72 Upper Street
Tel: 020 7354 9998
Date of Last Visit: Saturday, September 2, 2006
The Victims: Feathers, Destri, Stacey
The Counterbalance (Yes, a new measure!): 2.62 miles on the treadmill
The Damage: 20 quid pp
The Background: Feathers and Destri went to high school with Stacey back in California. Stacey was on the tail end of a Scandinavian tour and was in London for 48 hours. The girls took her shopping, and I met up with them for dinner.
The Selection: I can only guess, but as we were walking out of Ping Pong the other night, I said to Feathers, "I’ve always wanted to go there," as we passed some restaurant across the street. The sign looked like it said Cuba Libre, but it actually said something else. And then we go confused with whether there was a Cuba Libre in Chicago on Southport. (I don’t think there is.)
The Bar: I was early, as usual. So I headed to the very festive bar area, where I stook next to some very tall guys. They were so tall I had to move away because I felt so very much shorter than my respectable 5 ft. 4. A very attractive bartender brought me a mjoito, my mixed drink of choice.
The Food and Drink: The ladies arrived, and we were shown to our table. Now the tablecloths were covered with plastic, which I hate. If you happen to be wearing a skirt, the tablecloth sticks to your knees. And if it’s a little muggy, your drink sweats, and it has nowhere to go, so there are big wet puddles all over the table.
But I digress. We ordered that appetizer selection plate, which I felt was amateurish. Someone just threw a bunch of stuff into the deep fryer. There was no love. Everything was dumped unceremoniously onto a not very special plate. And then arrived our mains. Mine was something called "old clothes," which I would write en espanol, but I forget. It was heavily seasoned beef, with rice and beans and mushed up yucca. The rice and beans were good, as was the yucca. The beef bore a serious resemblance to dog food. It wasn’t bad though, it just wasn’t seriously good either.
Feathers ordered the chicken and avocado, which turned out to be chicken and avocado smothered in cheese. Uggh.
The girl at the table across from us sent her food back because she discovered a very long hair in it.
All of this was accompanied by two pitchers of mojitos for 16.50 a pop. This was a happy hour special–apparently, you saved 3 quid off the list price by ordering at the bar. I thought this was stupid. Like it would have killed them to let us order the pitchers from the table? I don’t understand this logic. It wasn’t like the bar was that far away either–so no time/aggravation argument either.
The Verdict: Eh. I was not impressed.