This is a non-sponsored post from guest writer, Caroline Simonds
I didn’t mean to fall in love with a steakhouse.
It just happened. One minute I’m walking down Essex Road in Islington, hungry, mildly grumpy, and definitely under-caffeinated.
The next minute, I’m inside Meat People—warm lighting, retro charm, the smell of something sizzling in butter—and I’m wondering if I’ve just walked into my own culinary rom-com.
Now, full disclosure: I’m not a die-hard steak snob. I like meat, I respect meat, but I don’t spend weekends slow-smoking brisket or debating the grain of a flank cut. That said, I do know the difference between something slapped on a grill and something treated with the kind of reverence normally reserved for ancient wine or newborn babies. Meat People gets it right—very, very right.
The place has serious character.
The building’s an old tiled greasy spoon, Grade II listed apparently, and still proudly holding onto its heritage. Think 1940s-canteen-meets-modern-steak-den. It’s got that rough-around-the-edges charm that makes you feel like you’ve discovered a secret—low-key stylish, slightly romantic, and just the right side of moody. The kind of place where your date might assume you have better taste than you actually do. Win-win.
I was seated quickly, which I appreciated because I’d worked up a serious appetite. The staff were relaxed, friendly, and not at all robotic—actual humans with personality, jokes, and helpful tips. You can always tell a place is good when the servers look genuinely happy to be there, not just counting down until the last order.
Now, the food. Lord have mercy, the food.
To start, I went with the grilled octopus and the crispy pork belly because I’m greedy and decision-making stresses me out. The octopus came perfectly charred with confit potatoes that were, admittedly, a little late to the plate but so worth the wait I forgave them instantly. It had that lovely briny punch, with olives and capers bringing a tap-dance of salty joy. The pork belly, on the other hand, arrived hot, crispy, and ridiculously tender—just enough fat to feel naughty, not enough to regret your life choices.
There was also a brief and very passionate moment between me and a beef empanada. The kind of pastry that gives you goosebumps. No exaggeration.
But the main event? That’s where Meat People really earns its name.
I went for the Argentinian rib-eye, medium rare, with chimichurri because I didn’t come to play.
It arrived on the plate like a work of art—perfectly seared, oozing juices, and thick enough to make me question whether I’d need a nap halfway through.
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Every bite was a little moment of joy. Crispy on the outside, buttery-soft inside, and full of that smoky, beefy richness you can only get from someone who knows how to handle a serious slab of meat. I didn’t talk for ten minutes. I just… experienced.
There were other contenders too—my mate ordered the sirloin, leaner but equally glorious, and someone on the next table got the onglet, which looked so good I nearly leaned over with a fork and pretended it was a sharing platter. Don’t worry, I didn’t. I’m not an animal.
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As for sides, the fries were golden and crispy, the greens were garlicky and not sad (which is rare), and the chunky chips—actual slabs of potato with crispy jackets—were the kind of thing you keep eating long after your stomach begs you to stop.
Dessert was a surprise because honestly, who has room after a steak like that? But when the waiter suggested the banana carpaccio with dulce de leche ice cream, I heard myself say “yes” before I’d even processed what I was agreeing to. Good call. It was like a dessert tapas plate—light enough to round things off, indulgent enough to make me consider unbuttoning my jeans. Which, for the record, I did not do. I have some self-respect. Barely.
The drinks? A nice mix of cocktails (I had a Negroni that hit just right), a solid wine list leaning Argentinian and Italian, and even some local beers from Greenwich if you want something more casual. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t push expensive pairings but gently steers you toward things that make your food taste even better. Which is just smart business, really.
By the time we paid the bill (which was not cheap but not outrageous for central-ish London), I was full, slightly tipsy, and 90% sure I’d found my new favourite meat spot. No frills, no pretension—just good food, good people, and a building that feels like it’s lived a few lives and picked up a few secrets along the way.
If I had to nitpick, I’d say vegetarians might struggle a bit. The options are there, but they’re clearly not the headline act. Also, they do change the menu pretty often, which means you might fall in love with something one week only to find it’s gone the next. But hey, that’s the price of fresh, seasonal cooking. Keeps you on your toes.
So would I go back? Already have. Would I recommend it to anyone who likes their steak with a side of style and no side of snobbery? Without hesitation.
Meat People is like that friend who throws effortlessly cool dinner parties and always seems to know exactly what wine to bring. It’s unpretentious, charming, and very, very satisfying.
And if you’re wondering: yes, I did try to rebook a week later and they were full. So maybe book ahead, yeah?
Catch you next time, steak lovers. I’ll be the one at the back table, blissfully chewing and pretending not to cry from happiness.