I woke up late this morning, at least it was late to me at a heady 10:00am. Feeling somewhat peckish, I wandered in nothing more than my boxer shorts and a t-shirt into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. Sadly, our cupboards are somewhat bare though I did have it in my mind that we owned enough ingredients to make a cheese sandwich. I was soon to find that the remaining cheese slices (cheddar) had disappeared from our fridge so ate a solitary dry slice of bread and made some chestnut cream flavoured coffee from the Nespresso range (as drunk by me and my good friend George Clooney). I am loathe to accuse my flatmate (you remember Andrew?) of stealing the cheese, but it was either him or the cleaner. For an easy life I’ll officially blame the cleaner, but, well, we all know the truth.
It was with some not inconsiderable delight that moments after finishing my second cup of the delicious aforementioned coffee that I stumbled across ITV 3 which was about to start showing a feature length episode of Inspector Morse. I love Inspector Morse. Today’s was called Death is now my neighbour, the book of which I reread not more than a week ago. The next two hours were spent contentedly sipping coffee (by now decaf) watching the sleuth and his put-upon sidekick unravel the mystery like no one else can.
With just five minutes of Morse to go (1.10pm) Andrew arose from his slumber and put the kettle on. Loudly. I turned the television up so as not to miss the clever explanation of the previous two hours work. I then gave him my full attention and proposed a trip out for lunch, before he told me about his exploits last night. Tragically a horrid girl told him that she didn’t like his coat and she didn’t like him. There is nothing wrong with his coat.
After losing £20 betting on Arsenal to beat Stoke City we ventured out. The temperature still being “testing” we agreed that there was no need to journey too far so decided upon The Nightingale (see earlier reviews). Within 10 minutes of entering and looking at the menu we decided that it would be foolish to eat there again so finished off our pints of Fosters lager, picked up our broadsheets (Andrew had the Sunday People) and, having flipped a beermat to decide on the venue, headed for The Avalon on Balham Hill.
Now, we have had drinks in The Avalon before and both felt a little annoyed at it’s clientele who were a little hoorayish. Nevertheless, it is always full and everyone seems to be eating so it seemed ripe for the tasting. So full it was in fact, that initially we had to sit outside whilst we waited for a table. Eventually though, while refilling at the bar, I spotted one and dragged Andrew inside. On a hygiene note, using your finger to wipe the froth off the top of a pint and then running it around the rim is not a practice that should be practised by bar staff. I’m just saying.
We were clear from the start that we wanted beef, so it was simply delaying matters for the waitress to give us a menu. Indeed it had taken some time to attract her attention. In fairness, they were all quite pretty and blonde so no criticism can or will be thrown in that direction. Ten minutes later our food arrived. Initial impressions were good. A giant Yorkshire pudding sat on top of a generous portion of beef and, good grief, an awful lot of parsnip. There were a couple of roast potatoes and some slivers of carrot, but, and let’s make no bones about this, we were looking at a meal where parsnip was the primary ingredient. A request for horseradish resulted in a two minute delay but them we got on with the eating.
It tasted ok, the beef was good, although I found some of the potatoes were a little tough and one of my parsnips was fairly solid. Also, as Andrew pointed out while holding one aloft on his fork, they had singularly failed to cut up the parsnips. When they are as tough as these were it can be somewhat of a chore to be doing the chopping. Surely that job belongs to the chef? I am quite fond of peas as well, so seeing that the table before us got peas with their meal but we did not was rather upsetting. A roast with absolutely no greens. Sorry Avalon, unacceptable.
So, to sum up, well the bill came to £28.13 (£12.50 per roast plus a £3.13 service charge). Not good value for a basic (and greenless) parsnip roast and the service charge was completely unjustified. I left it to Andrew to respond to the waitress when she asked how it was. His answer of course...
It was lovely.
Star Ratings
Service **** Slow and overpriced but very pretty
Value ** No, this is too much for too little. I ended up buying some cheese, crackers and Mr Kipling Christmas Cakes from the Spar on the way home to fill me up. Where are the peas, broccoli and cabbage?
Quality *** Nice looking place and heavy on the “Yummy Mummy” front, but they don’t have Dyson Airblade© Technology in the toilets.
Ambience * Too noisy (turn the music down) and too many “Raahs”.
Celebrity Factor NO STARS This is despite GMTV’s Andrew Castle living nearby. Disappointing.
Sunday 24 January 2010
Sunday 11 October 2009
The Nightingale, Nightingale Lane, Clapham South.
Today is my good friend Andrew's 33rd Birthday. From that little snippet of information together with what else is on his Facebook page you should soon be able to start accessing his bank accounts. But it also means an excuse to go to the pub. For me, having given up drinking not more than19 hours ago, this could have been a risky manouvre, but fear not I remain sober. Self-control is my middle name.
Hasty plans were put in place to meet at an undetermined time with newspapers accompanying us to avoid the need for anything more than basic chit chat. I took the Sunday Times, Andy brought The Observer and the News of the World. I got to the pub at about half past two. There were no seats at all. It was packed with middle class folk and, horribly, some children. No sign of Andrew. Panicking I peered through the back door which led to their "Garden Area". There he was, tucking into his pint of Fosters in the autumn drizzle. I bounced up and wished him many happy returns. I then offered to buy him lunch to celebrate and he generously accepted. While he got over this kind offer I went to fetch some more drinks. A pint of Fosters for Andy and a pint of Diet Coke for me. Well, I asked for a pint of Diet Coke. Jodie, the tall Australian barmaid informed me that they didn't do it on draught but instead it came in bottles. 250ml bottles. Total bill for drinks £5.41. That's an expensive thimble of Coke.
I asked if they were serving roasts. Jodie told me that they normally did but were all out today. I wandered back to the table. Not feeling particularly excited by anything on the menu, we both plumped for the Chicken, ham and leek pie accompanied by mashed potato and peas, from the Specials Board. I ordered them (£8.50 each) and on the way back observed the Ploughmans Lunch being brought to another table. It looked very good. If I was a Ploughman I'd want that. Or a KFC.
No more than 5 minutes later our pies and mash appeared along with a little jug of gravy. Andy remarked that the mash looked just like mum used to make it. I'm glad it wasn't my mum. The potato was bland and watery. Gregg Wallace would have been having a fit. It's hard to mess up mash. I smothered it in gravy to compensate. Now for the pie. It was unacceptable. Initially it looked quite exciting. Good shape, texture (when prodded with fork), reasonably sized chunks of meat floating about as well as some identifiable bits of leek. So what a disappointment it was when upon chewing we found it had little to no taste. Lashings of salt and pepper were applied and when Andy suggested we cover the thing in ketchup I was somewhat tempted. On a lighter note, the peas were excellent.
Obviously when the waitress collected our plates and asked if everything was ok I lied and said yes. It's only polite.
We didn't look at the dessert menu, instead choosing to read our papers and occasionally stare at Luke Pritchard from The Kooks who was wearing some jolly good boots, but unfortunately tight jeans. He was being all cool until someone who was possibly his mum turned up. A man of middle age chose to stand uncomfortably close to where I was sitting (despite the beer garden being quite extensive). He smiled at Andy. Andy smiled back. I don't know what to make of that. I commented that I was feeling a little bit cold and put my coat back on. For the first time this season I was also sporting my grey Marks and Spencer lambswool jumper. It really had got that chilly. Andy went to fetch another round of drinks and returned not only with our beverages but also a big rug for me to put over my knees. While it was not an unkind gesture I felt I had to refuse the offer as I am not yet "that guy".
Finishing our drinks I asked him if he'd had a good birthday. He said that it was in his top 33. Job done!
Star ratings
Service *** - reasonable, but a bit tall for me.
Value** - £8.50 for a reheated Lidl pie and a lump of smash is too much.
As was the coke price.
Quality* - pissy
Ambience**** - fair play to the place, despite running children they kept it together.
Celebrity factor ** - They could have done with a better cook rather than a lonely Kook.
Hasty plans were put in place to meet at an undetermined time with newspapers accompanying us to avoid the need for anything more than basic chit chat. I took the Sunday Times, Andy brought The Observer and the News of the World. I got to the pub at about half past two. There were no seats at all. It was packed with middle class folk and, horribly, some children. No sign of Andrew. Panicking I peered through the back door which led to their "Garden Area". There he was, tucking into his pint of Fosters in the autumn drizzle. I bounced up and wished him many happy returns. I then offered to buy him lunch to celebrate and he generously accepted. While he got over this kind offer I went to fetch some more drinks. A pint of Fosters for Andy and a pint of Diet Coke for me. Well, I asked for a pint of Diet Coke. Jodie, the tall Australian barmaid informed me that they didn't do it on draught but instead it came in bottles. 250ml bottles. Total bill for drinks £5.41. That's an expensive thimble of Coke.
I asked if they were serving roasts. Jodie told me that they normally did but were all out today. I wandered back to the table. Not feeling particularly excited by anything on the menu, we both plumped for the Chicken, ham and leek pie accompanied by mashed potato and peas, from the Specials Board. I ordered them (£8.50 each) and on the way back observed the Ploughmans Lunch being brought to another table. It looked very good. If I was a Ploughman I'd want that. Or a KFC.
No more than 5 minutes later our pies and mash appeared along with a little jug of gravy. Andy remarked that the mash looked just like mum used to make it. I'm glad it wasn't my mum. The potato was bland and watery. Gregg Wallace would have been having a fit. It's hard to mess up mash. I smothered it in gravy to compensate. Now for the pie. It was unacceptable. Initially it looked quite exciting. Good shape, texture (when prodded with fork), reasonably sized chunks of meat floating about as well as some identifiable bits of leek. So what a disappointment it was when upon chewing we found it had little to no taste. Lashings of salt and pepper were applied and when Andy suggested we cover the thing in ketchup I was somewhat tempted. On a lighter note, the peas were excellent.
Obviously when the waitress collected our plates and asked if everything was ok I lied and said yes. It's only polite.
We didn't look at the dessert menu, instead choosing to read our papers and occasionally stare at Luke Pritchard from The Kooks who was wearing some jolly good boots, but unfortunately tight jeans. He was being all cool until someone who was possibly his mum turned up. A man of middle age chose to stand uncomfortably close to where I was sitting (despite the beer garden being quite extensive). He smiled at Andy. Andy smiled back. I don't know what to make of that. I commented that I was feeling a little bit cold and put my coat back on. For the first time this season I was also sporting my grey Marks and Spencer lambswool jumper. It really had got that chilly. Andy went to fetch another round of drinks and returned not only with our beverages but also a big rug for me to put over my knees. While it was not an unkind gesture I felt I had to refuse the offer as I am not yet "that guy".
Finishing our drinks I asked him if he'd had a good birthday. He said that it was in his top 33. Job done!
Star ratings
Service *** - reasonable, but a bit tall for me.
Value** - £8.50 for a reheated Lidl pie and a lump of smash is too much.
As was the coke price.
Quality* - pissy
Ambience**** - fair play to the place, despite running children they kept it together.
Celebrity factor ** - They could have done with a better cook rather than a lonely Kook.
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