DINING OUT: sova

There are plenty of places in London willing to tell you about natural wine. Fewer are willing to tell you where it actually comes from.

At sova, a compact new wine bar tucked away on Blenheim Crescent in Notting Hill, the focus shifts east. Georgia, Armenia, Ukraine, Serbia, Slovenia, Hungary, Bosnia and Bulgaria all make appearances on a wine list that feels refreshingly unconcerned with the familiar. There is no performative lecture on fermentation, no insistence that you should already know your skin-contact from your pét-nat. Instead, sova offers something increasingly rare in London dining: genuine discovery.

The latest venture from the team behind ZIMA, which celebrates its tenth anniversary this year, takes its name from the Slavic word for owl. The symbolism is obvious enough. This is a place designed for lingering evenings, conversation and curiosity. The soundtrack comes from vinyl records rather than playlists, with guest DJs providing the backdrop throughout the week. Shelves lined with bottles and records sit against muted interiors of wood, linen and clay tones, while low lighting encourages guests to settle in rather than rush through another meal.

The room itself is intimate without feeling cramped. Around forty guests can be accommodated between the counter, tables and a small terrace outside. It feels more neighbourhood haunt than destination restaurant, yet the quality of what arrives on both the table and in the glass suggests considerable ambition.

The wine programme, curated by consultant sommelier Cristian Vega, is where sova distinguishes itself. London has embraced low-intervention wine, but few venues have explored Central and Eastern Europe with such singular focus. Georgian orange wines sit alongside Slovenian Malvasia, Serbian Pinot Grigio and Hungarian Riesling. Ukrainian sparkling wines share space with chilled reds from lesser-known Balkan producers. The list rewards adventurous drinkers, but crucially remains approachable for those simply looking for something different.

What makes the concept work is that the food understands its supporting role.

Head Chef Ilia Bushmakin's menu is built around sharing plates with subtle Slavic influences rather than overt nostalgia. The dishes avoid the trap of becoming an educational exercise in regional cuisine. Instead, they draw on Eastern European ingredients and flavours while remaining firmly rooted in modern London dining.

Slow-roasted peppers arrive slicked with anchovies and dill oil, offering brightness and depth in equal measure. Beef tartare served on dark Borodinsky bread introduces earthy notes that conventional sourdough could never replicate, while horseradish mayonnaise adds a welcome sharpness. A selection of Slavic cheeses encourages further exploration and pairs naturally with the wine list's more unusual offerings.

The larger plates demonstrate similar restraint. Whisky and honey-roasted baby chicken arrives with green salsa, balancing sweetness and acidity without unnecessary complication. Crispy sea bass with fennel, grapefruit and peas feels particularly suited to a summer evening, while miso-glazed duck confit with Jerusalem artichokes and plum sauce successfully bridges Eastern European inspiration with broader contemporary influences.

None of these dishes are trying to reinvent anything. That's precisely their strength. They provide structure for the wines to shine while remaining memorable in their own right.

Desserts continue the theme of subtle distinction. Dark chocolate mousse gains additional character from sea buckthorn, while sour cherry and buckwheat crumble offers a more interesting conclusion than the standard restaurant brownie currently haunting London's menus. A wild berry cake finished with mascarpone and poppy seed feels appropriately Eastern European without ever becoming thematic.

Yet sova's greatest achievement is creating a sense of place. In a neighbourhood where openings often arrive carrying hefty marketing budgets and grand statements about concepts, this feels remarkably confident in its simplicity. Good wine, thoughtful food, strong music and an atmosphere that encourages guests to stay longer than planned.

The result is less restaurant and more invitation: an introduction to a part of Europe's wine culture that remains underrepresented in London. You arrive expecting a glass of something unfamiliar. You leave wondering why you haven't been drinking Georgian orange wine all along.

For a city that sometimes mistakes novelty for originality, sova offers something better. It broadens the conversation. And over a bottle from a country most Londoners couldn't locate on a wine map, that's a conversation worth having.

Book a table at sova.