…for that money I want to be writing my wing consumption in numbers, not words
Rare that I stray away from burgers on a night out, but rumours of outlandish food offers led me to this ‘Bar-B-Q’ shack oddly located on the swankfest that is King’s Road.
It was rammed. It was a fucking Tuesday. I was stunned.
Decked out with all the twee American Crab Shack decor you’d expect, Big Easy is an inferior UK amalgamation of Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville and Bubba Gump - like a cluttered antique shop version of TGI Friday’s.
First up, Voodoo chicken wings. Now, you expect pretty decent portion sizes from a gaff that throws All-You-Can-Eat nights out like sticks to terriers. But we received six wings for EIGHT POUNDS, and they were half wings too. I mean, for that money I want to be writing my wing consumption in numbers, not words.
. However, they were good and had a lot of spicy fire to them, with a recognisable Frank’s twang, and not oily at all.
Next, BBQ Chicken and Ribs.
This platter was better value, with lots on it. The BBQ sauce was the sweetest I’ve ever had, like crazy sweet. It did have a slight bite of smoke and char at the end, but not really enough to convince me that it had actually been made in a hickory smoker. The beans just tasted like baked beans that had some kidney beans lobbed in to make them look more authentic. The coleslaw was pretty tasty. There was so much BBQ sauce slathered over everything that it all tasted the same towards the end anyways.
I’m all for sticking to food in this, but some things have to be noted here:
- There was a (really loud) live band, who ‘added to the atmosphere’ by having the unique talent of being abhorrent to the ear almost instantly, with terrible covers of indie/rock songs. Like, who covers Nirvana in a restaurant, really?
- It felt like everyone in the place lived within five minutes of King’s Road, like I had accidently been let in to a filming of Made In Chelsea. We were seated near the door and so witnessed wave upon wave of blinged up, über-tan socialites with burly rugger shirt wearing boyf in tow. Made me feel kind of uneasy - in a BBQ shack that is hitherto unheard of.
Apparently Tuesday is the quietest night, so they must be doing something right. I’ll let the South West London massif have it I think.