48 • The Sunday Times Magazine
a beautiful young woman. (She
clearly thinks so too, if the video
wall at this branch in central
London, showing her prancing
about on a loop, is anything to
go by.) Without my even noticing
she has opened ten branches in
parts of town where stealth
supercars are the norm and
“vocal fry” the dialect. Perhaps
I’m pink-blind.
Painfully aware I’m not its
demographic, I’ve co-opted the
Instagram-native youngest pal.
Because it’s not just targeting the
yoof, but a particular subset: those
for whom social media, not food,
is the draw. The pink-neoned
tunnels of video games between
its two rooms form the backdrop
to endless posing for the camera.
We take what looks like an
unoccupied booth only to be
booted off by an exuberantly
eyebrowed couple, pouting,
“We only left to take our selfies”
— as if this were as essential a part
of eating out as menus and
waitstaff and debating the tip.
Finally seated, we mournfully
chomp through our lunch. I orderchapatis with akkawi (a creamy-
curdy Middle Eastern cheese;
immaterial as it doesn’t turn up),
pickles and za’atar, but they’re
identical to the ones I buy frozen
from my local Asian grocer. The
pal has, obviously, avocado toast.
As avocado toast goes it’s fine
and comes with poached egg,
a dandruff of micro-herbs and
edible blossom. Both dishes are
art-directed for the camera, image
more important than content,
style literally over substance.
This is probably the least I’ve
ever written about the food in
a review. Hey, I’m showing it as
much love as they do. “I don’t
think you’re supposed to actually
eat here,” says the pal.
Those initials stand for Eat,
Live & Nourish. Hilarious, as the
offering is so devoid of nutritional
value. Everything apart from
various brunchy dishes — which
we appear to be the only people
ordering — is sugared up to the
eyeballs. Especially the drinks.
Nourish what? A diabetic spike?
Witness the likes of Chemex
strawberry mojito (Chemex is aAn Instagram heaven that’s
a shade too sickly sweet
EL&N,
112-114 Wardour Street,
London W1;
elnlondon.comMarina O’Loughlin
I
walked past a luridly pink outfit
in Soho recently and was
astonished by the number of people
jostling to get in behind a roped
enclosure. With no idea what it
was I bunged it on Instagram
Stories, captioned: “Whyyyyy are
people queueing for this?” The
response was immediate and
unimpressed: “Because it’s pink?”;
“So gross”; “Influenzas?”; and,
trenchantly, “Ugh”.
This is EL&N (formerly Élan).
Everyone seemed to know it.
The owner — or at least, public
face — is one Alexandra Miller,Ta b l e Ta l k
EL&N
Soho