sarit that I came to appreciate that aspect. Now, whenever I leave the restaurant I say to the chef “everything that leaves the kitchen needs to be of a quality you’d be proud to serve to your family and friends.”
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| "Sarit is an amazing chef...we learn a lot form each other every day" Photo: Patricia Niven |
There is a very strong sense of family around your business. Was that intentional or is it more a reflection of your personality?
Well, Sarit and I are a family, and we spend all our time here, so we’ve always wanted it to be a nice place to work. And we were lucky to have truly amazing people hitch their wagon to this project: people like Julia who runs the kitchen, Georgia our pastry chef, and Rachael, who’s been with us literally since we opened. It’s their place as much as ours, and Rachael has possibly done more for its success than we have - people come for her. We spend hours and hours and hours together, so we’re very close, but we’re all very conscious of the fact that ultimately we are a business. If the business thrives, things are good. If the business is not successful, we have nothing. So our focus is always to make sure that it works well.
How do you plan your menus? Do you try to recreate traditional dishes or do you prefer to experiment?
We try to keep it traditional, we’re not really inventors. We bring our attention to a traditional dish, use the right ingredients and make it our own, but we’re not “creating” anything as such. Our menus mostly depend on the season and the produce that we get, as well as what we fancy. The process isn’t particularly premeditated: we sit down and say “apricots are finishing soon and pears are coming, what do we do with those?” We also like to bring back dishes our customers have enjoyed in the past; people say to us “when are you going to bring back that fig salad?” or “why did you take the celeriac off the menu?” which is really nice. People come back to eat their favourite dishes, and we love that.
Why is tradition important to you?
It’s not, not as a value in itself. We’re more interested in recreating dishes that just taste good, and if they happen to be very traditional, so be it. We’re not here to educate people about traditional Israeli food, we just want to give them something delicious to eat.
Well, Sarit and I are a family, and we spend all our time here, so we’ve always wanted it to be a nice place to work. And we were lucky to have truly amazing people hitch their wagon to this project: people like Julia who runs the kitchen, Georgia our pastry chef, and Rachael, who’s been with us literally since we opened. It’s their place as much as ours, and Rachael has possibly done more for its success than we have - people come for her. We spend hours and hours and hours together, so we’re very close, but we’re all very conscious of the fact that ultimately we are a business. If the business thrives, things are good. If the business is not successful, we have nothing. So our focus is always to make sure that it works well.
How do you plan your menus? Do you try to recreate traditional dishes or do you prefer to experiment?
We try to keep it traditional, we’re not really inventors. We bring our attention to a traditional dish, use the right ingredients and make it our own, but we’re not “creating” anything as such. Our menus mostly depend on the season and the produce that we get, as well as what we fancy. The process isn’t particularly premeditated: we sit down and say “apricots are finishing soon and pears are coming, what do we do with those?” We also like to bring back dishes our customers have enjoyed in the past; people say to us “when are you going to bring back that fig salad?” or “why did you take the celeriac off the menu?” which is really nice. People come back to eat their favourite dishes, and we love that.
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| Honey & Co. has created its own family community. Photo: Patricia Niven |
Why is tradition important to you?
It’s not, not as a value in itself. We’re more interested in recreating dishes that just taste good, and if they happen to be very traditional, so be it. We’re not here to educate people about traditional Israeli food, we just want to give them something delicious to eat.
You’ve had a few very busy years since setting up Honey & Co - do you ever get any time off?
It depends, in 2015 we’d established a good team at the restaurant so Sarit and I had a lot of time to travel around with the Baking Book. Then in 2016 we were just running around, working day in, day out to get Honey & Smoke and Honey & Spice off the ground. Now we’re twiddling our thumbs a bit! I think we’ve come to the point where we can admit to ourselves that our life is crazy because we make it so. And we like it. We’re now in the luxurious position of being able to choose projects because they interest us. It’s just Sarit and myself, we don’t have big commitments, we don’t have kids, we don’t need a lot of money. We’re driven by what we think will be fun.
Apart from wonderful recipes, your books contain many great stories. Do you see food writing as an art in itself?
I think a beautiful piece of food writing can really entice you to go to the kitchen and cook, and even change the way you see the world. English is not our first language and writing is not our profession, but it’s something we take very seriously and something we enjoy very much. We try to be really honest and say “this is how we are, this is what we do, this is our life”. We’re not inspirational, we don’t live anywhere glamorous, nobody really wants to be us, I don’t think, and if they do, more’s the pity. What we can do is open the doors, and whoever wants can come and join in.
***
Selected photographs (including header image) by Patricia Niven
