La Brasserie on Old Brompton Rd was probably the best Sunday breakfast spot in London. Salty,smoked bacon,sliced white toast,hot eggs,Tiptree jam and the Sunday Times. Perfection.
With that kind of fond memory I thought an evening visit would be about as flame proof as a pair of asbestos underpants. I was very wrong. The other diners were a mix of astute looking locals and savvy tourists who knew one end of a fork from another, so I was without fear.
But Dr Jekyll became Mr Hyde. It was like finding out that Thora Hird was a swinger or Father Christmas is a paedophile. The menu was full all the old bistro standbys, so what could go wrong?
Quite simply everything.
Cold,salty,bland,incorrect dishes and waiters who couldn’t care less. The manager was a buffoon whose idea of an apology was to remove the service charge (penalising the waiters) when he should be sorting out the kitchen.
600 yards to the west is the Bosphorus kebab shop. Seriously better value, seriously better food. You want chilli sauce with that?