Chatting to a friend at the weekend he told me that I appeared to have had far too much good food this year. On the face of the reviews thus far he’s right but what he didn’t know was that I had a rotten experience up my sleeve just waiting for publication.
The Parcel Yard, from the drinking point of view, is an old friend. For a station pub the beer is good and reasonably cheap, with decent loos and cheerful staff. So I didn’t think there could be anything wrong with getting a quick bite before getting back to London last week.
Oh well, things don’t always work out how you want. I got there at seven and my train was at eight. Ample time I thought for a burger to be delivered and demolished even for a clock-fretter like me. I ordered and went to find a table. Argh, all that was left was high stools! Well, that’s not their fault and mebbe it’s just a quirk of mine that I hate high altitude seating so I put up with it and waited for the burger.
Looked around the room … was there a charabanc party in the far room? It appeared not. Had they run out of cow? If so nobody thought to let me know. I told myself that if it got to 7.30 I’d go and ask for my money back. As if the chef could read my mind the burger arrived at 7.29. I asked why the delay … busy in the kitchen. I raised a sardonic eyebrow but my rumbling stomach told me not to pursue the matter any further.
But what’s this?! Looking down I see a collection of nonsense straight outta Shoreditch. One child sized burger and an aluminium buckette of chips with some (admittedly v good) coleslaw on the side. But the size of the food wasn’t the chief source of my consternation.
The eats were assembled on the kind of wooden crate in which job lots of satsumas are retailed by the Turkish grocers of Green Lanes. Rough board base (with a greaseproof paper on top), four substantial sides and four lumps of further wood sticking up at each corner. I believe there are whole websites dedicated to the ludicrous means (planks, slates, dog-bowls) various knobheads have chosen to deliver their product to the poor consumer. This is my own contribution.
If I were the Labour candidate for Stoke I would make it my no. 1 campaign pledge that all food should be delivered ON A PLATE. I would win by a landslide.
The burger was dry.
3/10 (for the beer and coleslaw)
p.s. I did make the train but at the price of indigestion.
To see which other restaurants I’ve visited in 2017 check out my GoogleMap
Blue Badge guide to London and academic specialising in early twentieth century history. Blogging on history, academia, and food and culture in the capital (and occasionally elsewhere).