I’ve never understood the appeal of brunch. It’s essentially the same few dishes (eggs benedict, pancakes, full English, avocado) stretched to fit a particular cuisine.
Mexican? Eggs Guacamole. Indian? Sweet Dosa. Peruvian? Go fuck yourself.
On a beautiful balmy Sunday we dropped in on Chinese Laundry on Upper Street.
I gave the website a brief reccy and found bizarrely racist phrases popping up on the homepage:
I had previously encountered this phenomenon at Rooster and Pig, a Vietnamese in downtown Palm Springs which offered tastefully-named cocktails such as “Jalapeno Napalm Surprise” and “Me So Horny”.
Like the deeply boring comics whose only material is impersonating their Nigerian parents, Are these restaurants trying desperately to ingratiate themselves by insulting themselves? Or are they run by Seaside UKIP councillors?
A giant pork baozi bun, like the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong, was of an impressive scale but was filled insipid and mushy remains.
A DIY “fry-up” congee with oyster mushrooms and bacon failed to impress.
Stir-fried Dumplings were the saving grace, but was little more than bog standard pork gyoza in a sweet-spicy sauce of Korean provenance.
The best part of the Chinese Laundry dining experience is the pink neon bathroom lights. It’s Bladerunner-meets-Chengdu bordello.