Author: Thabian Sutherland

  • RESTAURANT REVIEW | Del’Aziz Bermondsey Square

    RESTAURANT REVIEW | Del’Aziz Bermondsey Square

    Not every restaurant in the Old Smoke can claim to reside on top of medieval and Roman ruins, an 18th-century burial ground and an Abbey that once rivaled Westminster’s. Del’Aziz is tucked away in the corner of a smart seven-year-old development that was once occupied by Bermondsey Abbey.

    Del’Aziz Bermondsey Square

    Any eatery in proximity to hipster hangout Bermondsey Street has to be worth their weight in black habits. The trendy-Wendy haunt is lined with uber-cool coffee-houses, contemporary cocktail bars, and bustling bistros, most of which have standards as high as St Mary Magdalen church’s steeple.

    You can see why Middle East and Eastern Mediterranean restaurant Del’Aziz have given themselves quite a substantial nip-and-tuck to keep up with the ever-growing destination boulevard.

    Del’Aziz’s boasts a bar, bakery, and restaurant, which is where we were seated.  The dining area is a mix of turquoise walls, an empire-style chandelier in line with boutique five-armed crystal-drop chandeliers, pink, patent, plastic pillars and lime green chairs.  Had we side stepped into a GymBox spin studio or Jane Fonda’s boudoir circa 1983?  An identity is missing.

    We were chuffed the place wasn’t chocker as the tables either side of us would have learnt a thing of two about girthy u-bends.  My dining compadre’s home bathroom refurb was a hot topic.  A wee bit more space between tables would be nice.

    On recommendation, we kicked proceedings off with a couple of mojitos. When the drinkies arrived we were informed not to stir in the dark rum head thus giving us something to look forward to on the last few slurps. Not overpowered by mint, with enough lime to balance the sugar – the rum top worked.

    To get a sense of the full Middle East experience a mezze platter for two seemed appropriate. Hummus – sesame-esque with a good consistency.  Tzatziki – understated and fresh. Lamb boreck – a clear winner on the board – sweet, cumin-laced lamb wrapped in a crisp and oily filo pastry, the best roll we’d had in a while. Meatballs in a tomato sauce – more flavour in a Bic biro lid – bland. And merguez sausages – heavily packed with chili pepper and harissa shadowing the cumin but a decent banger all the same.

    To accompany the main our waiter lead us in the direction of Northern Italy with a bottle of Poderosa Monte Santu Il Vino Del Pane 2010.  Good choice – dry, full-bodied and energetic with light tannin – a chic racy number.

    For our mains: for me, grilled lamb steak, ‘imam bayildi’ aubergines. The steak was beautifully seared and tender. The gamey flavours were enhanced by onions, garlic, and figs permeating from the aubergines. And for my chum, chicken tagine, preserved lemons, carrot confit, olives and steamed couscous. As soon as the terracotta lid was lifted the citrus aromas could have unblocked the nastiest of bunged up honkers. Sadly, that’s where the excitement ended. The olives were limp and the chicken was cumbersome – it was like eating a Korma without the cream – now where’s the fun in that?

    Del’Aziz Bermondsey Square2

    Del’Aziz’s team are polite, chirpy and well suited to the Bermo-contempo borough.

    The bar area lacked any intimate nooks or segregated sections. But what the bar didn’t have in cosy alcoves it made up for in history. You can still see remains of the Benedictine monastery through the glass tiled floor – worth a butchers.

    To choose your pud you have to walk through the restaurant, past the loos, bar, and kitchen to the ‘bakery’ and choose your bake. This did not please my dining chum – the last time he walked past a kitchen was in Kensington Olympia at Grand Designs Live – he knows there’s one in his house because he overheard the chamber maid make reference to a room with an Aga. A pudding menu might well be in order.

    We shared a pink choc meringue and a blueberry crumb cake. The white with pink swirled meringue would have been better suited as headpiece or bulbous fascinator for Sydney Mardi Gras – maybe that’s where it came from? It was as dry as a cracked heel and missing the chocolate. The cake shared the same attributes and not a berry in sight – they must have caught the same flight.

    A meal for two won’t blow all ya spendies, not all the cakes are wearable and hanging with the Bermo-bohems ain’t such a drag.  Let’s just hope that Del’A hasn’t lost her zizzzzzzz.

     


    REVIEWED BY: Thabian Sutherland
    ADDRESS: Del’Aziz, 11 Bermondsey Square, London SE1 3UN
    TELEPHONE: 020 7407 2991
    EMAIL: bermondsey@delaziz.co.uk
    Price Rating: £££ (Explained)
    Star Rating: ★★★ (Explained)
    Tipping Policy: 12.5% discretionary tip will be added to your bill.

  • 5 Things You Need To Do If You Witness A Grindr Flop Date

    5 Things You Need To Do If You Witness A Grindr Flop Date

    You and your bestie or beloved treat ya selves to some decent nosh with a table for two at one of London’s finest.  But, you can’t appreciate the liquorice and elderflower, never mind the fennel-laden roast scallop starter.

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  • RESTAURANT REVIEW | K Bar At The Kensington Hotel

    ★★★★★ K Bar At The Kensington Hotel

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  • THEATRE REVIEW | Alright Bitches

    ★★★★★ Alright Bitches | Winter blues getting you down on your knees, feeling the cold-finger from old Jack Frost or just in need of some sun, sand and seamen?

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  • THEATRE REVIEW | 5 Guys Chillin’

    THEATRE REVIEW | 5 Guys Chillin’

    Five gay, short-sporting, horny promiscuous guys with gobs of liquid G, copious consignments of crystal meth, in a smog of monotone club beats opens up a whole production-line of tinned STI’d-worms.  ★★★

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  • INTERVIEW | The Boys From Forbidden Nights

    INTERVIEW | The Boys From Forbidden Nights

    Want to know more about the lads from Forbidden Nights?  (more…)

  • REVIEWED: Forbidden Nights

    REVIEWED: Forbidden Nights

    What better way to warm ya cockles, lift spirits, and power-tool through a long dark night this winter then an evening of ogling bulging biceps, finger-licking thighs, prolific pecs and alluring abdominals?  ★★★

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  • Squares Above The Rest: The Box, Seven Dials

    The London gay scene, much like Wayne Rooney’s hairline, has fluctuated, mutated and diminished since the millennium. A plethora of happening gay drinking holes and night clubs have appeared, done a stint – then poof! Disappeared.

    One bar that stood out, due to her lengthy sentence and touch of the David Bowie’s – her unique edge – is The Box.

    The Box bar was perched on the edge of Covent Garden’s Seven Dials, a good distance away from tempting forbidden fruit trees and tricker-ous serpents of Soho. Faraway enough you didn’t end up attempting a Grey-Goose-infused suspended pirouette on the pole, attached to the plinth in the Shadow Lounge in the wee hours on a school night – we’ve all been there.

    The Box had abundant fundamentals, she was an ever-changing art gallery – local and other UK based artists would cake the walls with their creative wares. She was a relaxed café during the day, somewhere you could pop by for a decaf skinny mocha, Bloody Mary or a cold-as-Sarah-Palin’s-love-organ pint of Stella – even a spot luncheon with chums, or indeed on your Jack, and without feeling as though you were sporting last season’s spring/summer.

    At around 6pm the after-work-dollies would flock into bitch about their colleagues, moan about their boyf’s or simply lift spirits from a hard day’s vaporising from behind the Lancôme counter at Selfridges, or boast about a successful pick-up at the gym.

    During the summer said swarm would spill out on to Monmouth street thus making Seven Dials and its lagoon-life your canvas.

    Thursdays to Saturdays at around 9pm the tables in the centre on the bar were whisked away, the tunes were pumped up and The Box became the first anchor-drop of the night for the beefy-singlet donors, disco-bears and glitter-ball-swinging brigade.

    The Box didn’t fit the stereotypical gay bar box – she was squares above the rest.

    For moi and my compadres from 2000 up until The Box closed in 2009, she was the Rovers Return of our lives.

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Botallack O’Clock

    THEATRE REVIEW | Botallack O’Clock

    Dangling for 70 mins in a smoky room, adjacent to a stained mattress with Dessert Island Discs emanating from a Bush radio, alongside tick tock tick tock, Beethoven and the squiffed fantasies from an abstract artist who will drink to your health, insult if you were christened Darius or if you work for Blue Peter, might cause you to fornicate with a portrait and Monster Mash with a bear. ★★★

    Writer and Director Eddie Elks interprets a suspended hour at 3am for artisan Roger Hilton CBE in his Cornwall basement/bedroom/studio, aided with a bottle of Teachers malt, a talking wireless and a paint-water-thirsty feline.

    Attempted gherkin stabbing, a wife-eating crocodile composition, hide and seek with some teddy trouser pulling-down nonsense is enough to keep Hilton awake in the wee hours – will it keep your mince-pies open?

    Turbulent and bonkers with glimmers of merriment as you delve deeper into the whisky-hazed, gifted mind of a boob-admiring canvas-and-oil prize winner.

    Think self-indulgent luvvie in a student’s bedsit.

     

    Botallack O’Clock run until 6th February 2016 at the Old Red Lion Theatre, 0844 412 4307

     

  • COMMENT: Are We In Union, No More Strikes?

    COMMENT: Are We In Union, No More Strikes?

    A new year in our sprawling, over-populated Old Smoke brings fresh days of small businesses, freelancers and other innocent bystanders losing days of income; months-in-the-planning school balls, saved-up-for pre-bought theatre tickets and the last chance to visit a dying relative or close friend ruined, tarnished or made impossible – unless of course you’re employed by Coutts.

    And in the oh-so-cheery months post-Christmas, the joy of having to prise yourself out of ya pit even earlier than usual to rugby-tackle your way onto a bus, play sardines for the duration of your journey and arrive at work stressed, your regalia stuck to your person as if you’d just attempted all the positions in the Kamasutra, and having to disinfect some stranger’s armpit from off of ya boat-race due to London Underground (LU) striking yet again.

    God bless RMT (The National Union of Rail, Maritime and Transport Workers), Aslef (The Associated Society of Locomotive Engineers and Firemen) and Unite The Union – the three unions that represent LU employees, and the instigators of the 26th January, 15th February and 17th strikes. You’re doing a sterling job chaps.

    Why are LU striking again? For the same reason as last year – pay, and night tubes.

     

    According to the TFL website, undated 11th January: LU is creating 700 new jobs to run the night tube service – offering total protection of work-life balance – and over 6,000 people have applied for the new roles. Thus the current Thomas-the-tube-engine staff won’t be obliged to work nights.

    What actually crosses the palms of our slave-esque, light-in-the-purse-department underground staff each year: Tube drivers £49,673, plus 43 holibob days. A customer service assistant £30,000, and a station supervisor £50,000; both get 52 vacatiarno days. Tidy.

    The national minimum wage is £6.70 per hour – an average 40-hour week would bring home around £13,500 a year.

    A newly-qualified teacher in England and Wales: annual salary£22,244, or £27,819 if based in the Big Smoke.

    Starting yearly take-home for fully-qualified nurses is £21,692. London-dwelling Florence Nightingales attract a high-cost-area supplement that can bump up their salary by as much as 20 per cent: £26,304.

    Direct from TFL, LU’s four-year pay offer: in year one an average rise of two per cent; years two and three would remain at RPI (retail price index) or rise by one per cent, whichever is greater; year four would be RPI plus a 0.25 per cent rise. Plus, a £500 bonus is up for grabs for all night-crawlers.

    BBC News reported: The union’s London district organiser, Finn Brennan, said:

    “We genuinely regret the inconvenience that will be caused but the behaviour of London Underground’s senior management team have left us with no other choice.”

    Really, Finn? You feel you have the right to disrupt, cause loss of earning and make eight million people’s life hell because you feel LU management didn’t behave in the way you wanted? Just sayin.

    Steve Griffiths, LU’s chief operating officer, responded:

    “The unions’ position is absurd and detached from the real world.” I think we can all agree with that, Mr Griffiths.

    So what else is the union’s beef?

     

    The RMT press office stated:

    It should be noted that Night Tube Operation will impact on all of our lines and therefore some of our staff will be required to work alternative rosters to enable the business to maintain the infrastructure.”

    A roster jig around – really?

    RMT General Secretary Mick Cash said:

    “Our Tube Lines members have been offered the same deal on pay and Night Tube as their London Underground colleagues and our reps have clearly rejected it as wholly unsatisfactory.”

    Poetic – so you’re not chuffed with the four-year pay plan?

     

    According to The Guardian, January 2011: 590 to 32 National Grid (NG) staff voted for industrial action over pay, and wanted to strike in protest against below-inflation wages – they were supported by Unite and Unison and two other unions. The strikes didn’t happen and they found a resolution. We don’t hear the word ‘strike’ whenever rich-tea has been mistakenly bought instead of hobnobs by NG employees.

    The gas, electricity and water companies don’t annually threaten, or stop providing us with said utility when disputing pay, shift and employment issues. Transport in London is as essential as the three mentioned above.

    The Gay UK contacted a West-London-based District Line tube driver for his opinion on the strikes:

    “I’m not a lot of help I’m afraid! Being on the District Line means that we are not affected by the night-time work proposals and as such I’ve stayed clear of the debate. As an Aslef member I’ll strike if the union calls for it, but I don’t get involved actively.”

    Not affected, doesn’t get involved, but will still strike.

    Facts: London would be a better city with 24-hour tubes. LU wages aren’t on a par with banker bank balances, but they ain’t bad. LU are employing more staff so they can implement the night tubes with them, thus not forcing current staff to work nights.

    No-one’s work life is perfect; most would say they weren’t happy with their pay, having the rota played with, or changes within the company that might affect them; but the majority still go to work and get on with it – or find alternative employment.

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Victorian & Gay – where cooks cook, and ladies lady

    THEATRE REVIEW | Victorian & Gay – where cooks cook, and ladies lady

    What chestnut-cracking season’s complete without multiple bonkers reenactments of Dicken’s Scrooge, pussy jokes articulated in beautiful Victorian English, a couple of murders and some good old festive references to sodomy – falalalala la la la la? ★★★★

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