Another Easter Bank Holiday weekend, another weekend that I realise I am closer to my death and without a screaming baby in my arms and a partner by my side. I don't know whether this is a good or bad thing, or indeed why long weekends in particular make me nostalgic for the halycon days when I was coupled up because I'd be off picnic-ing somewhere or off on a jaunt to a castle and covertly baby making.
Rewind. The reality was spent in a fug of Thai weed haze, too lazy to get up to make food, arguments about who would and finally when you mustered up the courage to go the shop you realise you came back with only sugar laden items. So it was a relief to do something differently and rather than break the tradition of paying for everything as I did with directionless ex, I decided instead of treating him, to treat a girlfriend to her birthday dinner.
I was headed to my friends housewarming in the area and wanted somewhere local to eat. Almost 2 years ago B.S. (not bull shit, Before Shane's) when I had lived in Clapton there was nowhere decent to eat really, yah, everyone raved about CHATSWORTH ROAD but that was only an a Sunday. I know everyone else in Clapton being a designer slash artist slash illustrator slash architect slash media rat slash mini DJ slash insert art based vocation here wants to only eat on a Sunday because that's how they maintain their impressive thigh and toe gaps (despite insisting on wearing all black which makes you look 10lb lighter anyway) but I actually wanted to eat after a long day serving Essex's finest in A&E.
Back then I had slim pickings - which I found strange given the tendency for Clapton to house families and thigh gaps side by side. There's the fish and chip shop and the Clapton Hart, and as I was leaving the area the SoDo place had popped up in all its MDF glory. Palm 2 hosting a load of grains that take a shit load of time to cook so I don't care how much people bang on about it I wasn't going to go there after spending 12 hours running at work.
So the initial sadness of the Pacific Social not being able to accommodate us was lifted by the surprising choice of Candela and Maeve's to choose from on Murder Mile. And of course the Star of Hackney Downs and the Windsor Castle and that piss smelling but rather nice pub the Plough have all sprung from the murder mile and a mile radius. I won't include Shane's on the list for its insistence on thigh gap maintenance portions of food, and not that vile place vendredi which was tasteless on every front, I had to salt my food to assault my senses in a pleasurable way and my half Italian friend was generally not impressed with anything they had to offer.
I had already eaten at Candela on a cold January night, which had an extremely hot Manager and an even sexier Napolean hatted cactus on my table, but I feel it unfair to review as I was absolutely sozzled and had already had to blink 300 times to avoid kissing a guy who wore pleather sleeves attached to his top before I ended up there for dinner (my friend having convinced me to eat sausages for dinner from his freezer gave into my drunken pleas to eat on seeing the cactus I think we were happier in the end). So that left only Maeve's Kitchen.
Maeve's Kitchen was on TimeOuts hidden gems but I'd seen it post prandially a few weeks when walking but then became dubious because TimeOut is written for middle class snots and never seems to reflect the experience that I have.
I took birthday gal with me and we were immediately bathed in a transfer filter glow. Everything took on a digitoxic hue, as I imagine one would be if they were in fact, er, digitoxic. So far so good though. Digitoxicity hues convey, homeliness and warmth. Digitoxicity from the Digitalis plant however is something you never want to have it sounds a lot like a trip on ayahuasca but without the life affirming effects at the end, and possible death thrown in the mix. On a separate note, what is this nonsense of people using ayahuasca as a party drug? Its not pretty in the Peruvian forest, it sure as hell isn't pretty and definitely fetid and shitty in a Peckham warehouse.
It wasn't busy, it was Good Friday - "The day after Maundy Thursday" said my Cardiology Consultant in a cut glass accent (who the hell says Maundy Thursday anymore? He does.) and we were asked by a pleasant French waitress if we had a booking which, we did, which, was good as it slowly started to fill up towards 10pm.
I hadn't put my hearing aids in, gal friend hadn't put her glasses on so together when the French Waitress said you can see all the menu (on the world's smallest blackboard might I add) behind you - both of us rudely responded with "What?" and looked pretty fucking retarded. So nil point for disability equality there..never mind gal dem walked up to the blackboard and I just attempted to lip read the waitress as I think she said "I can offer you a really good Merlot, a french one" Ah, well it wasn't that good, it was way too acidic, although ok, I think for the price we could have got a better non screw top red.
A few minutes later an indentikit waitress (if only for her septal nose ring ting) came to take our food orders which thankfully was easy given the abbreviated menu. I was thankful for that and thankful for the piece of thick card that I found on the table to wedge under the wobbly leg because as I did so I looked up and smiled at 2 gentleman sitting on a table in the corner near the stairs and they smiled back. Clearly Maeve's attracts decent diners with decorum too. Wonderful start!
I ordered the terrine - salmon and asparagus - which given the external temperature in April I felt was far too cold but still packed a punch in my mouth. Mainly because it was too coarsely cut, there's a fine line for a terrine that makes it palatable, then again I am not a terrine connoisseur, and I finished it all which ShiteTip my other friend who may make an appearance in here sometime soon will tell you I never do. We had to ask for bread which was so so but that's ok. I just remembered ShiteTip won't make an appearance now that he's on a 5:2 flex and aiming to lose a gut that was never there. The perils of being a Hoxtonite.
In my mind the fact that the starter was reasonable was good because you always get lead astray with brilliant starters, like being grabbed and taken down a dark alley for the best sexy time you've ever had but then its a 15 second route to climax and the mains are often limp dicks. However,
Thank you Maeve, because YOU were the other way round.
Your mains were hearty, uplifting soul warming heaven sent goodness in a bowl. I chose the chook braised in tomato and mushroom sauce on crispy polenta. I was a bit scared because polenta when done badly is effin awful. This had a lovely bite to it and was perfect to drown in a rich yet healthy seeming brothy sauce and actually warmed my cockles. The chook in the broth was seasoned beautifully and thank fuck it wasn't bloody dry. Nothing irritates Rita more than a dry bloody chicken. Its always gotta be finger lickin.
The other bird had Pulpo a la Galega which I didn't try sadly as she was full of cold and I didn't want her germs so this is what she had to say:
I thought is was great - like farmer style cooking and I love when a restaurant only has a few bits - then you know the food is really fresh. I though the menu on offer was varied - and love when its not too fancy and over the top.
Rewind. The reality was spent in a fug of Thai weed haze, too lazy to get up to make food, arguments about who would and finally when you mustered up the courage to go the shop you realise you came back with only sugar laden items. So it was a relief to do something differently and rather than break the tradition of paying for everything as I did with directionless ex, I decided instead of treating him, to treat a girlfriend to her birthday dinner.
I was headed to my friends housewarming in the area and wanted somewhere local to eat. Almost 2 years ago B.S. (not bull shit, Before Shane's) when I had lived in Clapton there was nowhere decent to eat really, yah, everyone raved about CHATSWORTH ROAD but that was only an a Sunday. I know everyone else in Clapton being a designer slash artist slash illustrator slash architect slash media rat slash mini DJ slash insert art based vocation here wants to only eat on a Sunday because that's how they maintain their impressive thigh and toe gaps (despite insisting on wearing all black which makes you look 10lb lighter anyway) but I actually wanted to eat after a long day serving Essex's finest in A&E.
Back then I had slim pickings - which I found strange given the tendency for Clapton to house families and thigh gaps side by side. There's the fish and chip shop and the Clapton Hart, and as I was leaving the area the SoDo place had popped up in all its MDF glory. Palm 2 hosting a load of grains that take a shit load of time to cook so I don't care how much people bang on about it I wasn't going to go there after spending 12 hours running at work.
So the initial sadness of the Pacific Social not being able to accommodate us was lifted by the surprising choice of Candela and Maeve's to choose from on Murder Mile. And of course the Star of Hackney Downs and the Windsor Castle and that piss smelling but rather nice pub the Plough have all sprung from the murder mile and a mile radius. I won't include Shane's on the list for its insistence on thigh gap maintenance portions of food, and not that vile place vendredi which was tasteless on every front, I had to salt my food to assault my senses in a pleasurable way and my half Italian friend was generally not impressed with anything they had to offer.
I had already eaten at Candela on a cold January night, which had an extremely hot Manager and an even sexier Napolean hatted cactus on my table, but I feel it unfair to review as I was absolutely sozzled and had already had to blink 300 times to avoid kissing a guy who wore pleather sleeves attached to his top before I ended up there for dinner (my friend having convinced me to eat sausages for dinner from his freezer gave into my drunken pleas to eat on seeing the cactus I think we were happier in the end). So that left only Maeve's Kitchen.
Maeve's Kitchen was on TimeOuts hidden gems but I'd seen it post prandially a few weeks when walking but then became dubious because TimeOut is written for middle class snots and never seems to reflect the experience that I have.
I took birthday gal with me and we were immediately bathed in a transfer filter glow. Everything took on a digitoxic hue, as I imagine one would be if they were in fact, er, digitoxic. So far so good though. Digitoxicity hues convey, homeliness and warmth. Digitoxicity from the Digitalis plant however is something you never want to have it sounds a lot like a trip on ayahuasca but without the life affirming effects at the end, and possible death thrown in the mix. On a separate note, what is this nonsense of people using ayahuasca as a party drug? Its not pretty in the Peruvian forest, it sure as hell isn't pretty and definitely fetid and shitty in a Peckham warehouse.
It wasn't busy, it was Good Friday - "The day after Maundy Thursday" said my Cardiology Consultant in a cut glass accent (who the hell says Maundy Thursday anymore? He does.) and we were asked by a pleasant French waitress if we had a booking which, we did, which, was good as it slowly started to fill up towards 10pm.
I hadn't put my hearing aids in, gal friend hadn't put her glasses on so together when the French Waitress said you can see all the menu (on the world's smallest blackboard might I add) behind you - both of us rudely responded with "What?" and looked pretty fucking retarded. So nil point for disability equality there..never mind gal dem walked up to the blackboard and I just attempted to lip read the waitress as I think she said "I can offer you a really good Merlot, a french one" Ah, well it wasn't that good, it was way too acidic, although ok, I think for the price we could have got a better non screw top red.
A few minutes later an indentikit waitress (if only for her septal nose ring ting) came to take our food orders which thankfully was easy given the abbreviated menu. I was thankful for that and thankful for the piece of thick card that I found on the table to wedge under the wobbly leg because as I did so I looked up and smiled at 2 gentleman sitting on a table in the corner near the stairs and they smiled back. Clearly Maeve's attracts decent diners with decorum too. Wonderful start!
I ordered the terrine - salmon and asparagus - which given the external temperature in April I felt was far too cold but still packed a punch in my mouth. Mainly because it was too coarsely cut, there's a fine line for a terrine that makes it palatable, then again I am not a terrine connoisseur, and I finished it all which ShiteTip my other friend who may make an appearance in here sometime soon will tell you I never do. We had to ask for bread which was so so but that's ok. I just remembered ShiteTip won't make an appearance now that he's on a 5:2 flex and aiming to lose a gut that was never there. The perils of being a Hoxtonite.
In my mind the fact that the starter was reasonable was good because you always get lead astray with brilliant starters, like being grabbed and taken down a dark alley for the best sexy time you've ever had but then its a 15 second route to climax and the mains are often limp dicks. However,
Thank you Maeve, because YOU were the other way round.
Your mains were hearty, uplifting soul warming heaven sent goodness in a bowl. I chose the chook braised in tomato and mushroom sauce on crispy polenta. I was a bit scared because polenta when done badly is effin awful. This had a lovely bite to it and was perfect to drown in a rich yet healthy seeming brothy sauce and actually warmed my cockles. The chook in the broth was seasoned beautifully and thank fuck it wasn't bloody dry. Nothing irritates Rita more than a dry bloody chicken. Its always gotta be finger lickin.
The other bird had Pulpo a la Galega which I didn't try sadly as she was full of cold and I didn't want her germs so this is what she had to say:
I thought is was great - like farmer style cooking and I love when a restaurant only has a few bits - then you know the food is really fresh. I though the menu on offer was varied - and love when its not too fancy and over the top.
Maybe the portions were a little small or maybe I am just greedy. I left and was full so cannot complain. The wine was not the best french wine for the price but that didn't stop me glugging it all !
Staff super friendly and not in your face.
(especially not when RitaisBitter said I love your Welsh accent and septal nose ring waitress no1 very sweetly said "But I am French" to which Rita replied "Sorry I am deaf" - it really is a good way to get out of a lot of things).
Decoration - not poncey which I like - just like a small town french bistro.
We both had creme caramel for desert cooked to perfection and addled with just the right amount of caramel sauce and they didn't hurry us as we put the world to rights, about body dysmorphia and then Terminator. They produced a bill for £58, a bit dear I felt but it was alreet.
Above all thanks be to Jesus for getting crucified as without you I would not be eating at Maeve's at 10pm on a Friday in normal circumstances. So there you have it. That's Maeve's. I quite liked it, definitely won't be a hidden gem for much longer. Take your glasses, take your hearing aid and I promise you'll be nicely full and satisfied, be prepared for normal sized people with normal sized personalities dining and working in this homely kitchen which for me will be half the reason I come back.
