Time Out says
Wed Jul 18 2012
While Brixton Village Market has risen to become a food-lover’s hangout par excellence, the neighbouring Market Row can feel a little left behind by its younger sibling. But the success of Brixton Village Market is now spilling over. Franco Manca and Rosie’s Deli, early pioneers on this side of the covered markets, now have equally aspirational neighbours. Among them are cocktail bar Seven at Brixton, burger place Bukowski Grill, and deli-eaterie Cannon & Cannon.
The double-barreled deli prides itself on British charcuterie, which the owners sell wholesale to restaurants around London. On the ground floor, inverted bouquets of goat saucisson, picante chorizo (made with sherry and garlic) and wild venison salami dangle above a counter filled with British cheeses such as Bermondsey Spa (whose rind is washed with Kernel beer) and unpasteurised Stichelton stilton, while charcuterie includes cured venison and silverside of beef. All these can be sampled in the small dining room upstairs (dubbed ‘the cheese salon’).
Cannon & Cannon’s small menu is crafted around the products sold at the counter. Diners can choose a combination of two cheeses, two meats and two sides, served with crusty sourdough bread. While this may not raise brows, the actual selection does: all the key produce is British. Here, charcuterie means cold-smoked mutton, wild boar salami and hot smoked pigs’ cheeks. Cheeses include Waterloo cow’s cheese from Berkshire and Guernsey Gold.
The selection of cooked dishes may be very limited, with only two items to choose from, but the artichokes preserved in oil baked with pungent, unpasteurised Dorset Blue Vinney cheese then topped with crunchy hazelnuts, were a delight, as was the grilled Suffolk chorizo.
The British theme also spills over to the brief wine menu. France and Spain get competition from a Kentish white (Ortega Gribble Bridge from Biddenden) and a Sussex red (Bolney Estates Lychgate) – both regrettably only sold by the bottle.
A few framed black and white photos of long-gone shop-fronts adorn the premises, while thrifty furniture – not from the school of vintage cool – has been jumbled together to seat diners. This is not a place where you linger; instead, it’s a modest place to try some novel British charcuterie.
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