‘They call themselves “eccentric”. You don’t say. Still kind of love the place, though’
The list I’m reading of newish restaurants in Liverpool is dismaying. There’s the drive-thru, the chain, the one owned by the footballer, the other chain. Or the churrascaria in the public lavs, the American sports bar, the “Shanghai tea house/opium den”. Or there’s Albina, promising “a journey through British food”.
“We revel,” goes the restaurant’s spiel, “in 1970s nostalgia” and “the first recipe book, The Forme Of Cury, in 1390”. It boasts the most bonkers menus – yes, plural; plus they look a little worse for wear, as though they’ve just gone a few rounds with the blackboard of craft beers. The main one is sectioned into “Bites”, “Starters”, “Signature”, “Nostalgia”, “Historical”, “Vegetarian”, “Colonial”, each dish annotated with the year of its inception. Ach, come on, guys, get a grip.
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