THERE can’t be many stranger places to eat a venison carpaccio than a prison.
While I tucked into my thinly-sliced Bambi, I was surrounded by panic alarms, metal bars – and inmates.
I enjoyed a three-course lunch at The Clink restaurant inside category-C HMP Brixton in south London back in September.
Former inmates at the lock-up include Mick Jagger, the Kray Twins and reality star Stephen Bear.
One of the oldest prisons in the UK, Brixton houses around 700 men – including 200 sex offenders.
Last year Chief Inspector of Prisons Charlie Taylor said Brixton’s “tiny, cramped and dilapidated” cells were among the worst he had seen.
A week after I visited, Brixton was one of many prisons forced to release dozens of inmates early to ease extreme overcrowding.
In other words, it might seem like an odd place to go for a fancy dinner.
But The Clink has often ranked as one of London’s Top 10 restaurants on TripAdvisor.
It scooped a Travellers’ Choice Award in 2022, placing it in the top 10 per cent of restaurants worldwide.
This is certainly a restaurant like no other – as I found out for myself one lunchtime.
The restaurant was set up to help prisoners work towards catering qualifications as they take their first steps towards life outside.
Inmates cleared for contact with the public work as chefs and waiters – chatting openly with diners.
There are strict rules for diners to follow, which if anything adds to the strange charm of the place.
The Clink Restaurant at HMP Brixton
Bill plus donation: £53.34
Firstly, you can’t bring a phone – or anything else besides your bank card and the clothes you are wearing.
Skimpy clothes, hoodies, football shirts and light-up Christmas jumpers are all banned.
Thankfully, my usual journalist’s uniform – a creased and coffee-stained M&S shirt – was suitably drab.
After showing ID and going through airport-style security, I was led with a group of diners to the old governor’s house.
Inside is the restaurant and kitchen, along with The Clink’s bakery for prisoners learning pastry and confectionery skills.
The dining room is as slick and stylish as any other posh restaurant, with air-con and muzak piped through the walls.
Among the classy touches are leather chairs made by inmates at category-A HMP Frankland in Durham, nicknamed “Monster Mansion”.
On the walls are artworks and poems created by past and present Brixton lags.
If not for a few subtle touches, I could have forgotten I was inside a prison.
For one thing, the windows have bars over them and the roof is ringed with barbed wire.
On the walls are green panic alarms which will bring prison officers running if you slam them.
A prison source told The Sun that one naughty child was met with glares from breathless officers after hitting an alarm for a laugh.
The cutlery is all plastic, the furniture is bolted to the ground and no alcohol is served.
Diners are warned not to ask their waiters what they are “in” for, because the prisoners are working hard to turn their lives around.
But some visitors cannot help themselves – and one since-released waiter was famous for regaling them with his past capers.
An insider said one female diner is not welcome back after asking her waiter for his phone number.
For the vast majority who behave, the restaurant is a lovely place to spend a few hours.
I was shown to my table by a front-of-house worker, who then handed me over to his waiter colleague.
The prisoners are very chatty and instantly rumbled the journalist in their midst.
It turns out that The Sun is the paper of choice for many Brixton inmates.
They served up a delicious meal of venison carpaccio with dukkah, roast pollock with chips and torched blackcurrant meringue.
I only ordered the chips after heavy cajoling from my waiter, who turned out to be quite right about their deliciousness.
A journalist without their phone or alcohol is a fish out of water, but my elderflower spritz and cappuccino went down very easily.
The standard of cooking rivals many pricey joints on the outside, and the waiters would be a credit to any restaurant.
But I heard a group of Chinese tourists nearby telling a burly lag that their bavette steak was too salty.
Bolder people than me – but my own rave review is completely genuine.
The prisoners I spoke to said they loved working in the restaurant – and not just because of the training they get.
Charlie Taylor’s report found that most Brixton inmates have far too little to do.
Languishing in a cramped cell all day can badly damage prisoners’ mental health, setting back their efforts to go straight.
Working in The Clink gets prisoners out of their cells and gives them a few hours of normality from morning prep to post-dinner wash-up.
They spoke with pride about their work and beamed while talking shop about recipes, ingredients and chores.
Even I found it intensely calming to spend a lunchtime away from the hubbub of the outside world, by which I mean my editors.
But then I had the luxury of leaving afterwards – whereas the prisoners must go back to the hard reality of their cells.
This is a lovely restaurant – but the feasting is inevitably shaded by sadness.
When we were exchanging pleasantries, one of the inmates told me front-up that he was “struggling to make the best of a bad situation”.
Enjoying MasterChef-style delights in such a sombre setting can feel a bit jarring.
But the restaurant is here as a way to help prisoners turn their lives around, not just a dubious cash-spinner like so many London joints.
Training staff give special support to the many prisoners with mental health issues, learning disabilities or neuro-diverse needs like autism.
Last year The Clink trained 830 inmates at Brixton and HMP Styal, a women and young offenders’ prison in Cheshire.
A whopping 550 achieved their qualifications, and more than half of them found jobs after their release.
It is thought that nearly nine in ten qualified graduates from The Clink have not re-offended.
That makes it a vastly successful prisoner rehabilitation scheme at a time when these are tragically rare in Britain.
Former Brixton inmate Nathaniel Mortley found his calling at The Clink.
South Londoner Mortley was jailed in 2019 after he was stabbed aged 16.
But he now serves up Caribbean classics with a fancy twist at Greyhound pub in Peckham, where he has a permanent residency.
The Clink may seem an eccentric choice for a first date or anniversary meal – but then all the better to leave an impression.
I rued my own decision to come alone, but then I’m often told that lunch with me is an exercise in solitary confinement.
If you want to support the restaurant but would have to trek to Brixton or Cheshire, you can pick up a luxury hamper online.
The hampers include shortbread, truffles, Parmesan crackers and Morello cherry jam, all crafted by inmates.
My verdict on my top-notch meal behind bars? Porridge this ain’t.
