Our story
How a home kitchen, a childhood memory and a small brass key turned into Parker’s.
The experiment
What would breakfast taste like if nobody had ever told you where it was supposed to come from? That was the whole brief. One kitchen, a stack of borrowed cookbooks, and a stubborn refusal to pick a single country.
Shakshuka learned from a neighbour. Pancakes from a diner napkin. A cheese toastie argued over for a fortnight. None of it matched, and all of it worked, and that turned out to be the point.
The hidden keys
The locket on our door has a keyhole in it, and somewhere out there is the key that fits. Actually, there are rather a lot of them. Mr. Parker has been leaving small brass keys around the city since the day we opened — on a bench, behind a menu, in the pocket of a coat nobody claimed.
Find one and it is yours.
Bring it in and we will tell you what it opens. Some open a dessert. One opens the long table for you and eleven friends. Nobody has found that one yet.
On a bench, behind a menu, in a coat pocket. They are small, brass, and look like they belong to something.
Finders keepers. No form to fill in, no receipt to show.
Show it to the team when you visit and we will tell you what it opens.
The rooms
Open nowuntil 23:00
