Spontaneous Spuntino

In central Soho, with no sign above the door and filthy tiled interior, we chose this place for lunch and a beer on a saturday afternoon. It was ten minutes before my nose started to bleed.

We didn't need to queue, we found a couple of stools at the "bar" where half the seats are located, and ordered a couple of beers. The decor reminded me vaguely of a cross between the inside of a meat fridge and the basement prison in SAW I.

Within minutes, I tasted blood in my throat as my nose started to bleed and I had to sit in the bathroom until it stopped. Very frustrating. It happens very infrequently these days, the main problem being that it is tough to convince those I have just met, that I am not some sort of strange pre-prandial coke head.

Back at the bar, Caz orders our food, sliders, mac 'n cheese, chilli pop-corn, slaw, two more beers. I know everyone complains about the inevitable queueing into these no-reservation eateries (Spuntino's better-looking sister restaurant Polpo to name one) but we were sat and, notwithstanding bleeding, we were eating within 20 minutes.

The food puts a smile on your face, small plates of fresh, seasonal and punchy flavours. The pulled pork melts, and the slaw zings on the palate. The atmosphere is relaxed and non-pretentious, disgustingly trendy people work behind the bar, but they work fast and know their stuff.

Half way through the meal we spotted a friend across the room who pointed out Caz and I had accidentally dressed identically for the occasion. Awkward.

We only popped in for a quick bite, but will be back for more.

There is something quite pleasant about stepping half-pissed out into the sunshine with a belly full of posh burgers, and looking back at the anonymous exterior half-feeling like you may have imagined the whole thing.

CB