I must admit I was having some slight misgivings about inviting urbane London friends to a restaurant that at best could be described as quirky, and whose main selling point was that it was once visited by Simon Bates.
My concerns were not abated when we arrived to the sound of a circular saw whining away in the upper part of the restaurant. Half of the place was under renovation, probably a wise move on the part of the management when we saw the parts that weren't. We were led downstairs to a large room with a small stage ominously littered with musical intruments. It would have had a party atmosphere if it wasn't quite so empty, and we were dealt with by some over-attentive waiters in matching red waistcoats.
The feeling that I was in a scene from Carry On Abroad continued when I walked into the gents' toilets to find that there weren't any toilets in there, or anything else for that matter. Walking out with a perplexed look on my face, a waiter pointed to the ladies next door with a look that suggested I should have known that already. With any luck, I thought, we'll all be pissed enough to see the funny side of this soon.
We were in the mood for cocktails, but there was only one cocktail on offer - a Turkish variant of Sex on the Beach, which arrived in varying tones of oranginess. Kat ordered the wine, which tasted pretty winey.
We started with the mixed meze, which arrived arranged on a silver platter with a magificant prawn cocktail centrepiece.
For the main course I ordered the Special Mixed Kebab - the word 'special' seeming to suggest all manner of unspoken delights. The Special Mixed Kebab is in fact a British-style mixed grill, but with the added factor of a small strip of pitta bread placed underneath it all. It was certainly hearty and well-cooked, although I could have done without the donner meat. My Venezualan friend looked disconcerted as I explained the term 'Elephant Leg'.
The room was starting to fill by now, including a wizened old man in a black suit who arrived with a girl far younger than him. Their proximity suggested that she was neither his daughter nor granddaughter.
The fun arrived right behind the booze, and the conversation led to a recent stag do, in which the stag was forced to wear a beard made of the other attendees' pubic hair. The hair, it seems, was plucked rather than shaven, and gathered over the weeks preceding the event.
But such fascinating insights were soon drowned out by the rising volume of the band over whose traditional music we were having to shout. A young girl came on and did a warbly vocal turn, then there was a jazz-funk interlude that seemed to betray the band's real passion. However, the promise of a Herbie Hancock-style workout was denied by the arrival of a lady in full belly-dancing gear. She was quite late, and Kat suggested that, much like Courtney Love, they had to wait for her drugs to arrive before she went on.
Within moments I was dragged up onto the dancefloor and the belly dancer waggled her breasts at me as I tried not to look like Jarvis Cocker. She then unceremoniously shooed me away. The room still being fairly sparsely populated, almost everyone in the room was dragged up - including Kat, who threw some surprisingly good shapes considering the dancer's decolletage was at her eye level. The old man and his young companion politely declined the dancer's advances.
My childed friends ran off to relieve the babysitter, and I was left hoping they had a good time. I think he did, at least - within moments I received a text message: 'The belly dancer is FIT'.
Restaurant #2 = 3/10
She says...
So my distress at being faced with a restaurant under construction on Friday has been somewhat put in context by the fact London is currently being deconstructed by rioters burning down buildings and looting as many trainers, iphones and HD TVs as they can get their hands on.
Dragging myself away from the turmoil on Twitter is hard, but I suppose I should give my thoughts on restaurant number 2.
Having made the mistake of actually reading a few, distinctly unenthusiastic, reviews in the hours leading up to our jaunt to Efes, my expectations were pretty low. Which proved useful on being presented with the building site on the ground floor level of our chosen restaurant and my early-arriving friends sitting at the outside, street level, tables looking unimpressed. They'd already ventured into the downstairs restaurant area but seeing it deserted came back up for air. Things could only get better.
So we persevered and let ourselves be ushered down to the large spacious basement dining room once again, where by this time a few other tables were already seated and there was a band set up for later entertainment. Quite understated decor, clean and tidy.
The waiters had a helpful, if slightly cheeky chappy, manner whilst explaining the intricacies of the menu. Basically a large array of 'set menus' consisting of a starter + main + coffee & fruit for £24, which you could alter at will with any of the other mains on the a la carte version. Kinda makes the whole set menu thing pointless, no? Anyway, we ignored the advice and opted for a couple of mixed hot & cold mezze starters to share, plus a main meal each. And some very drinkable white wine and impressive goblets of (the only available) cocktail - a house concoction involving a variety of spirits and something red. Yum.
The kitsch presentation of the cold mezze won praise, the bread seemed fresh and the grilled halloumi cheese was delicious. Our meaty mains were substantial and well cooked if lacking any finesse whatsoever, but the veggie mousaka was a bit under par by comparison. Overall, nowhere as near as bad an experience as I'd anticipated, and, for a round £35 each inc drink, on the edge of being good value for money.
Despite the reviews I'd previously read saying service was poor, rude and slow, our plates were cleared too speedily and we had to loiter with an empty table to catch the star attraction. She appeared, and gamely got most of our party of 7 to do some dancing with her. The boy came back to the table slightly flustered, but not entirely unhappy, stating with some admiration and somewhat unnecessarily, that she had ' waggled her tits in my face'.
Sophisticated this place is not, but it's also not a dive and the food is very tasty. If you want a jolly, ideally booze fueled and loud (the band did bang on a bit), Friday night out in very central London - job done :-)
Restaurant #2 = 6.5/10
NB - the ground floor alterations are due to be finished in 'oo a couple of weeks Madam, probably not more than 10 days'.
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