There’s something seductive about stumbling into a new restaurant in London that feels like it’s been there forever. That’s exactly the effect Fire & Wine by Boxcar pulls off, hidden away on a quiet Marylebone street five minutes from the chaos of Oxford Street. It’s the type of place you want to pretend you discovered first. A rebrand of the much-loved Boxcar Bar & Grill, this new iteration arrives with open-fire cooking, a produce-led menu, and a Greek head chef whose experience reads like a Michelin-tinged passport.
The vibe? Effortlessly warm, low-key elegant, and thoroughly nonchalant about the fact that nearly everything on the menu has touched open flame, including dessert. That’s right. Dessert. Cooked. Over. Fire. You had me at "burnt sugar."
We took a seat on the terrace (London’s erratic July weather behaving for once) and began with cocktails. The drinks menu reads like your classics went to culinary school - a Negroni or Old Fashioned reworked with left-field ingredients.
I went for the Jack Rudy, their take on a Manhattan, finished with a glossy cherry. Sweet and punchy, it managed that elusive thing most cocktails only pretend to do: balance. I know, I hate the word too, but you’ll hear it again because it’s the theme of the evening.
We kicked things off with two snack plates. The first was almost architectural in arrangement: nori tarama on pressed potato, a canapé that tasted like the seaside in silk gloves. Next up, a chicken liver parfait with blackberry on brioche, rich and glossy like the filling of a well-made truffle. Then came the stilton gougère, a.k.a. a tiny puff of cheesy joy, cleverly topped with slivers of apple, just enough fruit to cut the funk and make it feel like you were eating something light. (You weren’t. But who cares.)
The second plate introduced lamb belly on toast, layered with tomato concasse and pickled onion. The lamb was sticky and indulgent, but it was the anchovy toast that left me blinking. You read anchovy and flinch, but what arrived was a surprisingly subtle, umami-packed bite where the tomato gently led the flavour profile, letting the anchovy play backup.
To pair, a bottle of Tinted Glasses, the restaurant’s own-label rosé made in Saint-Tropez. Fresh, bright, a little fruit-forward, the kind of thing you pretend not to finish but absolutely do.
Next came the small plates. The pork belly, cut thick and almost scandalously tender, came with a dollop of egg yolk and a dusting of pecorino. All the richness you want, with none of the guilt (because you’re in Marylebone, and calories obviously don’t count here).
The tiger prawns were served shell-on, dressed in garlic and just a whisper of chilli, perched over seaweed. It was seafood restraint at its best, not a punch in the face, just a tap on the shoulder.
And then, the mains.
The 56-day-aged ribeye arrived looking like a scene from a steakhouse fever dream, slick with a black garlic and anchovy sauce that didn’t scream fish — more soy caramel. It was complex, but not complicated, and cooked medium-rare with the confidence of a kitchen that knows exactly what it’s doing.
The surprise of the evening? A brie tortelloni dish that might have singlehandedly justified the rebrand. The pasta was textbook perfect, stuffed with creamy brie and laid atop a bed of chard that had just kissed the grill. The smoke lingered lightly in the background, like a good scent trail. Staff insisted we try it. They were right.
Finally, dessert - and no, I hadn’t forgotten that promise of fire. I ordered the grilled croissant tiramisu. First of all, the croissant is house-baked. It arrives warm, caramelised at the edges, covered in a generous spoonful of tiramisu cream that melts into the folds like it belongs there. It was, in short, everything.
The Pink Lady terrine with vanilla diplomat offered something lighter, more structured. The apple slices gave the diplomat cream a fresh crunch, one of those bites where the textures feel like they’ve been rehearsed.
By the time we left, the terrace was packed. Word is clearly getting out. Fire & Wine by Boxcar isn’t just a rebrand. It’s a quiet statement: we’ve levelled up - now bring your appetite.
Book now, or risk watching the fire from the outside.
