Plant-based independent restaurant, Stone’s Throw Kitchen and Shroom, recently put on another successful pop-up. Emil Hallqvist reports.
Winter has ended and spring is upon us, so it was time for another local restaurant collaboration. Stones Throw Kitchen partnered with Shroom to host their hungry guests at Back to the Belgrave from the 16th – 18th of April. I had attended their previous collaboration in January and was eager to see if their newest creations would sparkle and jive.
George Coleman runs Stones Throw Kitchen, a plant-based pizza restaurant, from Tap & Table food court by Portsmouth and Southsea Station. He has been slinging pizza since 2021 from his horse box food truck, so you may have already tried his upgraded Hawaiian or loaded polenta fries at food festivals and events such as Victorious, or stumbled across his vibrant panuozzos (sandwiches made from pizza dough), which he delivers to local cafes every Friday morning.
Lucy Bridgewater runs Shroom, which she described as a ‘plant-based, mushroom-themed, fast food pop-up restaurant.’ She originally worked as a cook at Hunter Gatherer cafe on Albert Road, but decided to launch Shroom in 2024. She started with burgers but has diversified her repertoire, now well known for her vegan Sunday roasts and rich gravy. This year, you will find Lucy in her new food truck at various food festivals and events in Hampshire.
George and Lucy have joined forces thrice. Their first event was back in July 2025 at the Royal Albert in Southsea, and their second was in January 2026 at Back to the Belgrave on Albert Road, coinciding with ‘Veganuary’. Although they both run their own vegan food businesses, neither views the other as a competitor. Both hope to demonstrate that plant-based food is flavourful, vibrant, and the opposite of bland, so enmity would do them no good. This was crystal clear when I peeked inside the kitchen and watched them cook.
Each collaboration has followed a similar pattern: George and Lucy would sit down, deconstruct their individual dishes, and build novel ones from the rubble. On their menu were many appetising items, such as a ragu covered pizza, a lamb-inspired burger with tarragon mayonnaise and mint chimichurri, and chips drenched in macaroni and cheese.
In summary: rich, indulgent, and mouth-watering. Nearly every element of each dish was made from scratch, from the pizza dough and burger patties to the sauces, toppings, and various cheeses.
The menu was limited but refined and highly appropriate for a pop-up event such as this one. It included two burgers, two pizzas, and a trio of sides, including loaded chips and arancini bites. This could have been evidence of a lack of effort, or the polar opposite. Knowing George and Lucy, it was the latter.
Some might say that plant-based foods, particularly meat and dairy replacements, tend to be bland and unsatisfactory. As George and Lucy have stressed, taking convenient shortcuts such as purchasing vegan cheese instead of making it yourself, will only weaken the final dish.
As George said, ‘Good food takes time, but it is well worth the effort.’
I arrived early on Thursday evening with a dear friend of mine. We were the first customers on a day which would be their busiest, in terms of visitors. Friday saw the most orders, and Saturday was relatively quiet. The following week, George and Lucy reported that they were very satisfied with the event and that they are already thinking about their next collaboration.
The venue was, as expected, nearly empty upon arrival, but as the evening progressed and hungry guests appeared, its vibrant leaves unfolded. The ambience was truly wholesome and joy was the night’s theme. Classic disco played on the speakers as the front-of-house team scribbled down orders, bartenders served drinks, and waiters delivered steaming pizzas, juicy burgers, and crispy chips. Sadness and strife were non-existent, whisked away by the flavour, aromas, and the colourful decor.
It felt as though you partook in the experience, rather than being a passive customer receiving shallow smiles and faceless dishes in a formal, unfamiliar setting. It was a recipe for success, but would their food match the feeling?
As with anything assessed subjectively, I have my culinary preferences, and I tend to gravitate towards Southeast Asian cuisines. Korea, Japan, and China frequently seduce me with their bold flavours, complex dishes, and emphasis on balance. The burger I ordered, titled Bahn Oh My, was unsurprisingly inspired by the renowned Vietnamese sandwich known as the Bahn Mi.
You may wonder where the pizza element played into the picture (I, for one, did). The dish was supposed to be an amalgamation of burgers and pizzas, but I failed to see the connection. George, however, explained that he too is particularly fond of East Asian flavours, but they can be difficult to transform into pizzas. Luckily, the burger was a perfect vessel for him to showcase his range of skills and passion for food. The buns were store-bought, but Lucy crafted the burger patty and George was responsible for the additional elements of the burger. Similarly, George prepared the pizza dough and its base elements, with Lucy adding her mushroom touch.
I attended the last collaboration at the end of January. The burger I ate back then, with George’s scrumptious seitan chick’N and homemade mozzarella, was unbelievable – I devoured it monstrously, not unlike that blue-haired icon particularly fond of cookies. I also tried their Sunday roast pizza, accompanied by Lucy’s legendary gravy.
My hopes for this evening were high and my expectations higher. But when I received the burger, my instinctual reaction was one of disappointment. ‘Have I expended a week’s groceries for this microscopic amalgamation?’ The burger was small and lonely, and did not come with any sides. I felt a bit sour, despite knowing full well that this was what I had ordered. In hindsight, I realised that I was caught in hypocrisy. I knew that the burger before me was hand-made (except for the bun), infused with love, care, and attention. It was not a flavourless, cookie-cutter manufactured entity designed to warp perception of quality.
I often proclaim that I would much rather pay for an expensive, real burger than spend the same amount on several from fast food franchises. But for a brief moment, before I had actually tasted it, I ignored my own values…
To dismiss the burger by order of appearance was unfair. It was irrational. It was a mistake. Eating it was a messy job. My lips, cheek, chin, and fingers were drenched in burger juice, soy glaze, mayo, and any other luscious liquid accompanying it. The mess I was in did not reflect the palatal harmony I experienced.
The patty was savoury and tender. I was astonished by how the chopped walnut pieces in it contributed with a pleasant, sporadic crunch seldom found in most burger patties. The pickled carrot and fresh cucumber were crisp; the soy and ginger glaze packed a savoury umami punch; and the lime mayo rounded it off excellently, with a slight acidic kick. All elements complemented each other, and none felt redundant or bland.
I mentioned messiness. That was unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perspective, I suppose) the burger’s biggest weakness. Instead of pleasing my palate, the flavour explosions – mainly the glaze – leaked onto my paper plate. I found myself dipping the burger in its own lost juices, which is not preferable. But I will accept scoopable flavour over nonexistent ones any day.
Apart from the avoidable mess, the burger was a success! It was flavourful, balanced, and gone before I knew it. My friend and I also shared the quirkily titled Mac Tatties – skin-on fries covered in a layer of macaroni and cheese. I was cautiously optimistic, but assumed the combination was self-defeating. Two great individual dishes do not automatically become greater when combined (you seldom dip your biscuits in orange juice or smear gravy over your Christmas pudding). Somehow, macaroni and cheese with chips worked.
The chips were crispy and perfectly seasoned, and although the cheese was a bit too cheesy for my taste (which is quite marvellous considering it was made from cashews, not cow’s milk). Its rich tang was mellowed by the chips and provided a needed layer of nuance that the chips themselves lacked. I was disappointed to learn that the chips were bought frozen, and a part of me wondered why they served chips if they had not sliced, fried, and refried them themselves.
On the other hand, I knew how laborious and tricky it was to make vegan cheese sauces, and how few store-bought versions even taste okay. I could feel the effort and care put into it, so I can forgive the other shortcut. This opinion may also reflect my intrinsic prejudice again already-prepared, store-bought food; I simply refused to believe potato perfection came from a bag. But my senses did not lie, and the food was soon gone, only lingering in my memories.
No meal lasts forever. No burger is immortal. No dishes will ever be perfectly identical. Food is inherently finite. Similarly, after this weekend, the menu George and Lucy created will only exist in our memories, as will the burgers and pizzas we happily enjoyed.
Therein lies beauty.
The body will always require food. Nothing will change that. But how we feed it, with what we feed it, and with whom, are choices we make daily. Each meal is an opportunity, not only for pure palatal pleasure, but for experiences that will linger far longer than they actually last. Everything you eat need not be a palatal explosion, but that only makes those precious dishes all the more special. Once every so often, it is worth venturing beyond the realm of average to treat yourself to something truly exquisite. The moment is all we have, so we better enjoy it while it lasts.
I left Back to the Belgrave with a satisfied tummy and a smile on my face, excited for the next collaboration in the summer, rumoured to be hosted in a beer garden. The food I ate may not have been perfect. The burger may have been hampered by its messiness. But the food George and Lucy served was bloody delicious, and definitely worth my time and my money. Well, without the blood, of course, and all that needless suffering.
Photo courtesy of Emil Hallqvist.
