I worked a few doors down from Simpsons from 2010-2014. A cracking place for sure.
I miss Buffalo Bills in Southampton, opposite the Mayflower. Countless years of happy occasions. I know it’s still there but after 20+ years of the same owners - and the same chef! - it changed hands and reviews say its shit now. Morons.
Oh, btw. Samuel Pepys has been recently outed for Weinstein type activities, but don’t let that that put you off. I don’t think they employ anyone under 45 - on the other hand, if that’s your bag…
In the '70s used to love “Alice’s” just across the road from “The Cricketers” in Carlton Place. It was one of the first home made burger places in the city…played good music too…great place to meet up and go onto other places in town. Cheap and cheerful with brightly painted furniture…affordable house wine served in a Giraffe.
Giraffes’ were still well posh in late '70s early '80’s when I went out for a meal at the Pizza place in Dibden Purlieu with my first proper girlfriend - think it was called Capers. Closed down only recently.
It was a time of faux-sophistication, especially when Simon’s Wine Bar opened just down the road from Alice’s in the mid '70s. Quaffining Liebfraumilch, Piesporter Michelsberg or a cheeky White Zinfandel, TBH anything that sounded relatively foreign.
Thanks too to Berni Inns that would serve up a Prawn Cocktail, Steak, Chips & Peas and Black Forest Gateau for around £2.50 in the late '60s. If you thought you were in with a good chance you’d push the boat out and buy a bottle of White Hirondel too.
I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you youngsters are here today courtesy of a bottle of Hirondel.
My story begins 5 years ago, me and my mate were driving out to Greece to work for the summer, I had made it as far as the ferry before I decided to become violently unwell with food poisoning. My mate took over sole driving responsibilities as I was a bit delirious, and our journey was made quite a lot longer by me needing to stop every 45 mins or so to empty myself. Some time the next day as we were about to leave france and enter Italy I am starting to feel better and feel the need to hydrate, so whilst my mate is filling up on petrol I buy the only thing I think my stomach will tolerate, a small pouch of ‘apple juice’, like the pouches lucozade sport used to come in. As we rejoin the motorway I proclaim to my mate that ‘I am so looking forward to this’ as I squeeze almost an entire pouch of thick apple jam into my mouth. I did not feel hydrated. As I tell my ‘mate’ what I have done and how disgusting it was and how disappointed I am he almost has an asthma attack from laughing so hard.
I guess the moral of the story is don’t trust the french.
Thanks too to Berni Inns that would serve up a Prawn Cocktail, Steak, Chips & Peas and Black Forest Gateau for around £2.50 in the late '60s. If you thought you were in with a good chance you’d push the boat out and buy a bottle of White Hirondel too.
There used to be a place in Liverpool before they moved call Eureka, it was proper genuine family run Greek food, all the family worked there, in a run down 60’sshopping parade, people used to come from all over to eat there, now they’ve moved its nowhere near as authentic nor as good, shame.
I bow to your superior ‘‘wisdom’’ Beltch, maybe as you’re such an expert in french ‘‘culture’’ you could explain to me why anyone would need to buy apple jam at a motorway petrol station that it is needed to be stocked in such abundance? Serious question no trolls please.