130 Edgware road
Date of Last Visit: Sunday, October 14th
The Victims: Vir, Evren, Richard, Rutton
The Damage: £20-something each
The Background: I have never been to the Frieze Fair. I read about it every year, but somehow never quite make it.
This year, I made it. And now I can truly say, "Been there. Done that."
And I'm never going back.
And I like art! (But I guess that's like saying I like bread. Everyone must like art, no?)
But I think I like modern art better than contemporary art. And I think I like fonts and patterns and designs and Scandinavian things more than anything else.
It was the dead horse at the Frieze fair that did it for me. That is not art! That is taxidermy, firstly. And secondly, dead horses are GROSS.
But let me get into my meal here, and I promise that there are no dead horses involved.
I am hanging out with bankers. And like all good bankers in London on a Sunday afternoon, we are at The Westbourne. (For the record, I am not a banker. But I do enjoy the odd discounted-cash-flow-model and I know what CAPM is.) I have my very large and dark sunglasses with me (this year's model are from Calvin Klein courtesy of Stansted Duty Free), but it is unfortunately too dark for them to be of any use. That being said, this doesn't deter many a Westbourne patron from wandering in and out of the pub with their sunnies on.
The topic of food arises, and Vir suggests an Iranian restaurant…we hop in a taxi only to arrive and find it 200% packed, and it's a Sunday night. I have been blindfolded and sworn to secrecy regarding the name and location of this place, and I am not ever allowed to write a restaurant review about it. (If i do review it, I can't reveal its name.) I can tell you that I think it was yellow inside. We are turned away.
So instead, we head to Shola, where Vir knows the owner. My cover is completely blown when my Moo card is provided to the restaurant staff and I am introduced as a famous London restaurant critic. (Although my blog is popular with the people, it's not THAT popular, although they did ask me to be on Market Kitchen!) I lose any and all arguments about how this is supposed to work.
The Food: A whole lot of nan, and the other bread–whose name escapes me, but it's almost tortilla-like. Then there are some lamb chops, which I love. And some chicken that's been marinated and grilled and is lovely. Someone orders more beer at this point which is a very very bad idea. Luckily, they are out of beer! And I am momentarily happy until the guys (bankers, after all) question how the restaurant could be out of beer.
The restaurant staff run across the street to buy some for us.
From here, things get a little hazy, but I remember sitting in front of the lentils and really enjoying those. There was a lot of food. Too much. I tried a bit of everything but as I sit here a few nights later writing this, I can only remember the lamb chops, the lentils, and all the nan and <insert mysterious bread name here>.
The Loos: Yuk.
The Verdict: Not a destination, that's for sure. If I lived in the area, I might drop in to pick up a take-away every so often. And if I were having a party, I might ask for a platter of 50 lamb chops.