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“the amount of time you spend looking at the O2 from that deck makes you wonder why the hell it still exists…”
We’d heard good things about the Gun, but we could not for the life of us remember who had recommended it, or to whom.
Who knows. Regardless, it had ended up on The List, so try it we must.
On any other day we would have laughed off the notion of having to negotiate Docklands, but we had time to kill before the latest Statham flick1 was due to start in the O2 so we headed over to check it out.
This is a really pretty pub - shiny dark wood surfaces gleam at you and finely upholstered leather bar stools and Chesterfields abound. There are lots of suitably on-brand firearms scattered about too. They have Bitburger on tap, an instant fave. And it has a huge riverside deck with an enviable view of the Thames and the O2, if you like that kind of thing. Actually, the amount of time you spend looking at the O2 from that deck makes you wonder why the hell it still exists, and why they don’t seem to be able to clean it properly.
We sat out on that deck all on our own. In the damp cold like bloody idiots with our coats firmly done up. However, the result of all this is threefold:
It’s as if a drunk millionaire dumped a really nice mews by the river one night, then woke up in the morning forgetting where’d he put it. To their credit they do provide a free cab service to and from the pub on weekday lunchtimes if you book a table beforehand. And frankly, they need to, because how the fuck else are people going to get there?
The Gun burger came out looking monumental; a huge tower of impressive looking ingredients surrounding a stout lump of beef. Banging the bun lid on it looked tricky as hell to cut through, let alone take a bite out of. Then we spotted that this was the first burger we’d seen that attempted the ‘Double Onion’. Daring.
The bottom layer of onion had been broiled in a broth; soft with a thick, savoury taste comparable to proper slider onions. The onion rings looked good upon arrival, but atomised into nothing once in the sandwich. Unrecognisable in any mouthful, making them sadly redundant. It was like they just disappeared. A good concept we’d like to see more of, but the execution was inconclusive. The cheese was melted surprisingly well considering its in-keeping properness, with a hint of sharp aftertaste that was just right.
Having bigged up the shin on the menu, the beef was a real anticlimax. Again veering into ‘mixed’ patty territory: we could see the herbs and taste the white wine they’d added to the meat, destroying any original flavour. A ragu in patty form before you’ve chucked the tomato in. It was chewy and it tasted like wine. It may as well have been a veggie burger for all the beefiness we could taste.
Despite the hit and miss contents, the bun was epic. A squishy, light-but-chewy marvel that couldn’t save the burger, but was really impressive considering.
We also tried a sausage roll and scotch egg which, whilst nicely cooked and spicy, were both pretty tiny and WAY too expensive for what we got. We gloss over these to talk more about the Macaroni Cheese we also ordered - wherever possible we try and see the good in all the stuff we eat.
But not this time, this was really fucking shit.
A flavourless, overcooked pasta mixed into an unseasoned bechamel sauce, a light smattering of a very mild white cheese, all grilled for an instant. That’s it. A horrible, offensive six English pounds of bland. We can only imagine this comes from a reluctant chef shuffling out a conciliatory nod to the Mac ‘n Cheese craving masses. But really, dude, have some pride. You cannot charge six pounds for this. It made us concerned for the rest of the menu.
So on the whole, The Gun is a real 50/50 experience. Great views, great beer vs. some apparent lazy cooking with the occasional glimmer of competence.
We imagine that come the summer, a leisurely trip to The Gun to sit outside and lap up the rays and the sound of the Thames on a nice quiet weekday afternoon would be grand.
But make sure your wallet be bulging, and your ‘yahs’ be plentiful.
It was mostly incoherent, but well-shot and the Stath killed lots of people. ↩
“I’m not even going in to what Agave syrup is because I don’t care.” —
Is a tumblr site a pre-requisite for new cafes then?
I thought they liked their meat. They must all hate freedom or something.
During a few days in Las Vegas, part of a US West Coast road trip last year, Irish Paul who had never been to the States before suggested that he’d like to see the Grand Canyon. We Gmapped it and realised it was quite a ways, but fuck it, we could do it in a day. We’d been driving about that distance between stops anyway, so we’d get up early and take the trip. Why not?
What we had not bet on were the Vegassian antics we’d have that night (about the only thing we didn’t bet on), which put the right kibosh on being up with the desert sparrows. Eventually we staggered to the car about 11am. We’d had no breakfast, so we thought In-N-Out would be a great mid-journey stop on our epic quest to see a hole in the earth. Incomprehensively, the trip had been devoid of In-N-Out thus far (I think I was saving it up as some momentous fast-food epiphany for my compadre) so were both well up for it. Enormo-Coffees safely in cup holders, we embarked.
45 minutes later, both of us were wishing we’d stopped at the one we’d passed in Henderson earlier into the drive, we were fucking starving. But a deal’s a deal. And there were some Goldfish in the glovebox, score!
After two hours or so we arrived at Kingman, Arizona, peeled ourselves out of the car and into the restaurant. The familiarity of the surroundings, the smell, and the menu instantly made me feel like I’d never been away. As always, there was a queue so we joined the back. My buddy kept prompting me to offer suggestions about what he should order, but I insisted that his first experience should be pure, and no way was I listing the whole secret menu at him, I was hungover.
With this In-N-Out being on Route 66, it probably gets a large amount of transient custom. Or at least I presumed it did, as every person in line seemed to be a noob and was asking what came in the burgers, and what ‘Spread’ was (I heard the girl at the counter say ‘it’s a bit like Thousand Island dressing’ at least six times). This was a lot of people’s first experience of In-N-Out, the lucky bastards.
I ordered a Double Double Animal Style with chopped chilis cooked medium. Sadly, I was told that State law in Arizona meant that they could only cook the patties well done. Let’s blame the Republicans. I thought they liked their meat. They must all hate freedom or something.
The quality and standard of what In-N-Out do state-to-state is impeccable. Clearly part of their slow-but-steady expansion plan is attention to detail and the training of their staff, because my burger looked uncannily like every one I’d had before, neatly wrapped in its little paper blanket.
And the taste was of equal similarity and quality, with the cheesy, oniony, Spread-heavy mesh being every bit as awesome as in previous encounters. Distributed well over the burger, the chopped chilis added a fresh, bare and raw heat to every bite, and paired with the creamy Spread the combination worked a treat.
About an hour before sunset, we finally got to the Grand Canyon where, with us dressed thoroughly inappropriately in shorts and t-shirt, it relentlessly pissed it down. When the rain finally stopped, we ran out and got some cracking sunset snaps. Then got back into the car and did the whole fucking 4+ hour journey again. But was it worth it? Of course it was. Have you seen it, that hole is bloody MASSIVE.
N.B. NEVER attempt Vegas to the Canyon and back in a day unless you:
In-n-Out Diaries part 1 - On first visits and franchises
“Unfortunately it felt like they couldn’t wait for us to get out of there…”
We’ve all got at least one - a place you want to go to, but it strays wildly from home or work.
Not on the way to anywhere. Places that have no other discernable reason for you to go to, places that you know there’s something you want to try there, but is such a herculean effort you may as well just stay at home and have a jacket potato.
Well, for us, this has been Lucky Seven in Westbourne Grove
Nestled innocuously, almost anonymously, in a small parade of shops and restaurants in Westbourne Park, you’d be forgiven for missing it. It’s pretty small - inside it only has 6 booths, so in busy periods they operate a booth share policy. Like Wagamama, but way cosier.
Walking in instantly brings a nostalgic diner atmosphere. It feels like a lilliputian small diner in Middle-of-Nowheresville, USA. They even have stick-on black and white lettering boards above the open kitchen. Score! And hip-lite fave PBR is on the menu (as “Blue Ribbon”). Oh wait, the waiter didn’t even know what we’re trying to order.
“Pee Bee Ahhhh?” he murmurs. Something tells us that hasn’t been in stock for a while.
Our Cheeseburger (with American) and Bacon Cheeseburger (with Monterey Jack) came out served open, and uncondimented with veggies on the side, which made the kitchen crime that had been committed all the more blatant.
We don’t think they should have sent a burger out in that sort of state, especially with no attempt to conceal the crime.
First rule of Cheeseburger Club is: you never grill processed cheese.
Second rule of Cheeseburger Club is: YOU NEVER GRILL PROCESSED CHEESE.
It fucking burns it - creating a tough plasticky crust that makes it really sticky and thoroughly unpleasant when it bonds itself to the roof of your mouth. Really not fun.
Saying that, the fairly chunky pre-salted patty was adequately cooked, with a cracking dark-pink medium centre, and the bun was a pretty neat, bouncy brioche. Once we’d added our desired veggies and sauces (the setback of every ‘open’ burger), the result was a relatively decent sandwich, and a good looking one too.
The Bacon Cheese definitely edged it here, with the bacon adding a salty depth to the seasoning that the cheeseburger lacked, and the jack having a better melty texture to it. Go with the jack here, you’ll thank us, seriously.
As for sides - the onion rings fared pretty well, they were chunky and the batter wasn’t greasy, although there was rather too much of it, resulting in a rather doughy middle. The chilli was a real disappointment though, being both bland, cold and having none of its alleged trademark spice. There’s more kick in a bowl of rice pudding. And there were loads of beans in it. Seriously, like way over the regular bean-to-meat ratio. Pretty uncool.
We don’t normally comment much about service unless it’s noticeably good or bad, but at Lucky 7 it’s very odd. We happened to be there at the same time as Nick from Hamburger Me and Jonathan Dale from off the telly so we all teamed up. On reflection, Nick’s order played up to L7’s strengths more than ours.
Anyway, there we were, on a weekday evening and the place isn’t busy. Not only do we appreciate what they’re trying to do, but were very susceptible to more booze. Unfortunately it felt like they couldn’t wait for us to get out of there, and the restaurant was half full the entire time. No upsells. We had to keep asking for fresh beers. Weird.
It was a satisfyingly standard burger. If you happen to be marooned in the deepest, darkest depths of West London then we can quietly recommend it.
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