Still, he is clearly a man who sticks to his principles, and when those principles revolve around burger-fueled debauchery, it’s fairly certain to garner approval from the Scavenger Gourmet.
Certainly, all the formalities for a raucous atmosphere appeared to be in place: the food confirmed as being as deliciously dirty as ever, a 2 am license at weekends and, like its ‘chop-up’ predecessor, imaginative and lethal cocktails courtesy of the Soul Shakers team.
In fact, there was no queue. In fact, it was practically empty, the rockabilly DJ playing his shit-stomping tunes to an almost empty house. This was great in that both our drinks and the snacks we sampled with them came almost instantly. Al quaffed one of their famous cocktails: we both forget what it contained but remember it was damn good. So good she actually had two. Said cocktails were, I am happy to report, still being served in jam jars: not only is it eco-friendly, it’s also just really damn cool.
Though I often arrogantly look down on the Southern masses for their habit of deep frying everything from butter to turkey to Coke, it turns out that warm, crispy batter is the perfect foil for tangy, sweet and sour gherkins. Both came with the best blue cheese sauce I’ve had this side of the pond. It was so good it would probably even make Tofurky tasty.
But the experience also worried me. I enjoy snappy service as much as the next oligarch, but it’s never been a part of the whole Meatwagon/#Meateasy vibe. Now, that’s not to say to Yianni and his crew: “Next time I walk through the door, please ensure I wait at least an hour for a plate of chicken wings.” Just that I sincerely hope the place doesn’t just survive, but thrives without the knobby art student crowd that came with the New Cross days.
In other words, I hope I’m not the only one planning on getting drunk and stuffing my face with burgers there many a night in the future. Good meat and liquor were both there in abundance: where the hell were you?