Say what, a decent Mexican takeaway? In the middle of London’s arid burrito desert? That isn’t another Tortilla factory full of cheerless automatons churning out bland slop for a fiver-plus (guacamole 50p extra)? You’re joking, right? Fortunately not, and although it’s taken me a year to find it, Holborn now has a place worth checking out.
While Waterloo workers have Buen Provecho, Kings Cross denizens got Eat Street, and the Tottenham Court Road office bods have been enjoying Chipotle for some time, round these parts was always a bit of a Chilango fest. But thanks to Adobo that’s all changed.
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A systematic and unbiased round-up of London’s movers, shakers and jokers in the restaurant world during 2011, aka an SEO-grabbing re-run of places I visited throughout the year. Tis the season for repeats. Enjoy and as ever make your own thoughts plain below.
If you’re new to the blog subscribe to updates here or follow my ramblings on Twitter. Until 2012…
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Where were you when you first heard about the Meat Wagon? I was here, in front of my computer, and reading Cheese & Biscuits. It was May 2010, pre-van theft, pre-Meateasy and at a time when the gales of hype were just an area of high pressure somewhere far away.
A few months later I got to try the actual thing at a Dalston pop-up (believe) and joined the cult. And so when a tweet went out two days before #MEATiquor (as it’s known to its weak-kneed, slavish followers) opened, reading “hungry carnivores might find themselves in luck if they pop down tonight”, I was there.
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What time do you start drinking? 6pm? 5pm? Half five? Midday? Hell, it’s always cocktail hour somewhere. How about 6, 7, or 8am?
Drinking within hours of sunrise might sound like the preserve of the depraved and the deranged, the homeless and the can’t-find-home, but it’s a fine tradition in certain parts of London. Pubs, usually somewhere near a market and platoons of strange shift workers, have been throwing open their doors to eager drinkers for years, from Borough’s Market Porter to The Hope on Cowcross Street. 24 drinking isn’t a new invention, and the right drink (I’m thinking Guinness over flaming Sambucas) can set you up for the day.
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Some balls are held for charity, and some for fancy dress. But when they’re held for pleasure, they’re the balls I like best.
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On the long, long list of things I love about America, the country’s unashamed hard-on for classic rock is currently very much top five (somewhere between Drive-Thru Starbucks, In-And-Out, DFC, and Man Vs Food).
Whether you’re jammed on a freeway, languishing in a spa, or wandering round some shopping cathedral, you’re never more than five feet away from ‘Free Bird’ or some such tune. Go skiing in Europe, it’s silent on the slopes. Take a board down Big Bear, and it’s all beers in baskets and balls-out denim rock pumping from gargantuan speakers.
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It seems almost perverse to tell you about a pop-up that popped up for three days and has no plans to pop back (for a while), but if you’re a fan of properly fried chicken, or tacos, or tacos with fried chicken in them, you may be interested.
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Well bugger me sideways and throw a looting chav in the canal if we haven’t finally found a street food stand worthy of La Revolución. Forget Pitt Cue Co, I’ve found* some more guys really worthy of the tag: Buen Provecho, of Lower Marsh Street and – for one afternoon only – the Red Lion & Sun in Highgate.
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Likes it, likes it, really likes it, doesn’t like it, likes it, doesn’t like it – a quick scan of the Urbanspoon thumbs up-or-down sadly reveals no clear consensus on Seven Dials fusion restaurant Kopapa, and I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help either. I liked it, really liked it, didn’t like it, wasn’t sure, thought I liked it, then sorta liked it, during the course of my 45 minute visit last week.
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