Ye Old King's Head
I've been posting reviews on another community site, so I'll start posting them here, lest you think I'm dead. These have no pictures, hopefully that doesn't deter you from reading.
There is a small chunk of Santa Monica completely devoted to Our Mother of Surrogate Colonies, Britian. Naturally, I'm writng about this because I just spent the better part of my evening eating lamb pie, throwing darts, drinking English beer and hitting on chicks with cute or cockneyed accents. More on that in a minute.
British food has gotten a bad rap. In recent years it has gotten more refined and flavorful. Sure, I like many of you will pre-emptively reject steak and kidney pie, deviled kidneys, jellied eels, or any other delicacy dredged from the recesses of a Liverpool factory.
I'll save the oral hygiene and arthritic jokes for another time. Ye Old Kings Head may "Americanize" some of the food, but it is delicious. When I say that, I mean an Indian friend who was with me (no fan of the British) said the food in England tacitly sucked, but they refined the taste for an American palate. Fine. This isn't a review of the Knightsbridge Anglican Cafe and Royal Hellspawn Water Closet.
The British love their pies. Chicken and mushroom, Shepherd's, Lancashire Lamb, Steak and Kidney (blllllucccchhhh), Rancid Sock Stew. Ok, not everything is tittilating, if that is a description that can even be applied to a pie, but the majority of the food is rich, filling, and tasty.
Pies are hearty stews topped with a stiff puff pastry. By stiff, I mean a robust pastry, not a flitty French delicate piece of precious baked crap. It is flakey, crisp, and buttery, but not gay. No disparagement against humans, I'm using gay to mean a very delicate and stylish flake.
The underlying mix can only be described as a stew. It is thick and filling, with chunks of meat the size of Ayres Rock, vegetables and potatoes. True to British tradition, it is served with a side of gravy, mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables. They are not necessarily restricted to peas, but that is standard in every place I've ever been where rotten teeth outnumber pint glasses. Ok, grant me that one joke.
They have two bar areas, one called the Tiny Bar, I think, and the other is the main bar. There must be a lot of Brits and Anglofiles, 'cause it is packed. Of course, darts are being catapulted, and some actually end up on the cork. No, actually Brits are accomplished dart players. Shit, it's the only British sport you can actually understand, excluding their language, the other cultural disparity.
British chicks are pretty hot, and yes, they had nice teeth. I was talking with a very cute one for about an hour over a few glasses of Guiness and a Belgian white, and a half and half (Black and Tan here, but don't ever call that in Ireland or they'll stuff a molotov cocktail in your ass.)
Where was I? Oh yes, the litany of beers, Harp, Boddingtons and a Bass. She was drinking Longbow Cider all night, and she turned out to be a private cook!
I don't know why this place has such an unfortunate name, I heard they loved their monarchy, and thought regicide by beheading was reserved for the French. Well, it's not as bad as a road I remember back in Virginia: Pope's Head Road. Try naming a pub THAT. Another molotov cocktail in your ass.
There is a small chunk of Santa Monica completely devoted to Our Mother of Surrogate Colonies, Britian. Naturally, I'm writng about this because I just spent the better part of my evening eating lamb pie, throwing darts, drinking English beer and hitting on chicks with cute or cockneyed accents. More on that in a minute.
British food has gotten a bad rap. In recent years it has gotten more refined and flavorful. Sure, I like many of you will pre-emptively reject steak and kidney pie, deviled kidneys, jellied eels, or any other delicacy dredged from the recesses of a Liverpool factory.
I'll save the oral hygiene and arthritic jokes for another time. Ye Old Kings Head may "Americanize" some of the food, but it is delicious. When I say that, I mean an Indian friend who was with me (no fan of the British) said the food in England tacitly sucked, but they refined the taste for an American palate. Fine. This isn't a review of the Knightsbridge Anglican Cafe and Royal Hellspawn Water Closet.
The British love their pies. Chicken and mushroom, Shepherd's, Lancashire Lamb, Steak and Kidney (blllllucccchhhh), Rancid Sock Stew. Ok, not everything is tittilating, if that is a description that can even be applied to a pie, but the majority of the food is rich, filling, and tasty.
Pies are hearty stews topped with a stiff puff pastry. By stiff, I mean a robust pastry, not a flitty French delicate piece of precious baked crap. It is flakey, crisp, and buttery, but not gay. No disparagement against humans, I'm using gay to mean a very delicate and stylish flake.
The underlying mix can only be described as a stew. It is thick and filling, with chunks of meat the size of Ayres Rock, vegetables and potatoes. True to British tradition, it is served with a side of gravy, mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables. They are not necessarily restricted to peas, but that is standard in every place I've ever been where rotten teeth outnumber pint glasses. Ok, grant me that one joke.
They have two bar areas, one called the Tiny Bar, I think, and the other is the main bar. There must be a lot of Brits and Anglofiles, 'cause it is packed. Of course, darts are being catapulted, and some actually end up on the cork. No, actually Brits are accomplished dart players. Shit, it's the only British sport you can actually understand, excluding their language, the other cultural disparity.
British chicks are pretty hot, and yes, they had nice teeth. I was talking with a very cute one for about an hour over a few glasses of Guiness and a Belgian white, and a half and half (Black and Tan here, but don't ever call that in Ireland or they'll stuff a molotov cocktail in your ass.)
Where was I? Oh yes, the litany of beers, Harp, Boddingtons and a Bass. She was drinking Longbow Cider all night, and she turned out to be a private cook!
I don't know why this place has such an unfortunate name, I heard they loved their monarchy, and thought regicide by beheading was reserved for the French. Well, it's not as bad as a road I remember back in Virginia: Pope's Head Road. Try naming a pub THAT. Another molotov cocktail in your ass.
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