Words by Flora Macdonald Johnston
I am sat on the second floor of the Knave of Clubs, James Dye’s latest culinary venture, amid an atmosphere that is less ‘sumptuous dining’ and more ‘active construction site.’ Paint pots, electrical wires, and a rogue ladder or two litter the space. Below us, the Shoreditch pub’s ground floor—resplendent in its newly restored 19th-century gold motifs and original tiles—has already opened to the public. But here, on this unfinished floor, the soon-to-be restaurant, One Club Row, is still a few weeks away from its grand reveal. And just above us, an additional private dining space is in the works, because evidently, one does not simply open a pub these days without launching a multi-tiered gastronomic empire.
Yet, for a man juggling blueprints, builders and multiple locations, Dye appears remarkably unruffled. Slouched comfortably across from me in a patterned button-up jacket and jeans, one leg crossed with effortless insouciance, he exudes the kind of laid-back composure one only acquires after years of orchestrating London’s most beloved eating and drinking haunts. Which, of course, he has. His résumé boasts the cult-status Frank’s in Peckham, the much-worshipped Camberwell Arms (where arguments over the superiority of its Sunday roast are taken as seriously as election debates) both of which he co-founded, and Bambi, his own venture, East London’s answer to the restaurant-club hybrid. In short, Dye knows his way around a plate of food and a party.
Not that his journey into the hospitality world followed any kind of predictable arc. Born to chef parents, Dye was practically marinated in the industry from birth, though he initially took a detour into the heady world of club promotion. At 16, while other teenagers were mastering the art of fake IDs, Dye was busy organising raves.
“I’ve never had a real job,” he confesses with a smile. “I used to promote concerts. So we did a lot of shows with grime and indie artists that went on to be quite big. And then, aged 18, the nightclub we were working in burnt down, and my friend and I were asked to relaunch it. We were given a budget and that was it—we just made this crazy nightclub in Brixton.”
That nightclub was Phonox—then known as Plan B—a venue he transformed into one of the city’s most popular hip-hop hubs before expanding his nocturnal kingdom into raves and warehouse parties, often teetering on the edge of legality. “Pretty much semi-illegal,” he notes, winking, as if reminiscing about a particularly daring teenage prank rather than a business model.
Then came the financial crash—a period of widespread economic despair, but also, as history so often proves, a fertile breeding ground for creative reinvention. Dye, seeking something with more longevity than a one-night-only rave, pivoted into the restaurant business.Railway arches in Peckham were cheap and Dye opened a food and drinks concept called Peckham Springs. It was a huge hit, and off the bat of that, Franks and the Camberwell Arms was born. The rest, as they say, is history. Or, in this case, a very promising future—assuming the ladders, wires, and paint pots within the second floor of the pub eventually make way for tables, chairs, and well-fed patrons.
Is there a correlation between raves and restaurants, I ask. The answer is, of course, yes. “Hospitality is entertainment,” Dye says enthusiastically. “Whether or not you're going to a gig or having an evening out in a restaurant, it's the same thing. You're there to have fun.” And fun his destinations certainly are. Each location Dye puts his hand to seemingly becomes a neighbourhood institution. But for Dye, it’s not because of a rigid formula. He approaches each new venue with fresh eyes—an instinctive method that, it turns out, is his true magic trick.
“I [create places] a little bit differently. I don't have a single concept that we roll out everywhere. We don’t just do, like, pizza restaurants,” he explains. “We find an area we like, then a building we like, and then we design and think about an F&B concept to fit that. And the combination of the area, the building, and the kind of response to that means everything is unique. That’s probably the only thread that runs through everything. And historically, we’ve always liked slightly unusual buildings—whether that’s a car park, railway arches, or a warehouse…”
Dye isn’t fussy. During lockdown-induced boredom, he casually transformed a Grade II-listed bank into a deli. Because, well—why not?
The origin story of Knave of Clubs follows a similar trajectory. Introduced to the landlord, Dye was given a tour of the historic pub, which has stood since 1880. Over the years, it has worn many hats. It was once a thriving watering hole adjacent to a bird market which started in the late 19th century and ran until the 1980s, where traders swapped exotic parrots over pints. Later, it became a squat. At some point, it was even repurposed as an apartment and was a restaurant called Les Trois Garçons in 2001. Now, under Dye’s stewardship, it’s gearing up for yet another rebirth. And if history is anything to go by, it will be one worth watching.
“For the creation [of Knave of Clubs], we were informed by the building. So obviously, number one, we had to put the pub back to being a pub. It hasn't been a pub for 30 years, and being able to do that in this day and age, with A) so many pubs closing, and B) with everyone's love of pubs trying to bring it up together, that was non-negotiable.Then you walk into this room and it's got this amazing fade of grandeur, like a dining room in New York or Paris… And then we got quite excited about up here because it's never been used. So it's the first time it's ever been a dining room. To be able to invite people into a space this beautiful in the middle of Shoreditch that they've walked past countless times—it’s incredible.” And the top floor? “We thought about the history of it being an apartment. Seeing a huge demand for private dining and events, and the whole landscape changing around that, it just made sense. A no-brainer.”
Of course, projects like this don’t come cheap. For the first time, Dye has brought on investors—an impressive shift, considering that all his previous ventures have been self-funded. But what truly sets his establishments apart isn’t just the funding, the architecture, or even the food. It’s the branding, the identity—something Dye takes with the utmost seriousness.“I think the identity is important, particularly when you're launching something, because it gives people a sense of what it is,” he explains. “So much of how someone feels about your restaurant is informed by the experience, the price point, the atmosphere, the vibe. It’s this whole crazy puzzle. It’s got to look beautiful from an interior perspective and an identity perspective. It’s got to be positioned in a certain way, the food’s got to look a certain way—it’s nuanced.”
And the food? After a lunch of perfectly cooked rotisserie chicken with dripping (inspired by visits to French markets), a venison sausage roll, and a prawn scotch egg with chilli jam, I can confirm it is excellent. Credit for this, however, must be shared. At the helm of the kitchen is Dye’s team of culinary conspirators: former Midland Grand and Allegra chef Patrick Powell, who serves as culinary director, alongside Atilla Gellen—his trusted lieutenant from Allegra—now installed as Head Chef. Completing the lineup is Benjy Leibowitz, whose CV boasts stints at JKS and The NoMad in NYC. Together, they form an impressive trifecta.
One might assume Dye would pause, perhaps allow the paint to dry before plotting his next conquest. But no—two months from now, he will open yet another restaurant, Setlist, this time at London’s iconic Somerset House, with prime real estate facing the river. This latest venture will spotlight a rotating cast of emerging female chefs, their menus conceived as culinary exhibitions, mirroring the artistic legacy of the building itself."It will be a destination for food, drinks, art and music," says Dye.
Does the man sleep? Clearly not.
Before we part ways, I ask him one final question. With a string of successful ventures now under his belt, what advice would he give his 18-year-old self? He doesn’t hesitate.
“This idea that people ahead of you in your career know what they're doing, have it all planned out. It's just not true. And the best way is just to get on with it and find out. Just go for it.”
And with that, Dye hurries off to his next meeting, while I contemplate ordering another venison sausage roll…