Since I moved to London five months ago from the sunny shores of New Zealand, there’s been one constant refrain I’ve heard from friends, flatmates and co-workers - “you’ve never been to a Spoons?!”
Up until today, the rumours were true. To change this once and for all, I decided that lunchtime on a Thursday was as good a day as any to head along to the Shakespeare’s Head in London's Holborn, chosen because TripAdvisor reviews rate it an impressive four out of five.
After a slightly dizzying commute on the DLR, I arrived at the double doors of this highly-rated Wetherpoons and was taken aback by how busy it was. For 12pm, I assumed people would be at work, but perhaps like me, they had figured out a loophole. Initially, I had wanted to sit outside, as the sun was shining for once, but several well dressed young men had beaten me to it, so I entered the cavernous pub and approached the bar.
I would soon learn this was my first mistake, as I tentatively ordered a pint of Strongbow. The woman behind the bar borderline begrudgingly granted my request and the pint was plonked in front of me, the cider ever so slightly below the rim of the glass.
Bewildered, I messaged my friend Sam who's a self-confessed "recovering Spoons regular" about what had gone wrong - and quickly learned I had committed a faux pas.
“You went UP TO THE BAR?” he replied. “That’s a violation.”
As it turns out, standard practice is to download the app and order to your table without ever once having to have a conversation - how very London.
Nevertheless, I prevailed and went back up to the bar once again after I found my bearings amidst the massive menu. With a menu that size, it was hard to decide what I felt like eating, but finally I decided to order England’s national dish - a chicken tikka masala, with the slight change of a garlic naan and a secondary pint.
It set me back £12.08, which, for central London, I was over the moon with. Once I was seated again I barely had time to look around before my plate of curry arrived. Suspiciously fast some might say, but I was ravenous so I tried not to ask too many questions.
My first bite was delicious. Tender chicken, a slightly sweet and creamy sauce which paired beautifully with the blackened and buttery garlic naan. I had noted on ordering that the menu described the chicken tikka masala as having two chillies worth of spice - I felt this was very dramatic. If I had to assign a chilli to it, I would maybe put it down as half of one, but as I am weak, I was grateful to not have to deal with a two chilli level of spice anyway.
My lunch was enjoyed to the dulcet tones of two young men behind me loudly discussing whether or not they should have vomited the weekend prior. By the time I had my fill of curry, they had decided that yes, they should have thrown up, and next weekend they would know better. It was tempting to ask them whether they thought I should join them, given I was now halfway through a plate that I had eaten while being forced to imagine them hunched over a toilet, but I managed to hold back both the words, and the vomit.
Despite the slightly lacklustre atmosphere, my lunch was perfectly palatable. The curry was tasty, and you simply can’t go wrong with a garlic naan. It also came with two poppadum's which I decimated, and enjoyed immensely.
One of the things I liked the most about my first Spoons experience was the wide range of people inside the pub - even at midday on a Thursday. To contrast the two sickly men behind me, there was a lovely older gentleman dressed in a dapper cream suit who was browsing the books on the shelf beside me, and immediately agreed to take my picture, even though he didn’t quite understand how an iPhone worked. To my left, there was a group of workmen on break and in front of me, a family of tourists.
Despite its grungy appearance, harsh lighting and by all accounts, abysmal carpet, Spoons to me felt like a real equaliser.
There were people from all walks of life, all eating and drinking together under the ugly art-deco inspired chandeliers and fluorescent recessed lighting, and the chatter was flowing so well that I barely noticed there was no music playing.
They may not come for the ambience, but nonetheless, Shakespeare’s Head in Holborn was pumping - and now that I’ve visited once, I can understand the odd British compulsion to return.
