The Dining Club convenes in the Old Ale Emporium, which turns out to be a bog-standard boozer with mass-produced lagers dominating the taps, as opposed to the cathedral of hops, beards, tankards and sandals worn over socks that the name suggests. A bitter disappointment to be honest (bitter – geddit?), although one somewhat alleviated by the ‘77 punk singles blasting out of the jukebox on heavy rotation for no apparent reason. After a couple of bland, generic lagers we head up the road to The Village for Bulgarian food.
Unfortunately, we didn’t feel it necessary to book, as a cursory bit of research made it clear this was more of a café than a restaurant. And the place is full. Two intimidating gentlemen in shell suits, dark glasses and a few items of bling sit in the corner, nursing a half empty glass of coke between them, beneath a big screen broadcasting near pornographic, presumably Bulgarian, R&B videos that blend into a relentless phantasmagoria of accurately groomed facial hair, gold rings, pouts, pimp cups and grinding hot pant-clad buttocks. The extremely friendly chap behind the counter makes an unsolicited approach to these two Sopranos extras on our behalf to vacate their table. They sullenly look up at him, and then us, before we quickly back out muttering apologetically that we’ll come back in another half an hour or so when it’s “less busy”.
A short while later, we’re back and there is plenty of space. If I was being patronising (and I clearly am) I would say the menu had naïve charm. Certain items in the standard café section have an intrigue all of their own (“toast Hawaii ”, anyone?) but we’re on Dining Club business, so it’s strictly Bulgarian all the way, starting with the beer. There are two varieties of Bulgarian beer on offer and both come in large 500ml cans. I can’t remember how I arrived at my decision to opt for one rather than the other, but it was a perfectly good lager and around 3 quid, I think. If the waitress was impressed by my gung-ho swagger in ordering the tripe starter, she hid it well. The plate of offal itself couldn’t be accused of dishonesty. It consisted of part of a boiled cow’s stomach cut up into small squares and each mouthful - salty sweet and delicious as it was – was followed by a supressed gag in response to the unadorned truth of what I was eating. I resolved to, in future, persist with offal, pursuing it at every available juncture, until I was inured to any such petty squeamishness.
Lucy’s main was an astonishing concoction of chicken in a ratatouille style stew but with the unique (Bulgarian?) addition of a thick layer of molten cheese covering everything. It was actually really very nice, and vastly proportioned; unlike Lucy, who was struggling after making only the most cursory forays into it with her fork. Sarah, Katie and I all went for slight variations on the same theme of grilled meat, fries and salad. This arrived in the form of a homemade beef pattie stuffed with a pungent (paprika-noted?) chilli sauce centre and was really quite wonderful. It was presented on a wooden platter with a pleasant green salad and perfectly acceptable fries. It’s worth noting that when Sarah had earlier been in danger of becoming permanently stranded in an apparently impossible choice between rice and fries with her main, the waitress gallantly stepped in and offered her half and half. We also had two salads on the side - one Russian and one Bulgarian (the latter duly dubbed the "salad mountain"). Yet again, the volume of food on the table was far too much for four and I think it all worked out at around £15 each in the end, including service.
If I lived on Green Lanes, or indeed in Stoke Newington, and this was my local café, I would regularly be found in there enjoying home made, flavourful Bulgarian food at more than reasonable prices in its down to earth but very friendly (Sopranos extras aside) surroundings.
PS This visit took place a while ago – last year in fact. My note taking was woefully inadequate and I failed to jot down many salient details, including the actual names of the dishes we ate, the actual names of the Bulgarian beer etc. I will endeavour to up my game in future.
The "salad mountain" |
Meat and two carbs |
As you pursue your offal mission, can you please make at least one awful pun per offal post? I'd be grateful.
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