Food critics and meme accounts rarely align. But one thing they seem to agree on is that London’s small plates culture is oversaturated.
I get it. Trying to spin small plates as new or exciting is a loser’s game in 2025 – no matter how creative the dish, the phrase conjures the banality of burrata, the overuse of ’nduja.
When even Wetherspoons is doing small plates, you know the market is in overdrive. But that doesn’t mean we should set the whole concept alight. Ordering from a small plates menu brings many benefits. For the commitment-phobes among us (hi), it means we never need settle for one big plate. Where one large, underwhelming dish can be a meal-ruiner, you can quickly move on from a disappointing small plate, making it a mere blip. Plus, you get to taste multiple dishes, many of which turn out to be more creative than bigger plates.
What’s wrong with wanting to eat a little triangle of fried feta at Toklas, before tucking into a petite portion of crudo and a solo grilled sardine? Why should I feel embarrassed for wanting a few pickles squeezed on a table at Ducksoup with a glass of natural wine (another easy, undeserving target for meme-makers and critics), a tartlet of cheesy custard and something tasty on toast at Ploussard, or some cauliflower fritti to accompany a Negroni in the sun on the terrace at Forza Wine?
Besides, small plate slander is nothing new. Taperias, aperitivo bars and restaurants like St John have been doing them for aeons – and, for just as long, naysayers have been rubbishing them, slamming their prices, the fact they’re designed to share and that they’re simply too, well, small. But for every critical review, every mocking post from Socks House Meeting or Real Housewives of Clapton, there’s a diner happily immersed in a small plate meal. Long live the small plate – and see you in another few years when this argument inevitably restarts.
This article originally appeared in Broadsheet London's first print issue.
