The Waterfront, Queensquay, Gibraltar

Gibraltar is a decidedly odd place. I arrived there expecting some Brits (correct, there are lots of the tattooed and generously proportioned variety), a lot of hidden money (also correct as evidenced in the form of multiple PO Boxes, banks and yachts) and a giant rock (giant indeed).

However, it’s a far cry from Monaco, Jersey and other tax dodging rocks. I see now where El Dorado came from. People refer to “The UK” all the time, a sure sign that they haven’t set foot in the “UK” for many a year. It also possesses a Marks and Spencers and all the restaurants offer fish and chips or bizarrely, Toad in the Hole. Does anyone still eat that? There is an ever present sense of the 80s about everything, as if someone in a trench coat wielding a file-o-fax might appear at any given moment.

The old town looks like a slightly Spanish version (add some palm trees) of a British Seaside resort; a bit dilapidated and well, low rent really. A bit of money wouldn’t have gone a miss in the town centre, but instead, Taylor Woodrow of all people have chucked years of resources at the colossally unsubtle Ocean Village. http://www.oceanvillage.gi/leisure.html Ocean Village consists of clusters of marina side concrete frame and blue-glass balconied high rise apartment blocks with retail and bar/restaurant use to the ground floors. There is a KFC and Pizza Express for the homesick, the Celebrity Wine Bar (sadly no celebrities were spotted), an Irish Bar, and a casino at which I squandered £20 Gibraltar pounds rather quickly by loosing at Pontoon. The Casino has a terrace restaurant with seating outside to watch the sun go down over the marina. The food is all two for one and indeed you get what you pay for, no one is there to eat really are they, it’s all about the chips and tables inside. I ate a rather unexciting skewered prawn salad and the rest of the menu is all grilled meat and chips with some curried elements which gives them licence to be “fusion”. In fact it’s all a bit Angus Steakhouse but cheaper, and you get to watch the sunset, so no complaining.

Taylor Woodrow seems to be behind all of the obvious development on the rock including the yacht strewn Queensway Quay, which is a rather more upmarket glamorous affair smelling of new money. There is what looks like a private marina overlooked by terraced Mediterranean style apartments with quality finishes and nicely landscaped. The yachts here are bigger and sleeker (although still not in the proper look-at-me-I’m-an-Oligarch-yacht bracket). There is, though a carrier moored slightly further out with a helipad no less. Queensway Quay has a number of marina side restaurants and bars. The Fish Place is well reviewed due to it’s menu of fresh catch everyday, the bars are favoured by the sailing and racing types but I went for The Waterfront, http://www.gibwaterfront.com/waterfront.html. Not because of anything I’d read or heard about it’s food but simply because they had a TV showing the fate of Paraguay or some such Latin outpost in the world cup and Mr Gorb cannot miss a minute of such a contest. Ho hum.

Anyway it was a reasonably good choice. The Waterfront is styled with a mix of natural stone walls, exposed brickwork and has a slightly nautical theme. It’s all a bit hit and miss in that the industrial ductwork doesn’t quite work with the wooden cubicles and the brickwork and pink accessories. The overall effect is a little bit Jolly Roger. But none the less the food is good. The menu has a good fish and grill selection and the wines weren’t over priced. The cod in cream and chives with crushed potatoes was nicely cooked and

not over seasoned. The grilled meats are a speciality and the steak was pronounced “not outstanding, but substantial”, i.e. the quality versus size debate to which, in my eyes, the answer always depends on how hungry you happen to be. Deserts follow the same pattern, one giant slice of lemon meringue pie appeared but for those who don’t have the appetite there are the wonderful Movenpick ice-creams by the scoop on offer. It’s not going to win any awards but compared to some of the options in the old town or a KFC in Ocean Village then it’s clearly the best place to go. I can see how the yacht owning tax dodgers might like it too.

There are always the monkeys to see, the Pillars of Hercules, St Michaels Cave, the Rock Hotel and also “that petrol station" if you’re Irish.

O’Callaghans Hotel http://www.eliotthotel.com/ just off Main Street, is a nice hotel in a reasonable location with a roof top pool and decent views for a base.

The Masons Arms, Battersea Park Road, SW8 4BT

Battersea is a bit short of everything really, it’s like a wasteland compared with North London. Since I moved here I’ve suddenly gone all middle aged. It’s all Sunday Roasts and Jazz territory. I do try and sound less negative but it creeps up on me.

Pub and bar density isn’t great, attempting a pub crawl would be a short but expensive exercise. Everywhere seems to look the same, in an eerily Stepford pub fashion. The Masons Arms is the prototype for this: a sizable bar and kitchen opposite Battersea Park train station with a gastropub menu and a small outside terrace. So far so good, but expensive, almost eye wateringly expensive in fact. It would seem they may not have realised that this isn’t the Kings Road. Averaging about £14 per main course is a little steep for pub food, even if it is slightly better than average pub food. Sausage and mash shouldn’t cost more than a tenner really now should it? Or have I just got a bit old?
They insist on charging the best part of £6 for a glass of wine. Soft drinks are pricey too.

Finance and budgetary concerns aside, it does have some good points. As a place to sit on giant sofas on a winters night by the fire and drink with friends the Masons scores well. The fish cakes are amongst the best pub fish cakes, I’m an experienced fish cake eater I should know. Occasionally on Friday night lots of people cram in (where they all come from I’ve quite figured out) and a DJ appears, it almost could be described as lively.

But no, these are good things indeed, but hardly too much to ask for. It’s almost as if the licensing department at Wandsworth Council have a template which gets issued to any prospective landlord, “comply with this please or no go”. The Lighthouse, the Price Albert, The Prince of Wales etc etc. They are all the same. I can’t even remember which one is which.

There is a boring homogeneity in this part of London which I don’t see elsewhere. London is one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world so why is this little patch of South London so uniform? Can we do something different soon please?

Le Pot Lyonnais, Queenstown Road, Battersea SW11

Gorb has decided to come out of retirement. Life has moved on. I’ve done some travelling, changed jobs and moved south of the river. Mr Gorb is still around but I no longer care what he thinks of my spelling, such is life. Rest assured the photography will still be bad.

And so we begin.

Inspiration came from a bad trip to Le Pot Lyonnais. There had been many previous happy and pleasant trips to this little piece of France in Queenstown Road, Battersea. It exists in a void, there isn’t much to eat on Queenstown Road. When I moved to the area I clearly wasn’t thinking straight, however, make the best of what’s in front of you and proceed blindly on.

Le Pot Lyonnais is a French bistro, it’s even run and staffed by real French people, with a menu full of moules, steak baguettes and pomme frites and a wine list of well chosen French wines. There are battered sofas, marble tables and dark wood everywhere. The owner lounges about in Gallic fashion with his red wine and gauloise on the go. The whole place is rather relaxed and sort of Parisian without to much hard work.

We turned up on a Friday night and the waitress managed to throw a pint of larger over Mr Gorb, not just spilt a bit, she actually couldn’t have done better if she tried. Quite spectacular really. We remain relatively good humoured and she clears up, he runs home to change, probably a 20 minute mission. I ask them to hold our food, it appears anyway, I send it back. No one apologises or offers me a drink while I wait (I’ve already got one but that’s not the point). He reappears eventually but the food then takes 20 mins to reappear. We eat and ask for the bill, we pay and leave. Now, I wouldn’t want to seem overly precious but they might have made a bit of an effort, knocked something off the bill or thrown in a coffee or something.

I could blame it on the French and their attitudes. What surprised me most was I didn’t complain. Not a peep. At best, I might have given the impression of being slightly miffed which is rather unlike me. Perhaps I have been living amongst the English for too long. Perhaps it’s nothing to do with stereotypes and I should just not go there anymore.