The menu is rather sparse, vaguely traditional and choice of oysters include the likes of The Rockefeller, a wasabi/ginger/soy combo (a bit too Pret for me) and a variety of tabascos is on the table. If oysters interest you, great, but there's not a lot of choice of anything else. Hunger panicked me.
I had previously been hot-desking with my colleague, so a dinner date preluded by a stroll along the misty Thames prepared us for an inspired pescatarian plate. *Gasps* one of my favourites, The Table was closed! My evening, I thought adjourned. But wait! Watson, I cried, in Borough Market there's a cornucopia of choice. Oysters and porter, good choice Watson.
The Wright Bros. know a thing or two about Oysters, but the weak porter on offer was worse than a wet weekend in 'Whitstable', overwhelmingly worrying while we waited for our waiter to wait on my indecision of what to have on his 3rd squeeze between the packed canteen seating to get to us.
As I anxiously scanned the menu for mains, what appeared as a jovial bustling environment on being seated was actually claustrophobically distracting my decision making, full of boorish loud braggarts.
The waiter, abated and educated me on oysters (I love to learn about the provenance on my plate, but theres no point in explaining your epiphany on the French-chewable, full of flavour, but out-of-season ones, is there?)
We slurped and bit lip-lickingly through a selection of oysters deliciously displayed, served with tantalising shallot vinegar; smaller Jersey's were delicate and sweet as described, whilst Devon's were big bold, meaty mineraley morsels.
On ordering mains, the waiters enthusiasm became borderline intrusive, perhaps due to the tightly packed seating, I was put off the idea of their Sardines and d'not slyly market me sides after you inform me theres a 25-30 wait mins for a fish pie.
Something in between? No! You can cram too many people into a small space, but I will not be cramming extras around the little room I have and if this epic wait for a fish pie means if it is anywhere near overdone; Mary heck will break loose. I began practicing my tirade, in my head. Sorry, I was still 'Hangry'.
The chef's artistic expression of a fish pie prettily piped with fluffy potato, thank Gouda, was not overcooked. But if this was the reason for the wait; if I'd have wanted to see Mondrianic angles I've have gone to the Tate, but with this Po-Tate I was uninspired. Under-seasoned, disappointingly dull and it was a rather immoderately priced dish, at a pound per minute for the wait for it to arrive.
Being next to borough market I was also surprised that such a pitiful selection of vegetable sides were available too.
I could barely hear myself think about what to have for pudding over the din. I had come around to almost liking this place, but our sweet was forgotten. The waiter just bounded over to take our coffee order. I took my dinner date already sweet enough for coffee and more hot desking elsewhere.
Corporate, stuffy and overpriced. read more