But first we start with the nachos: deep-fried ravioli with a four-cheese filling and “angry” arrabiata sauce. The crunchy pasta is puffed up like Sicilian cannoli, with small nuggets of gooey cheese inside.
Tuscan wild boar sausage, $22.40, is a little dry, yet pleasantly spiced on a bed of lentils sharpened by vinegar. The best dish is “fish baked in a bag” ($28), a take on Sicily’s pesce al cartoccio. A mulloway fillet with fennel, chilli and mussels and clams in their shells sits on couscous-like bulgur wheat that absorbs the briny juices as the fish steams in a “bag” that releases its wonderful scent when opened.
There are artfully mismatched ‘vintage’ chairs and the colour palette is the washed-out pastels of Wall’s Neapolitan ice cream (in fact, Arctic roll features on the fiercely retro dessert menu). Crockery looks like utilitarian vintage: I turn it over to check out the manufacturer; the stamp reads, ‘Stop looking at my bottom’.
I can’t imagine anyone disliking Union Jacks: it’s as eager-to-please as a Labrador puppy. Oliver’s other high-street chain, Jamie’s Italian, has reputedly been valued by the City as ‘easily worth £100million’.
I have no doubt this piece of mid-market genius will do every bit as well (there’s another branch planned in ‘nappy valley’ Chiswick). Jamie, love, take an actual holiday. You deserve it.
It’s an industry truism that pizza is one of the most profitable sectors. Even if you’re doing the whole sourdough base/wood-fired oven malarkey, just check those lovely profit margins. While Union Jacks’ toppings are imaginative (sardine and fennel, maybe, or immensely fiery, multicoloured chillies with a cooling pot of lemony goat’s curd) and smartly sourced, they’re a touch on the sparse side.