That grub, though. Here is one of those menus where, budget and stomach allowing, everything could be ordered. Pub food might mean sausage and mash, but since the mid-Eighties might also mean Thai (Kensington’s Churchill Arms the innovator; the Heron in W2 the perfecter). The Marquee offers a bit of both. Who can fairly choose between szechuan chicken drums and salt and pepper-crusted cod’s cheek? Mushroom parfait is dolloped beside dominoed Ritz crackers. Plated with a nostalgic wink of irony? Who cares? I love Ritz crackers. A bowl of flailing onion bhaji arrived, a spit of Medusa, shining with oil under a green sauce. It’s a shoo-in for London’s finest bar snack. Alongside that was a “pickle boat”, a trio of fermented veg with a good showing of crispy chilli oil. Beef rendang pie, though, proved to be a billing of impossible promise; someone forgot the ginger and tamarind. Lovely pie, but no rendang. Ours was a table muttering.
The Marquee Moon, | Evening Standard
