Nathaniel Mortley didn’t learn to cook in prison, despite what some people suppose.
“A lot of people get it wrong,” he tells me, a little frustrated, over pasta at Padella. “I’ve been cooking since I was a teenager; properly since catering college. I didn’t learn in prison, but I did cook there. I was known as ‘the chef’. Everyone had a role.”
Mortley, better known today as Natty Can Cook, would do “whip rounds” at HMP Brixton: inmates would save the chicken from meal times and he’d turn boring, unseasoned meat into something far more interesting. A pared-back version of jerk chicken with rice and peas was a standout dish.
The same dish — in concept if not design — is on the menu at his new Herne Hill restaurant, 2210, two miles from where he was once confined. Mortley’s menu is Caribbean at its heart, with French technique and modern adaptations. “Lobster rasta pasta” sees Cornish lobster folded through a spiced tagliatelle with a little cream; crab beignets, soft and light, are spiced with cumin and tempered by yoghurt; duck breasts are seared with pimento and sit on pumpkin puree, with a confit leg croquette and a pumpkin seed brittle. Flavours are big; plating is eventful.
Mortley’s story is far more complicated than a simple one of going to prison, turning his life around and then opening his own place. Now 31, he was born to middle class parents in Peckham, south London. His father, German-Jewish, ran businesses, including the ever-popular Ladywell Tavern; his accountant mother is of Caribbean heritage, Bajan and Guyanese. It’s his mother’s side of the family that informs his cooking today.
“I want people to see that Caribbean food isn’t just jerk chicken and rice and peas — even if I do cook that, obviously,” he tells me. “I like fine dining. My dishes are refined and my restaurant is a higher-end experience, though not too expensive because I want as many people to come as possible, as much a destination as somewhere for locals.
“There isn’t a Caribbean restaurant that has a Michelin star and I want to change that. I want to get the first. There are all these misconceptions around it. I think things are changing and I want to be at the top of the game. Why not?”
Mortley isn’t alone in steering Caribbean dining forward. He name-checks Jason Howard, another chef at the top of his game and whose Brixton restaurant Flava Pepper isn’t far away from his own. Dom Taylor is another South Londoner making a name for himself in hospitality, having appeared on Netflix’s cooking show Five Star Chef before hosting a residency at the Langham hotel under Michel Roux.
“There’s a lot happening with Caribbean dining in London,” says Mortley, admiring his beef shin ragu, which had its own renaissance in Britain about 20 years ago. “I think its time has come.”
Mortley journeys back to his early days. Growing up in south-east London, he played school rugby, turned out for Surrey juniors, and achieved 14 GCSEs. But in his later teenage years, he fell into the wrong crowd. At 16, he was stabbed at a house party, and though his early career in London kitchen was promising it wasn’t long before he started dealing drugs, as much out of circumstance as any keen desire to build a criminal enterprise.
He recalls: “I was playing top rugby — I played blind-side flanker — and did really well at school, even though I was diagnosed with ADHD. But yeah, there were gangs… and affiliations...” he pauses. “I wasn’t in a gang, but I knew people who were. Basically, I was set up at a party and stabbed in the back. It was a huge turning point. It changed everything. I was this happy-go-lucky guy and it made me angry and resentful. It really impacted me and I ended up getting into drugs and getting kicked out of college.
“At the time I was doing five A-levels and thought I’d go to university. But I was also really into cooking, it was always such a big thing in my family and I’d always help out in the kitchen, so that was the alternative.”
Mortley’s family encouraged him to cook full-time. To find a purpose. One of his earliest jobs was catering at the Olympics and the money was good: “I was getting £900 a week,” he says, “which at 18 or whatever is serious.”
He continues: “Then I worked at Oblix at the Shard and it was a great environment. Chefs there looked after me. The head chef took me under his wing and I learned so much. I owe him a lot. It ignited something in me — it was the spark. I realised I could make a career out of being a chef and wanted to work my way up.”
Prison cake was a big one... it basically involves cooking condensed milk in a kettle for a long time to make a caramel
The problem is, he did, and Mortley went onto work at Michelin-starred restaurants in London, for big name chefs and at regarded private clubs. They brought their own problems: “Some of these places were tough environments. Really challenging. And I wanted to work hard, but I was often the only black guy in the kitchen and, well, it wasn’t always easy...
“At some restaurants, the culture was drug-heavy. I had easy access to them, so I started selling it to people in the industry. When you’re not earning very much, and you’re young and reckless, the pull is intense and so that’s what I did.”
Which takes us back to HMP Brixton. Mortley ended up serving two-and-a-half years in his mid-20s. He says it totally changed his perspective, proving to be rehabilitating enough to propel him back into cooking and with love and passion rather than out of necessity.
“I totally fell out of love with cooking in some of those kitchens,” he says. “I’m a strong guy, but they sort of broke me. But prison really did change my life. It was really positive and I had a good time. It helped that half the people in there I knew from the area, from school.”
HMP Brixton is also home to the Clink, a charity-run restaurant that trains prisoners to cook professionally, allowing them to learn transferable skills for a more promising future. Naturally, Mortley was a shoo-in, and he’s now an ambassador for the project, regularly returning to talk to others about how to move forward.
Our pasta long since finished and the queue outside Padella is growing longer, Mortley and I head to a nearby pub for a pint on a barrel outside. Before long, he’s stopped by a fan, then bumps into a chef he once gave work to at one of his numerous residencies. Mortley isn’t quite famous, but he’s getting there, with more than 50,000 followers on Instagram. He credits social media in helping him forge his career round two.
“I started posting videos on social media and they blew up,” he says. “Prison cake was a big one — it’s a long story, a complex recipe, but it basically involves cooking condensed milk in a kettle for a long time to make a caramel.” He shows me pictures from inside his cell. “It was a long process. But anyway, recipes on social media were a good starting point.”
In recent years, he has made a name for himself at various pop-ups and residencies, drawing queues of his own. Understandable, by the way: roti with scotch bonnet butter and ackee and saltfish spring rolls are as satisfying as they are exciting.
There’s been attention beyond social media too. Earlier this year, he was named the “one to watch” chef by Condé Nast Traveller. TV appearances have begun. There’s been talk of a book.
Still, for now, it’s all about 2210, his pan-Caribbean restaurant rooted in the food of his childhood, with a lot of learning, travelling, and success and failure in between.
“I’m nervous about 2210,” Mortley concedes. “It’s a big risk. It’s all my own money. But I’m so excited too. Herne Hill is a great neighbourhood. I want everyone to come, from all walks of life. It’s a restaurant for everyone. It’s elevated cooking but it’s affordable too. And it’s a big space. The potential is massive.
“You know, I really believe in my food. I can cook.”
2210 opens on October 22 at 75 Norwood Road, SE24 9AA, 2210bynattycancook.com
