
MORNING
The ovens have been on since five
Laminated pastry, the first loaves out of the deck oven, and a room that still smells of last night's fire.

Est. 2016 — The Old Pottery
A wood-fired kitchen and coffee room.
We cook over wood because it is harder. It asks for attention at every stage — the fire, the timing, the moment something comes off the bars. That attention is the only thing on the plate that you cannot buy in.

The ovens have been on since five
Laminated pastry, the first loaves out of the deck oven, and a room that still smells of last night's fire.

Slow bar, no rush
Single origin poured by hand at the window counter. Stay an hour. Nobody will move you along.

Written that morning
Whatever the growers sent, cooked simply over embers and shared down the length of the long table.

The hour the light turns
Low sun through the west windows, amber in the glass, and the kitchen quietly changing gear.

Fire, and everything it touches
A shorter menu, a darker room, and the hearth doing the work it was built for.
Then the fire is banked, and we do it again tomorrow.

Laid straight onto the bars while the coals are still white. Four minutes, one turn, and nothing else asked of it.

Aged five weeks on the bone, rested twice as long as it cooks, carved at the pass and finished with marrow butter.

Buried whole in the embers until the outer leaves are carbon. What survives inside is sweet, silken, almost custard.

A batter started the night before, left to sour slowly, cooked in cast iron until the edges lace and crisp.

Butter cooked until it smells of hazelnut, folded through a loose sponge, served warm enough to slump on the plate.

Stirred over a single block, trapped under glass with oak smoke, and opened in front of you at the table.
One slice of bread, a fire, and the discipline to stop there. Explore what is actually on it.
Five points on the plate. Hover one — or tap, on a phone — to see what it is and why it is there.

One machine, one grinder, and a bench angled so you can watch the pour instead of someone’s back.
The blend the room is built on. Thick, sweet, and forgiving with milk.

A hundred years of clay dust, one four-storey chimney, and as little else as we could get away with. The building did most of the work — we mainly took things out.

01 / 03 — Ground floor — all day
Walk in, order at the bench, sit where you like.

02 / 03 — Evening — from 17:30
Twelve stools, low light, and the last orders of the night.

03 / 03 — Private — up to 18
Behind the old kiln door, for tables too big to seat out front.
The room opens at eight. The work starts at four. What follows is most of the day nobody sees.

Marek is in before the street lights go off. The deck oven takes two hours to come up.

Laminated dough that was rolled and rested yesterday goes in cold and comes out shattering.

Everything for lunch is cut in the two hours before the room fills. It is the quietest part of the day.

Whatever has not sold by three becomes tomorrow's ember toast. Nothing is thrown away.

Four on the line, one on the fire. Hana calls the pass and plates every dish that leaves it.

“Cook one thing properly. Then stop.”
Hana spent eleven years in kitchens that plated with tweezers before deciding she wanted to cook with her hands again.
She found the old pottery works in the winter of 2015 — no gas line, one enormous chimney, and a kiln floor that had been holding heat for a century. She kept the chimney.
Everything on the menu passes over fire at some point. That constraint, she says, is the whole idea.
Chef & Co-founder
Hana

Head of Coffee & Co-founder
Idris built the slow bar himself out of the kiln's old loading bench, angled so you can watch the pour rather than the barista's back.

Head Baker
Marek starts at four. By the time the doors open the deck oven has already done its best work.
It started with a chimney nobody wanted.

A pottery in the Arden Quarter had been cold for thirty years. The roof leaked. The floor was clay dust an inch deep.
But the kiln chimney was four storeys of brick built to hold heat — and Hana had spent a decade cooking on gas she never liked.

We opened with nine tables, one fire, and a menu written each morning on the back of a delivery note.

Almost nothing about that has changed.
We came for coffee at eleven and were still there at four. Nobody hurried us, nobody cleared the table twice. That almost never happens any more.
Up to eight online. Larger tables, the back room, and anything unusual — ring us and we will sort it.
August 2026
MONDAYS ARE COUNTER ONLY · SUNDAY IS ONE LONG LUNCH
The old pottery is set back from the street behind a brick arch. If you reach the canal you have gone too far.
Address
14 Kiln LaneTelephone
+44 20 7946 0318Opening hours
The kitchen stops an hour before close. Coffee and the counter run all day, every day.
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Est. 2016 — The Old Pottery
Seven days, from eight in the morning. The fire is lit by five.