Food Review: Kamique
IN A NUTSHELL
It's not worth heading to the West End for something this clunky. Head somewhere local for your after work pint instead.
So you're told about this bar, specifically its wide range of mojitos.
Assumption - there's a Cuban theme. Wrong.
Arrival confirms it's one of those anonymous West End joints that's all about platters, happy hour and the post-work crowd.
They're here in force, bellowing at each other in loosened ties over unnecessarily loud beats.
It's Friday, it's 7pm and the kind of place where every knot of people is in a walkway.
The woman who greets us appears to have so little English the word "reservation" is a step too far but after some confusion we make it to the strange Regency pimple of a room that's erupted on the back of the establishment.
Its designer clearly found an old smoking jacket and thought it would look nice as an eatery, complete with upholstered scarlet walls and ceiling.
We go for two variations on the Mojito (£4.50 each in happy hour).
The red berry effort isn't bad but my passion fruit climax or whatever it's called, despite promise of a flaming fruit, is served damp squib; no fire. Things start to go downhill.
My goats cheese salad with pomegranate suffers lashings of coagulated, balsamic dressing that wipe out all but a whiff of the other ingredients.
Green Thai chicken curry is hot enough to obliterate all the vegetables used but curiously fails to mask the seedy bird, which tastes like it's been hanging out on street corners for too many years.
Worse still, it takes nearly an hour for our starters to arrive. Slick it ain't.
A Pornstar Martini arrives without its shot of Prosecco on the side, although this does eventually turn up. Sloppy.
Apologies are served. We escape this padded hell into the night.
Kamique, 63-66 St Martin's Lane, London, WC2N 4JS, 020 7240 2011, kamiquebar.co.uk.