Sometimes you just walk into a place and you know everything's going to be all right. Now I'm not saying that the global financial crisis quite melted away beneath me, but there's something reassuring about enthusiastic faces sipping tasty European lagers, reading Sunday papers and tucking into roasts. Add in a heady mix of camp interior design with dark velvet curtains and the rainy January Sunday was forgiven.
Despite the tempting offers of monkfish tails and beef bourgignon, Sunday is a day to roast. One of each- lamb and beef, although there was also farm-assured chicken and nut roast (which I thought would have been made illegal by some militant vegetarians by now). Portion size was acceptable but then maybe I'm spoilt by freely available seconds and thirds with the home-cooked version. Tender beef, a slightly fattier end of the lamb, but it was all pretty satisfying nonetheless. The vegetables were omnipresent but a bit lacking in flair and imagination. The lager and ale selection is impressively broad, and a sticky toffee pub left me satisfied enough to amble my way along Marylebone High Street and play dodge the umbrellas.
Friday, 30 January 2009
Wong Kei, China Town, London, 25.01.09
Wong Kei. Wonky? Well it's certainly not standing up completely straight if this visit was anything to go on. There's a certain canteen charm to it when you leave the bustle of Chinatown outside, but the stairs up to our first floor table could have been the setting for any grotty multistorey car park. That aside, it was a busy night and service was in full flow.
The cripsy duck was prompt and reassuring. There's always the pancake issue and not enough of the green bits, but extra supplies were provided. Moving on, the first crispy seaweed had its texture enhaced by a piece of twisted metal buried within it. The apologies were present but unenthusiastic and the replacement plate arrived shrapnel-free. Whilst the rest of the party chose family favourites along the lines of chicken and cashew nuts, and sweet and sour pork, I thought I'd branch out. Roast pork and oysters- bit of an intriguing combination and it felt like it could be the genuine Chinese article. Unfortunately I've seen more meat in a pork scratching and the oysters had left the sea a rather long time ago. Pushing it aside, I glanced to my friends for charitable donations. To my left, was a curious combination of chicken, a few cashews, and the contents of a tin of mixed veg (you know, small carrot cubes, a few peas and the obligatory sweetcorn). To my right, more mouthfuls of fatty battered pork with sweet and sour sauce. I ordered another beer instead.
We finished up pretty swiftly and judiciously decided to leave the dessert menu for another time. The toilets were again set in car park territory, but full marks for consistency of the theme. Our British joviality was assisted by a young waiter who decided to mock one of the party's laugh as he swaggered past the table. Not sure where the arrogance came from- there's certainly nothing redeeming here.
Chinatown can be hit or miss. Recommendations can be boring and safe, and sometimes it's the sefl-congratulation of finding an impressive unassuming place tucked away somewhere that makes the night. Wong Kei isn't tucked away. Walk on past...
The cripsy duck was prompt and reassuring. There's always the pancake issue and not enough of the green bits, but extra supplies were provided. Moving on, the first crispy seaweed had its texture enhaced by a piece of twisted metal buried within it. The apologies were present but unenthusiastic and the replacement plate arrived shrapnel-free. Whilst the rest of the party chose family favourites along the lines of chicken and cashew nuts, and sweet and sour pork, I thought I'd branch out. Roast pork and oysters- bit of an intriguing combination and it felt like it could be the genuine Chinese article. Unfortunately I've seen more meat in a pork scratching and the oysters had left the sea a rather long time ago. Pushing it aside, I glanced to my friends for charitable donations. To my left, was a curious combination of chicken, a few cashews, and the contents of a tin of mixed veg (you know, small carrot cubes, a few peas and the obligatory sweetcorn). To my right, more mouthfuls of fatty battered pork with sweet and sour sauce. I ordered another beer instead.
We finished up pretty swiftly and judiciously decided to leave the dessert menu for another time. The toilets were again set in car park territory, but full marks for consistency of the theme. Our British joviality was assisted by a young waiter who decided to mock one of the party's laugh as he swaggered past the table. Not sure where the arrogance came from- there's certainly nothing redeeming here.
Chinatown can be hit or miss. Recommendations can be boring and safe, and sometimes it's the sefl-congratulation of finding an impressive unassuming place tucked away somewhere that makes the night. Wong Kei isn't tucked away. Walk on past...
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