My father would have blew his lid and scolded me with an iron if i'd told him i'd been to a vegetarian restaurant. The man was a consummate meat-eater, trips to the zoo would always involve him methodically going round all the enclosures with a notebook trying to scout new animal meats for major gourmet restaurants. He'd always manage to smuggle at least 10 Humboldt penguins into his Jaguar, most of my childhood was spent secretly trying to usher the poor buggers out of the house to save them from the chop. I don't have the gall to compare myself to Harriet Tubman, Oscar Schindler or those men who saved priceless art from being destroyed by the Nazis in WW2, but I'm basically all those people, and Steven Spielberg would cream his pantaloons if he heard my story.
So, here's another restaurant: 'Let's Go F*cking Lentil' in Bermondsey, London, founded by two ex-football hooligans and Millwall supporters, Mark White and Melvin 'Mad Dog' Collins. The two were handed life-long stadium bans for a number of offences which included blinding an opposition goalkeeper by flying a drone with a sparkler attached to it into his face in a Carabao Cup tie, and smashing the windshield of what they thought was the Millwall owner's car, but turned out to belong to the club's beloved dinner lady, Maeve, who was so distraught by the incident, she went mad and poisoned the entire men's team by dousing their macaroni cheese with ear medicine.
Remember, this series is based around a study conducted at the University of Cockfosters, Berkeley which found that food becomes more flavoursome when ear-splitting music is played at an obscenely high volume in a restaurant. I last visited 'Pasta Sottovoce' in Cromer, Norfolk, and have only just regained my ability to hear, speak and walk without stumbling over. The blood on my pillows has just about dried, the flashbacks are becoming less frequent, so.. yeah, ready for another one, i'd say.
Let's Go F*cking Lentil, Bermondsey, London
I ALMOST COULDN'T ENTER 'LET'S GO FUCKING LENTIL', A RELATIVELY NEW GAFFE IN BERMONDSEY, I WALKED THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR AND WAS IMMEDIATELY FLOORED BY THE THUNDEROUSLY LOUD MUSIC THEY HAD PREPARED FOR ME. 'BARBED-WIRE TRACHEA BLUES' BY THE NIPTWISTER SISTERS FT. WILL YOUNG WAS THE SONG I WAS SUBJECTED TO.
I ATTEMPTED TO LEAVE, BUT MARK WHITE AND MELVIN 'MAD DOG' COLLINS, THE OWNERS OF THE RESTAURANT, CAME OUT, GRABBED ME BY THE LAPEL, AND DRAGGED ME UNWILLINGLY TO MY SEAT. "WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, SUNSHINE? WHITE ASKED ME. THE FACT THAT I COULD HEAR HIS VOICE OVER THE MUSIC PLAYING OVERHEAD IS A TESTAMENT TO THE STRENGTH OF THESE MEN'S VOICES, FINELY-TUNED BY YEARS OF SCREAMING ON THE TERRACES AT MATCHES.
"I'M SORRY DAD... MARK, I'M SORRY, MARK!" I SCREAMED. IT WAS A TERRIFYING PREDICAMENT, I WAS FULLY PREPARED TO FACE THE MUSIC AGAIN, BUT AS SOON AS I WALKED IN, I HAD THE MOST DREADFUL FLASHBACKS, NOT ONLY TO 'PASTA SOTTOVOCE', BUT ALSO TO MY CHILDHOOD, FATHER USED TO RANDOMLY QUIZ ME ON HIS MOST FAMOUS RESTAURANT REVIEWS OUT OF THE BLUE, AND IF I GOT ONE WORD WRONG, HE'D HOLD MY HEAD IN A BUCKET OF WATER FOR 40 SECONDS.
"SIT DOWN, SHUT UP AND ORDER SOME FOOD!" CRIED THE 'MAD DOG', WHO GAINED HIS NICKNAME FROM BITING OFF MARK NOBLE'S NOSE IN A DERBY MATCH AGAINST WEST HAM UNITED. "YOUR LITTLE REVIEW IN NNNN IS GOING TO GIVE US A LOT OF PUBLICITY, SO YOU BETTER FUCKIN' GET IT RIGHT, THE WORDS BETTER FUCKIN' SING FROM THE PAGE LIKE A MASTERFUL PIANO CONCERTO." I TOLD HIM I'D DO MY BEST AND ORDERED THEIR FAMED LENTIL SALAD. I THEN WAITED FOR A GOOD HALF AN HOUR, ALL THE WHILE BEING STARED AT BY NIKOLAI, A RUSSIAN EMPLOYEE AT THE RESTAURANT, WHOSE JOB IT IS TO EXTORT GUSHING TRIPADVISOR REVIEWS FROM CUSTOMERS ON THEIR WAY OUT.
"HERE'S YOUR LENTIL SALAD, YOU SLAAAAG!" THE SALAD LOOKED APPETISING ENOUGH, THE LEAVES WERE AVERAGE-SIZED, SLIGHTLY MOIST, LOOKED GREEN. I.. I CAN'T DO THIS! I HATE RESTAURANTS! WHY AM I REVIEWING IT? I WOULDN'T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT SALADS, ALTHOUGH I'M SURE THEY'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE AN EYEBALL MIXED IN WITH THE COLESLAW AS IS THE CASE WITH THIS ONE. "YOU KNOW WHO THAT EYEBALL BELONGS TO, SUNSHINE? IT BELONGS TO A LITTLE CUNTY JOURNO WEASEL WHO HAD THE GALL TO RAT ON US TO THE PIGS, SO YOUR WRITING BETTER TURN WATER INTO WINE, OR ELSE WE'LL FEED YOUR EYEBALLS TO THE DOGS". I TOOK COLLINS' WORDS SERIOUSLY, MAINLY BECAUSE HE CHOSE TO INCLUDE FOUR ANIMALS IN HIS THREAT, AND THAT REMINDED ME OF FATHER AND MY ATTEMPTS TO STOP HIS MINDLESS CRUELTY. I ONCE WANDERED INTO HIS STUDY AND OPENED UP A BAG HE HAD ON HIS DESK TO FIND A BUNCH OF EURASIAN PYGMY SHREWS. HIS LAPTOP WAS ALSO OPEN ON A YOUTUBE VIDEO EXPLAINING HOW TO COOK EURASIAN PYGMY SHREWS. I TOOK THE BAG, RAN INTO THE WOODS AND RELEASED THEM. WHEN I GOT BACK, FATHER INTRODUCED ME TO A FIVE-STAR US ARMY GENERAL WHO SUBJECTED ME TO CHINESE WATER TORTURE WHILST FATHER READ OUT HIS REVIEW OF MIKE LEIGH'S NEW FILM TOPSY-TURVY.
I RELUCTANTLY CONTINUED TO SPOON THE WATERY SALAD INTO MY TREMBLING MOUTH, PIECES OF BEETROOT SLIDING DOWN MY GULLET LIKE A DEAD CHILD'S CORPSE DOWN A LOG FLUME.
"OI, MELV! ARE THE 'WALL PLAYING TODAY? PUT EM' ON, WILL YA?" MELVIN SWITCHED ON THE TV IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM, MILLWALL WERE PLAYING LEEDS UNITED, THEIR HISTORIC RIVALS, MAYBE THIS COULD DISTRACT THESE TWO HOOLIGANS AND I COULD SLIP AWAY. I COULD HAIL A TAXI TO THE AIRPORT, BOARD A FLIGHT TO MALLORCA AND NEVER COME BACK, NEVER LOOK BACK. I COULD GO TO RESTAURANTS MY FATHER NEVER REVIEWED, I COULD SEE ANIMALS HE NEVER COOKED, I COULD ESCAPE HIS ERUDITE, PROVOCATIVE SHADOW AND UNSHACKLE MYSELF FROM THE SUBTLE TYRANNY OF HIS DEVILISH WIT.
I WAITED FOR A MOMENT OF DRAMA IN THE MATCH. SOMEHOW I COULD STILL HEAR THE COMMENTATORS OVER THE RAPACIOUSLY LOUD MUSIC OVERHEAD, MILLWALL WERE ABOUT TO SCORE, I COULD HEAR WHITE AND 'MAD DOG' BUILDING TO A JUBILANT EJACULATION, "GO ON, GO ON, GO ON! OH FUCK! FUCK! AAAH, COME ON, MY SON! FUCKING STICK IT IN, STICK IT IN, MY SON! GO ON!" AND STICK IT IN THEY DID, THE PAIR ROARED AND EMBRACED EACH OTHER, ALMOST WRESTLING EACH OTHER WITH JOY. AT THAT MOMENT I ATTEMPTED TO SLIP AWAY, NOW WAS MY CHANCE, I STAGGERED TO THE DOOR, OPENED IT, WALKED OUTSIDE INTO THE BLISSFUL BERMONDSEY SUN, THEN FELT A LARGE HAND GRIP MY SHOULDER FROM BEHIND.
"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MR. JOURNALIST?" IT WAS NIKOLAI, THEIR ENFORCER. "YOU SIT AND WRITE GOOD WORDS ABOUT THIS EAT-HOUSE, YOU MAKE US LOTS OF POUNDS". I WAS DOOMED, THERE WAS NO WAY OUT. NIKOLAI WAS AN UNMOVABLE OBJECT, DETERMINED TO DO RIGHT BY HIS EMPLOYERS.
I SAT DOWN AGAIN, BLOOD POURING FROM MY EARS AND STARTING TO HALLUCINATE CHARLIE CHAPLIN-LIKE FIGURES CLAWING THEIR FACES OFF. I ATTEMPTED TO FINISH THE MEAL BUT BLACKED OUT BEFORE I COULD.
AS I WOKE UP I FOUND MYSELF IN THE DRIVERS SEAT OF A VAN.. WHERE WAS I? WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED? WHAT FRESH HELL IS WAITING FOR ME AT THE END OF THIS JOURNEY? WHO WAS SITTING NEXT TO ME DRIVING THE VAN? I LOOKED TO MY RIGHT, EXPECTING TO SEE MELVIN 'MAD DOG' COLLINS GRINNING AT ME WITH VIOLENT GLEE, BUT ALAS, IT WAS MARK NOBLE, WEST HAM CAPTAIN AND MORTAL ENEMY OF THE TWO VILLAINS. "SEE THAT THERE?" HE POINTED TO A LITTLE SNOW GLOBE ON HIS DASHBOARD WITH WHAT LOOKED LIKE A SEVERED NOSE WITHIN, "THIS IS WHAT THEY TOOK FROM ME, BUT I AIN'T THE ONLY ONE, CLEARLY"
"WHAT HAPPENED, MR NOBLE?"
"I HAPPENED, MY FRIEND, I HAPPENED", HE GESTURED TOWARDS A CAN OF PROPANE ON THE BACK SEAT. "YOU.. YOU BURNT IT DOWN?"
"HA HA! SQUEAKY CLEAN WEST HAM UNITED CAPTAIN MARK NOBLE BURNING DOWN A RESTAURANT? HOW LUDICROUS! WINK WINK"
"YOU SAVED MY LIFE, MARK."
"IT'S WHAT I DO, KID, IT'S WHAT I DO. NOW, YOU WERE SAYING SOMETHING ABOUT MALLORCA?"
"OH, I DON'T THINK SO"
"YES, YOU DID, IN YOUR SLEEP, YOU MUTTERED SOME STUFF ABOUT YOUR FATHER AND EURASIAN PYGMY SHREWS, THEN ABOUT MALLORCA."
"OH, WELL, YES, I WISH TO ESCAPE ABROAD, LIFE IS NOT TREATING ME WELL OVER HERE."
"WELL, ASK YOURSELF, KID, IS LIFE NOT TREATING YOU WELL, OR ARE YOU NOT TREATING LIFE WELL?"
"I THINK DEFINITELY LIFE IS NOT TREATING ME WELL."
"WELL, KID, THEN PERHAPS YOU SHOULD GO TO MALLORCA."
"THANKS, MARK NOBLE, YOU SAVED MY LIFE. HOW CAN I EVER REPAY YOU?"
"WELL THERE'S A FEW MORE VENUES BELONGING TO OLD GRUDGES I'D LIKE TO BLOW UP, YOUR HELP WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED".
"OH, WELL WHAT OTHER VENUES?"
"OH, WE'LL GET TO THAT, LET'S JUST SAY I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF PLAYING IN A FISH BOWL".
