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Prawn pilafs. Peat-smoked haddock and potato gratin, salsa verdes, pork bellies. Not what you expect. 4/5
anyone wearing dungarees, except in my mind of course, but I’m thinking allotments growing wholesome stuff, people out eating decent stuff.
I’m not drinking but I’m starting to think that if I were I could easily while away a good few hours in here completely shut away not just from the outside world but possibly the whole mad, bad 21st century. Except on the plate, of course.
Reassuringly the carrot, celeriac, pumpkin seed and apple salad that has been supplied for the sum of £3.50 is a bowlful of shredded, dressed and textured freshness. Even the rosemary roast potatoes at £2.75 turn out to be a decent effort made in that little square kitchenette where the bell rings and the hatch fills whenever the chefs have done their thang.
It’s not flawless, mind. While the lamb in the lamb shoulder lasagne comes in large, moist and unctuous chunks, there’s not enough cheese to make any impact and the reheating of the pasta is frankly a little bit patchy. Is lasagne ever a good idea on a menu unless it’s all going to sell from the tray within a relatively short time of it coming from the oven?
There wasn’t a single drop either, that I could see anyway, of the promised salsa