Blinds, Hackney Road, food review: ‘Well-realised wine, disappointing food’
The Blinds bar. Photograph: courtesy Blinds
In every duo there is light and shade, yin and yang, a Blake Lively and a Ryan Reynolds.
Oddly, in my relationship I am the more positive one, considering my job.
This will all become clear as Adrian and I battle through a theoretically romantic evening at a three-month-old wine bar on Hackney Road.
Rapidly becoming a vein of class and taste, darting away from the brash lights of Shoreditch, Blinds sits further along from Sager and Wilde and Equal Parts.
All of them now offer the trendy 30-somethings tasteful places to fling their disposable incomes, other than on dog medication and small-scale kombucha distilleries.
Half a sign hints at the space’s past, a (can you guess?) blind store… all laugh at their meta-ness.
The long walls and windows, perfect for stacking merchandise, would, I’d have thought, made for a thriving shop.
As a wine bar, Blinds tussles in its new shell but comes out on top with various temperate zones.
Stools on the busy road give an almost Italian al fresco experience for the smokers. A front window area is bathed in dusky light from a skylight for the nibblers. A shop area with wine bottles and cardboard boxes sits opposite a long metal bar for the hard drinkers, and a mezzanine with softer lights and deeper chairs is perfect for group conspiracies.
That’s a lot of different worlds, but the flickering candles, dark wood, art deco globes and Texan sunset colours tie things together in a pleasing way.
This is first and foremost a natural wine bar, with cocktails and light nibbles to accompany drinks – there is no chef’s kitchen out back – so the murky tones of biodynamic grapery are where we should start.
We have a large selection of wines by the glass at mid-level prices – a rainbow of rot.
Al fresco seating for the smokers and nibblers. Photograph: courtesy Blinds
The Domaine Rouviole ‘Pok Pok’ Cinsault has a lurid pinky concoction, silky yet fresh.
The Achillée ‘Pepin Orange’ Muscat blend, from Alsace, has all that mouthy tannin tartness loved by the movement.
A Catalonian Batlliu de Sort ‘Aulese’ Riesling is a very grown-up Pet Nat with sharp, hard bubbles (if that’s at all possible).
Let’s face it, if you like natural wine, this is your bag. On the other hand, if you, like my partner, do not, then the winces and involuntary eyebrow movements will be very funny for the table.
Cocktails are as expected, considering they all stay around £10. Bourbon sour, Blinds Negroni (apparently infused with coffee, though I couldn’t tell), and a basil smash that is precisely what it says on the menu.
Sophie (a vision in green) provides warmth and charm while holding down the front to house.
Jazz, and later synthy pop, flickering lights, romance and good taste abound as the over-30s alternative to a club gets going.
But there is food offered, and nowadays this is essential to avoid arguments or alcohol-based poisoning for a week after.
Right off the bat, we are hit with rather an odd little dish. It’s £8, and the menu tells you it’s Serrano ham, crisp (single?) and Guindilla peppers. What arrives wouldn’t have been out of place at a 1950s dinner party thrown by a family back from a grand tour of Italy: a pile of crisps (multiple, thankfully) with Serrano ham and peppers draped over it. It’s a bit packed-lunch, or what-do-we-have-in-the-house-for-unexpected-guests.
The tinned spiced sardine paté, also £8, is a rich ochre in colour but not far flavour-wise from the tomato sardines I buy from Tesco for an eighth of the price.
The cheese board does have roasted almonds and pickles: Comté, Fleur de Maquis–soft, subtle and sheepy–and a Clacbitou (goat), stinky and slightly nutty. This is better, but at £16 it’s a little on the petite side.
The pies were what I hoped would launch us out of snacksville. Regrettably, the chicken, mushroom and spinach is pretty but flavourless. The ox cheek and root vegetable is more distinct, but still nothing to stop the conversation for. They seem good for a last attempt at sobering up a first date or an emotional friend going through a break-up who has over-indulged in the Pet Nat’s arresting carbonation.
My partner doesn’t appreciate the small plates, tasteful snacks and curated booze concept as I do. However, him being Norwegian means they have a very robust picky-bits genre: pålegg (anything you can put on bread), which makes light lunches a world of wonder.
He further explained the word halvfabrikat: a semi-finished product, half-processed, flung together–culinarily speaking, a premade thing assembled or warmed up.
Although the aesthetic, service and vins are well-realised, sadly the nibbles are not.
Update: this article was amended at 1.50pm on 15 September 2025 to remove inaccurate references to pricing. We apologise for any confusion.