Jeffrey Y.
Google
As a US traveler eager to indulge in traditional English fare, I was recommended this restaurant by an English friend.
Coming with family, we had mostly lingered in business districts filled with posh buildings and spotless streets. This place, by contrast, felt worn and honest. A local kind of space.
I ordered both the pie and the jellied eels, each unfamiliar to me. The pie was golden and flaky, filled with Scottish beef that was flavorful but swimming in broth. Topped with the signature parsley "liquor," the dish felt more like soup than pie. Yet the liquor's vegetal, slightly muddy flavor offered a curious balance to the richness of the pie and meat. The mashed potatoes, seemingly from an electric pot, were warm, slightly chunky, and deeply satisfying.
The jellied eels, on the other hand, were more puzzling than enjoyable. Cold and coated in salty gelatin, the eel pieces were tender but lacked much character. The heaping layer of gelatin remained largely untouched after coating the few bits of eel. While I appreciated the simplicity, I struggled to find the appeal.
The restaurant's atmosphere was somber and melancholic. Guests shuffled in slowly, some with distant gazes and hushed, tired voices. A man across the room argued loudly with someone over the phone while exchanging brief remarks with the staff. Beyond that the space remained quiet with guests either waiting or eating in silence. The menu was minimal, the staff straightforward, the setting raw and unadorned. Yet it felt real—honest in a way that more polished places rarely are.
I'm grateful to have experienced this side of English cuisine—a grittier, old-school working-class fare like jellied eels and parsley liquor pie—even if not every element suited my taste. While I had my hesitations, I can see what these dishes offer: the pie, hearty and comforting; the eels, perhaps a delicacy meant to be savored slowly.
Overall 6/10 — a humbling and memorable experience.