Tag Archives: restaurant

Nando’s Labyrinth

On Thursday night, after my gassy fun, I headed into town to meet up with the usual suspects for food and a film.

For some reason we ended up in Nando’s on Regent Street. I don’t know why but I felt about ten years too old for the place. It reminded me of a 1970s trip to a Wimpy bar in Waltham Cross when my grandma asked for a knife and fork. And when tomato ketchup came in tomato-shaped squeezy bottles. Mind you, Nando’s had proper Heinz bottles.

Anyway, the food was OK and the view was acceptable.

Avaragado’s rating: a chickpea

To the film! Pan’s Labyrinth. At first glance, a screenplay that must surely have been the result of a photocopying catastrophe: A gritty thriller about Spanish fascists in 1944 accidentally collated with an effects-filled fantasy about a young girl and some fairies, now with automatic stapling!

But no. Writer/director Guillermo del Toro weaves the two story strands together pretty well – and he doesn’t hold back on gruesome camera shots either. It always amuses me to hear audiences when they see a needle penetrating skin in glorious digital widescreen colour. It’s rated 15 in the UK, R in the US, so, you know, think on. Strangely from the trailer I imagined a more fantasy-oriented child-friendly film with the fascists only in the background, but maybe that was just me.

It’s in Spanish with subtitles, but then I always think that makes the acting better.

Avaragado’s rating: two grapes

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The pledge, the turn, the prestige, the wait

The Prestige stars Christian Bale as The Great Soprendo and Hugh Jackman as Paul Daniels. Scarlett Johansson plays the lovely Debbie McGee, Michael Caine is Ali Bongo, Gollum plays Andy Serkis and David Bowie is Nikola Tesla.

One of those is true.

The “prestige” refers to the third part of a magic trick, the reveal. The first two parts are the pledge (the set-up) and the turn (the doing of the trick). Roughly. The “wait” in the subject above refers to the restaurant we went to after the film. Anyway.

It’s a film about magic, if you hadn’t guessed. My brother used to do magic; his favourite trick involved a set of invisible playing cards, but he lost them. Fact!

The film’s plot concerns a rivalry between The Great Soprendo and Paul Daniels, two up-and-coming magicians who disrupt each other’s shows, try to steal tricks, cause death and destruction, that sort of thing. They haven’t yet realised that all anyone apparently wants to see on a Saturday night is one of the many Simon Cowell clones telling hapless amateurs/celebrities to get out of his manor before he releases the hounds, or whatever it is that happens on X-Factor these days.

Points to note:

  • Some concentration is required, since the film darts back and forth between three different time periods without any wibbly-wobbly transitions, black-and-whiteness or captions.
  • Some of the lady acting is rubbish.
  • This is Michael Caine’s 4,905th consecutive film in which he plays a supporting role while retaining his own accent.
  • I can do a better “drunk posh toff” accent than Hugh Jackman. This is not, please note, because I am a posh toff.
  • Despite this being a Hollywood film primarily set in turn-of-the-twentieth-century England, Dick Van Dyke makes no appearance.
  • Please won’t someone think of the little birdies!

I enjoyed this film a lot, especially since I figured out what was going on half-way through. Like Memento, one of director Christopher Nolan’s previous films, a second viewing would no doubt bring several more a-ha! moments.

Avaragado’s rating: two mangoes

This week’s post-film food hunt took us to the Rice Boat on Newnham Road. Indian Kerala food.

Reviews had warned us that the food was good, the service not so good. And so it proved. Two bottles of wine stood unopened and undrunk on our table for nearly ten minutes due to an absence of wine glasses. The culprit seemed to be the dish-washer, since when glasses finally arrived they were hot to the touch. Call me old-fashioned, but a simple solution to this problem would be to buy more wine glasses. It’s a popular restaurant, after all.

They were slow in other respects too, and forgot a starter. It was a three-hour meal that really didn’t need to be that long. Food was good though.

Avaragado’s rating: tomato ketchup (possibly Heinz)

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Edwinns and Darth Vader

Garfunkels begat the Filling Station, and yea, verily, it was rubbish. Not that I ever went there – simply looking through the window filled me with horror. Seating areas dressed as car seats, hyperventilating oversugared tykes bouncing off each other, Sky Sports shrieking at sweaty combovers. When I saw the builders moving in once more I stood in the street, laughing maniacally. “GO ON,” I screamed, “CLEAR THEM OUT! GOOD RIDDANCE! GERTCHA! HAHAHA!!”

This I now concede, officer, may have been a slight overreaction.

Those times are thankfully past, and my ASBO is all but expired. The Filling Station has become Edwinns Restaurant and Bar, a much classier joint. No riff-raff here, oh no. Not until we turned up on Saturday night.

Me, Chef, Louise, Lynda, Bov, Chrissie, Chris. (Melanie was hobnobbing with celebs at the ballet, Andy was being orchestral.) A nice round table, with no immediate neighbours to tut at Chef as his volume touched 11.

The service was fine but on the slow side, eased by the wine. Lots of time to chat, anyway, some of which I couldn’t possibly repeat on a school night. We made our waiter laugh, which is always a good sign I feel.

For the record, I had the cottage pie, labelled on the menu as being vegan and gluten-free, which is unusually informative. And I can heartily recommend its lentil goodness, with green beans and dauphinoise potatoes.

Chef managed to accidentally pay for the entire meal on his card, due to a waiter typo and his own drunkenness. He pocketed the cash, like a true city boy. In a shiny shirt.

Avaragado’s rating: buffalo mozzarella

Bov and Chrissie scarpered home as the rest of us retired to the Pickerel for another drink. Chris, I suspect, has only a vague memory of leaving Andy a rambling voicemail. The remaining ladies didn’t last long, leaving Chef, Chris and myself to talk nonsense until outchucking at, I guess, some time after midnight. Since Chef was staying Chez Avaragado (Hotel Heckford unavailable) Chris accompanied us both back to my place for another bottle of wine.

Well, Chris had a sip and nodded off, waking only to deny being asleep. Chef burbled on in his usual way. In a peculiar mixture of 21st century zeitgeistery with a nostalgia for things that happened before we were born, we watched sketches from Not Only But Also on YouTube. “Are you enjoying that sandwich?”

We also watched a work of genius: Vader Sessions. It’s even funny when sober.

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Zealotry and dark sunshine

On Saturday afternoon I lunched with a religious zealot and some hecklers. It was unplanned.

I’d wandered into town for a bite to eat pre-film, of which more later, when I was attracted by noise and a large crowd. As I got closer I saw a flip chart and a shouty American, and then a plucky young Brit shouting back. The American was spouting forth about how evolution is fake (using the old “everything has a designer” nonsense), showing diagrams of the dimensions of Noah’s Ark (“he took baby animals, not fully grown ones”), claiming the Earth is 4000 years old, and that sort of thing. The Brit was telling him he was an idiot.

Interested but hungry, I bought a sandwich and returned to watch the argument (resolving to keep my mouth shut, as I’d only get wound up if I joined in). More than one heckler was now involved.

It was scary and creepy stuff. The zealot, a relatively young man, was clearly experienced at this – more experienced than the hecklers. He knew all the tricks, such as deploying the “look, a shiny thing” change of subject whenever anyone started demolishing his argument; requiring proof of any assertion made by a heckler but refusing to offer any when the same question was asked of him; presenting discredited evidence; and so on. And all the while, his comrades circled the group, handing out leaflets.

Most of the watchers knew it was all nonsense and cheered on the hecklers. One heckler, most likely an academic, probably a philosopher or similar spod, knew his theology better than the zealot. It was no use: as in the wider world, the American shouted loudest.

Scariest of all, when the zealot finished a few people applauded and went up to congratulate him. I hurried into Waterstones and cuddled the new Richard Dawkins hardback, The God Delusion.

Thence to the Picturehouse, for Little Miss Sunshine with Chris, Louise, Andy and Chef. Satirical, dark, funny. Superb. I’ll say no more on that, as I hadn’t even seen a trailer before watching the film and it was all the better for that, I think. But if you have seen the trailer, see the film anyway.

Avaragado’s rating: frozen yoghurt

Next up: Cotto, a new restaurant next to the Tram Depot on East Road. This too met with my approval, though it might not suit those (a) on a budget and (b) with Chef. Expensive tastes, these city boys. “I didn’t think I ordered port,” indeed.

Avaragado’s rating: too much salt

Chris took a selection of photos during the day with his new camera. Yes, we went to pubs too.

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Pasta la vista, GCC

Oh, what an awful subject line. I do apologise.

Goodbye Siam Thai, Hello De Luca Cucina & Bar. Whenever we went to Siam Thai we were approximately the only customers, so I guess there’s no real surprise it’s disappeared and the Italians have muscled in. I don’t know how long it’s been open in its new guise, but we went there last night for the first time.

Packed to the gills it was, barely room for our table-for-five (Me, Andrew, Chris, Louise and Andy). Yet some bread’n’oil appeared within seconds, and we disappeared it almost as quickly. My inner cynic wondered whether this was a signal that they wanted us out as speedily as possible, but my doubts were misplaced – we weren’t hurried at all.

I’m afraid I was the only one drinking the white wine. It’s such a burden. (OK, Chris helped out at the end of the evening.)

The food was very good. As far as I recall. I don’t think we annoyed any of the twosomes sprinkled around us.

Avaragado’s rating: one unwanted piece of tofu

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Supermeh

Things I liked about Superman Returns:

  • The reuse of the original John Williams theme and style of opening titles. (Geek.)
  • Marlon Brando, still acting despite being dead for several years.
  • Brandon Routh. (Did you expect me to say anything else?)
  • Kevin Spacey.
  • The image of Superman with car aloft, taken directly from the cover of Action Comics #1 of June 1938 (though on the cover he was smashing it, not placing it gently down as in the film). (Geek.)

Things I disliked:

  • The pacing. Oh, it’s so slow.
  • The cute kid.
  • Kate Bosworth as Lois Lane. (I’m not worried about her bouncing around an airplane cabin without sustaining a single bruise, because, well, Superman can fly.)
  • Richard Branson as a shuttle crew member (you could also spot “Virgin Galactic” in the background of one scene). All credit to him, he’s a PR genius. But, gah.

On balance, it was OK, but no more than that. Bryan Singer did a better job on X-Men.

Avaragado’s rating: fourteen pretzels

Post film, post pint, we ate at Fitzbillies. For some, the first ever visit. It could be the last too: small menu, very small portions. My creme brulee was no more than two inches in diameter, probably less. But not cheap, oh no.

Disappointing. We undertipped, despite a 12.5% tip being added to the bill as we were a party of five (since when was that a large party?).

Avaragado’s rating: a stack of seven mini pizzas on a big plate drizzled with “jus”

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England v Chicago

I love coincidences. Like booking months in advance to see a 3pm performance of Chicago in the West End only for England’s first match at the World Cup finals to be scheduled to start at 2pm on the same day. Yes, coincidences, I love ’em.

Lynda, Louise, Andy and I trained from Cambridge, Chef trained from High Wycombe, and we met outside Covent Garden tube just after 1pm. It felt more like Rome than London due to the heat, but a Rome invaded by England supporters. After an air-conditioned toasted panini we found a pub yards from the Cambridge Theatre so we could watch the first half. I’d predicted 1-1, but the early England goal was a worrying development: early goal for leads to cockiness leads to two goals against. I think it was Yoda who said that.

With ten minutes before curtain up the half-time whistle went and we dashed out to take our seats. Louise’s dad was primed to text her any footie developments.

We had an excellent view from the back of the stalls. But the heat was stifling, and Lynda – suffering from an early morning late night – had trouble staying awake during the first act, despite the talent on display. Andy failed to heckle Bonnie Langford, playing Roxie Hart, for her crimes against humanity in Doctor Who. A fat man last seen as one of the cast of the sitnocom Bread played Roxie’s husband Amos. Some pseudo-Sacha Distel garlicked up the role of Billy Flynn. Someone ejected from X-Factor by the great British public played Mama. There were lots of jazz hands.

At half-time in the show, Louise confirmed the full-time score in the football. Shame there hadn’t been more England goals – we’d speculated that we’d be able to hear cheers from outside, or someone in the theatre audience would find out and gesticulate wildly, or maybe even the cast would insert the news somehow – newspaper headlines feature more than once in the show. Still, 1-0 will do.

I was familiar with the musical numbers, the film having played in my presence (I wasn’t paying much attention to it) and having watched the excellent Channel 4 show Musicality (the winners played the major roles in Chicago in the West End, for one night only, and very good they were too). I think there must have been an American sitting not too far away, as someone kept yelling “Yeah!” after each number as us Brits applauded politely.

It was a polished performance: no slip-ups and technically very good (I am, of course, an expert in these matters). Since I find it hard to remember lyrics at all, I’m full of admiration for those who can sing “Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes they both/Oh yes, they both/Oh yes, they both reached for/The gun, the gun, the gun, the gun/Oh yes, they both reached for the gun/for the gun” while dancing, in time with everyone else.

Avaragado’s rating: peppered ragout

We stayed in Covent Garden for a pint at the Nag’s Head, met up with Sarah and Ades who were up from Bath for the day, and went for another pint at The Cove, nicely tucked away above a pasty shop with a view of the alleged entertainment badgering tourists below. Then to Fire and Stone, a posh pizza restaurant. None of yer Margheritas here: you get pizzas named after cities, such as the (may as well follow the theme) Chicago or Byron Bay. Occasionally non-intuitive ingredients, but very tasty.

Avaragado’s rating: bombay mix

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Champagne and chips

Last night we went to Bruno’s Brasserie on Mill Road to celebrate Louise’s birthday. None of us had been there before, but we’d heard contradictory reviews. It was time to make our own minds up.

Shazzie joined us, having obtained a note from her daughter allowing her out. Consequently there was the drinking of the champagne. It seems to be her new tipple of choice. Expensive tastes, these rawists.

Strange courgette-based starter. I suspect several lemons died during the preparation thereof. It met with my approval.

I had a very tasty mushroom risotto for my main course. Shazzie had one of the specials, a “superfood salad” it was labelled, but minus feta and plus chips. You can take the girl out of Hull…

I shocked all present by having a dessert – cheesecake. All ingredients present and correct, you can’t really go wrong. Well, I could, but they couldn’t.

Since Chef was custodian of the wine list we ended up at £50 a head. And me, dolescum.

Avaragado’s rating: some watercress

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The actual best Chinese restaurant in Cambridge…

…is the Peking on Burleigh Street, where we went tonight, just down the road from the Shanghai.

Must have been the owner that took our order. She told us that she wouldn’t let us order food that wouldn’t go well together and insisted that we share everything. Told us all about how it was the colours, etc. Very passionate about her job, sign of a good restaurant.

And the food and wine were both very good indeed.

I was moderately embarrassing on exit, when I said the one word of Cantonese I can remember from Hong Kong, “m’goi” (thank you), to be met with blank looks – oops, Mandarin.

Silly drunk brit.

Avaragado’s rating: one fresh pan of sauce made from a secret recipe.

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C for Contradictory

V for Vendetta. One of those films that veers between cheese, predictability, utter implausibility and scary prescience. Reviews I’ve seen so far have been Marmite-like in their binarity (yes, that is a word): they love it or hate it.

The flaws include Natalie Portman’s grand tour of all accents, and that ever-present mask obscuring Hugo Weaving’s performance. The mask matches the original graphic novel, so top marks for authenticity, but it all gets a bit Marcel Marceau as poor Hugo desperately tries to emote avec hands and sans face.

On the plus side, the film contains the best cinematic use of the Benny Hill music so far this year.

Oh, and Chef! Going to the cinema! With other people present! Unheard of.

Avaragado’s rating: one tin of tomato soup

Post-film we ventured to the Shanghai Family Restaurant on Burleigh Street. Never been there before; it apparently has a reputation as the best Chinese restaurant in Cambridge.

An interesting experience. I think we must have been the first people ever to order wine there; the waitress seemed to think she had to empty the bottle rather than leave it on the table, so there were some very full glasses (no complaints). This trick failed on the third bottle though – she was almost apologetic as she left the bottle with us. Strange.

Nice food, large portions, but I wouldn’t call it the best in Cambridge.

Avaragado’s rating: half a packet of digestive biscuits.

This being the 21st century we then nipped across the road to CB2 for two more bottles of wine and our own interpretations of dessert. Melanie and Louise had malteser sundaes, or something like that. I had some spicy chips.

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