It’s a bit of a blessing that the duck leg bao is not over-furnished with flesh when the flesh in question is so dry
Southam Street is not in that part of W10 made famous by Richard Curtis films, all candy-coloured mews and quirky antique shops. Huddled beneath the Trellick Tower, it’s the wrong side of the tracks from the tagine trucks and Portuguese cafes of Golborne Road proper, the same scruffy patch Alan Johnson once called home. The slums of his childhood are long gone, and this corner pub, with its plaque to Kelso Cochrane, murdered in the aftermath of the 1959 Notting Hill riots, is now the sister restaurant to the much-lauded 108 Garage at the Portobello end of Golborne. Same road, different world.
It’s hard not to see it as the vanguard in the ominous march of gentrification: glam marble offset by moody paintwork, and a glossy crowd. “They’re all so young,” my friend says enviously. “Have you noticed?” Those at the table by the door, drinking champagne, keep getting up to air-kiss other customers (I relay this without judgment, being a fan of both champagne and kissing, but merely to set the scene).
Continue reading...