"Open since 1967 and responsible for thousands, if not millions, of paracetamol the following day, The Tiroler Hut knows how to have a good time. To the uninitiated, this Austrian cavern in Notting Hill is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it place. The single door on Westbourne Grove is lit only by an enticingly sordid red neon sign and two cowbells below it. But for the initiated, this is a raucous night out where fun rather than food comes first. Sure, the beef goulash is mediocre but who cares when Josef, the elderly owner in lederhosen, is playing the cowbells like he’s on the Pyramid Stage. In fact, don’t be surprised if someone is crowd surfing by the time the karaoke mic comes out. Some people in The Tiroler Hut’s Hobbiton-like room come here as two, but that just isn’t the way to do it. It’s a place for friends, new and old. Just ask Mike on the door—he’s been working it since 1986. Come for a big birthday blowout or to drink a boot of beer. Bring friends and make more. As with any restaurant led by an elderly owner-cum-musician in lederhosen, The Tiroler Hut isn’t giving a great deal of focus to its menu. The sausage selection with honey mustard is a delightful canapé, the käsespätzle an irresistible cheesy mess, and apple strudel a sugary shield against the grüner veltliner running through your veins. It doesn’t matter with a restaurant this unique, though. Just hope the wienerschnitzel lines your stomach by the time tomorrow comes. " - Jake Missing
