‘If the performance were flawless, you could opt for a kind of appalled fascination’
Not that long ago, in the deepest Florida boondocks, I fell into conversation with locals. “You’re from Scotland?” they marvelled. “You must find it awesome over here! Did you have any idea life could be like this?” This, I might add, was in a restaurant called Tugboats Garden of Eatin’, where dishes were mostly garnished with desiccated coconut and the entertainment consisted of drunken old people getting off with each other.
I can only speculate that it’s this kind of cultural superiority that has led to the opening in London of an outpost of NYC’s Hotel Chantelle. It’s not a hotel. And I’m not entirely sure it’s a restaurant either, but something devised to troll the unsuspecting sent here by the snickering, red-eyed concierge from Hades.
Related: Pidgin, London E8 – restaurant review | Marina O’Loughlin
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