Alium, Barry — Uncomplicated, humble cooking
The Pumphouse has new residents, but the ethos remains the same.
The closure of Hang Fire Southern Kitchen came as a shock to quite a lot of people, myself included. At the time, I was working on the finale of an MA in journalism, in which I explored the past, present and future of fine dining in Wales. Within, I talked to Shauna about her ambitions in staying deliberately distant from the world of fine dining and being recognised by its associated literature, due to the baggage it carries alongside.
In our conversation, she spoke about the state of hospitality, and how the ongoing crisis had meant staffing was a serious issue. Recruiting and training chefs was nearly impossible, given it takes around 2 years to get a barbecue chef fully up to speed. Yet, she maintained a spirit of hope throughout, doubling down that regardless of how the future would proceed, she would never compromise her employees’s wellbeing to value the customer above all else, even if that meant closing. Then, despite remaining fully booked for the foreseeable closure, they did.
I didn’t pick up on it at the time; I probably should have.
So after weeks of speculation of who could fill the highly-regarded venue, I was overjoyed, to say the least, that the mantle had been taken up by Antonio Simone, from the Humble Onion in Dinas Powys.
I’ve been a quiet fan of Antonio’s work for a long time, alongside a selection of the city’s best food writers. Outside of the noise of PR machines and invitations, he has been repeatedly crafting honest, exceptional cooking. However, as is the case with many restaurants that fall outside of the immediate locality of most people, his work has gone mostly unnoticed. As his name may also suggest, Antonio perhaps doesn’t help himself, with his own humbleness” acting as an effective buffer on any major self-promotion.
While avoiding opening night, I’m one of the first to be seated for the lunch service the next day. The dining room is eerily quiet, as if I had stepped into the wake of a hurricane. After a quick chat with the front of house, he confirms that the opening night was somewhat chaotic, to say the least. Service the following day is attentive without being overbearing.
The drinks list is moderate, but not hugely extensive. The same can be said for the food menu. With starters and mains giving you the choice of around five dishes each, you’d think you’d have an easier time selecting. But deliberating this menu feels like an exercise in futility. It’s clear that it has been carefully curated to avoid bloating and the culinary equivalent of album filler tracks. Every item is a potential order, especially the starters.
My choice lands on an ox cheek fritter, placed carefully along a line of pickled turnip paired with sriracha mayonnaise. You could say it was a little minimalist, given there’s only really three things on a plate, but each pulls its own to a great degree.
The crust on the fritter is firmly on the crunchy side of the crisp-crunch spectrum. Within it houses the moorish and tender braised meat. The ox cheek holds that perfect post-gelatinous quality found only in tougher meats after their collagen has melted, binding the now-delicate, rich meat together.
It’s balanced carefully by the wafer-thin slices of pickled turnip and sriracha mayonnaise, both of which cut through the fritter’s fattiness with a necessary acidity and heat. It’s a thoroughly considered partnership.
Mains choices are slightly easier, but only due to the inclusion of one particular cut of meat. Bavette steaks are seldom seen in steakhouses across the UK — unfairly so. People are likely to be drawn closer to the sirloin or other familiar offerings, but a bavette is a must-order when offered. When cooked correctly, a bavette can be level with even the best ribeyes, despite the general lack of intramuscular fat.1
This bavette was a masterclass in cooking the cut.2 Served pink in the middle with a well-coloured crust, the steak could be easily dismantled with a butter knife. Sitting firmly in the thin medium-rare avenue, the bavette also delivered on flavour, with grass-fed, native cattle shining through.
It was also matched perfectly with the bone marrow jus and Humble chips. The marrow jus was sparing but powerful, packing a huge umami and salty punch. The triple-cooked chips were positively saturated in oil, tasting almost as if they were cooked confit, as well as holding a ridiculous crunch — the perfect pairing for a very tender steak.
Dessert is a tried and tested formula of dark chocolate and raspberry. It’s very simple, but once again succeeds through a reliance on high-quality produce treated well. The chocolate ganache, made from French valrhona chocolate, is decadent and suitably malty; the sharp raspberry pierces through it and balances it. The white chocolate pistachio crunch gives texture and saltiness to the otherwise soft and sweet finisher. It is, once again, incredibly well executed.
In total, all three courses and a glass of wine are just shy of £50, which is great value given the execution and thought behind each dish. The calibre of cooking on show resulted in a great meal, one which I am already planning on repeating at some point very soon.
You might hear statements being floated along the lines of “this is exactly the restaurant that South Wales needed.” It’s partially true, perhaps. But the fact is that a restaurant like this did already exist at the Humble Onion, a mere 10 minutes down the road from Alium’s home.
At Humble Onion, Antonio was cooking with the same character and finesse as he is now at Alium. Granted, he has refined his cooking to be even better than before, but the improvements are marginal — it’s hard to improve on excellency. Any attention he will be getting now is not because he has revolutionised himself or his cooking, but is rather long overdue praise after years of neglect from diners.
In many ways, perhaps Alium was the perfect restaurant to take over from Sam and Shauna. While their cuisines share little common ground, aside from Antonio’s use of Hang Fire’s old parilla grill,3 both share a similar ethos.
Southern barbecue is characteristically uncomplicated; almost all recipes are just a combination of smoke, meat, and time. At Alium, each of its dishes avoid the bells and whistles often attached to the world of fine dining and good food. When you have the skillset to let the food do the talking, less really is more.
It wasn’t the fanciest of ingredients or showmanship that got people back through Hang Fire’s doors in high numbers, it was honest, simple cooking from professionals who knew exactly what they were doing. The same principle should be applied to Alium, and I hope that people catch onto that soon.
Alium, The Pumphouse, Hood Rd, Barry CF62 5BE
That’s not to say that Alium is a steakhouse, by any means. In fact, it felt reductive to even order a steak here, given the other choices.
Taking photogenic pictures of the steak wasn’t my priority here - sorry.
He’s called Lemmy, by the way.