Drink but Don't Eat at Abbey Bar
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I used to work with a certain client based near Tower Hill, and to get there I had to walk down The Minories, on the edge of the City. Not having travelled on the road for the last year, I was confronted with two new bars...
...one owned by the team behind the legendary Inferno's of Clapham (Mary Janes), and the second, the Abbey Bar. Replacing the ageing and generic Fine Line and Bar 38 respectively, both places have had a lick of paint, new owners and a fresh outlook.
So does the Abbey suffer from the same problem as its aging stablemates, or will it revolutionize the City drinking scene?
Aesthetically the Abbey is most pleasing and almost has a neighborhood feel, something that is almost impossible to achieve in such a corporate enclave such as the City of London. From the outside it resembles a well-known chain of Argentinian steak houses, which is no bad thing, in itself. Wandering in, one is confronted with a spacious top level bar area with some seating and a staircase downstairs that leads to a bigger area. The colouring is suave and sophisticated and the décor extravagant with mosaics, paintings, and seductive lighting all topped up by the generally upbeat convivial atmosphere.
As ever though, any City bar worth its mettle must cater for the nocturnal wolves, and according my helpful and enthusiastic waiter, it 'really kicks off' on a Thursday and Friday night. Good heavens! Whatever is meant, I am sure any 'kicking off' goes on downstairs, where more seats are apparently cleared and the Abbey turns into a nightclub, where ties are loosened, drinks are poured, and sweet nothings are yelped into enthusiastic ears over the din of the latest track by David Guetta.
I'm not going to let this place off easily though, rest assured. I am here to review bars, not food, but as these places do a brisk lunchtime trade, it has to be addressed.
Let me say that I am not an unrealistic man. I am not expecting a menu that Heston Blumenthal would be proud to call his own, or even the sort of fare you would find in a Clapham gastropub. But the snacks, quite frankly, are abhorrent. I was served pizza wedges so dry and crisp the waiter must have brought them to my table via a trek through the Sahara desert, and little sausages so putrid and greasy I felt like throwing them back in the chef's face as a penalty for his ignorance. In addition, my duck rolls were so weak, pitiful and so meager of filling I would feel mean feeding them to the local stray cat. Unacceptable, revolting and borderline embarrassing. If you really must serve the same menu year-in, year-out at nine different establishments, for God's sake do it with a bit of care at attention.
The Abbey is clearly the bar equivalent of what it must be like to support Tottenham Hotspur. It looks great, promises a lot, and plenty of money has gone into it, but peel back the surface and the same old issues just have not been addressed.
It's not bad, it looks nice, there is a genuine sense of fun there, The waiters and bar staff always try hard, but the food really lets this place down. I expected better.
As for Mary Janes...well, you'll have to wait until next time to see who wins the battle of the new bars on The Minories.
So does the Abbey suffer from the same problem as its aging stablemates, or will it revolutionize the City drinking scene?
Aesthetically the Abbey is most pleasing and almost has a neighborhood feel, something that is almost impossible to achieve in such a corporate enclave such as the City of London. From the outside it resembles a well-known chain of Argentinian steak houses, which is no bad thing, in itself. Wandering in, one is confronted with a spacious top level bar area with some seating and a staircase downstairs that leads to a bigger area. The colouring is suave and sophisticated and the décor extravagant with mosaics, paintings, and seductive lighting all topped up by the generally upbeat convivial atmosphere.
As ever though, any City bar worth its mettle must cater for the nocturnal wolves, and according my helpful and enthusiastic waiter, it 'really kicks off' on a Thursday and Friday night. Good heavens! Whatever is meant, I am sure any 'kicking off' goes on downstairs, where more seats are apparently cleared and the Abbey turns into a nightclub, where ties are loosened, drinks are poured, and sweet nothings are yelped into enthusiastic ears over the din of the latest track by David Guetta.
I'm not going to let this place off easily though, rest assured. I am here to review bars, not food, but as these places do a brisk lunchtime trade, it has to be addressed.
Let me say that I am not an unrealistic man. I am not expecting a menu that Heston Blumenthal would be proud to call his own, or even the sort of fare you would find in a Clapham gastropub. But the snacks, quite frankly, are abhorrent. I was served pizza wedges so dry and crisp the waiter must have brought them to my table via a trek through the Sahara desert, and little sausages so putrid and greasy I felt like throwing them back in the chef's face as a penalty for his ignorance. In addition, my duck rolls were so weak, pitiful and so meager of filling I would feel mean feeding them to the local stray cat. Unacceptable, revolting and borderline embarrassing. If you really must serve the same menu year-in, year-out at nine different establishments, for God's sake do it with a bit of care at attention.
The Abbey is clearly the bar equivalent of what it must be like to support Tottenham Hotspur. It looks great, promises a lot, and plenty of money has gone into it, but peel back the surface and the same old issues just have not been addressed.
It's not bad, it looks nice, there is a genuine sense of fun there, The waiters and bar staff always try hard, but the food really lets this place down. I expected better.
As for Mary Janes...well, you'll have to wait until next time to see who wins the battle of the new bars on The Minories.
Here Is The Writer : Mr. King-Edwards
"Mr. King-Edwards" currently works as a Financial Markets Headhunter in the City. Originally from the West Midlands and a graduate of History and Literature from a large Northern University, he now resides somewhere in the borough of Wandsworth. He enjoys beating people up on the rugby field, watching football, listening to music and generally taking full advantage of the cultural, gastronomic and social options available to him in the Capital.
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