The Bridge House in Little Venice, renowned for it’s by-the-river quaintness, charming upstairs theatre, and clientele with a tendency to wear marmots as scarves and discuss Pont Neuf, has altered its chos. And not for the better. In fact I’d go as far as saying this is definitely, in light of their previous review, a case of Devolved Chos.
They were not strong contenders for The Ultimate London Nacho before but they were, however, quite normal. The current situation is reminiscent of The Thing (popular 80s horror classic featuring Kurt Russell) where the alien emulates whatever it wobbles it’s tentacles at, but badly.
These nachos have apparently wobbled their tentacles at a Greggs Bakery. Why? The chos were not corn chips. Nor were they fried tortilla. No, they have taken Ponce to a whole new, northern bakery chain level. Who the hell wants nachos made from filo pastry? And not only that, they are shrivelled and curled like something out of a Tim Burton movie (not Jonny Depp. He isn’t wizened. But that’s for another time/blog) while simultaneously being absurdly massive.
Look at them. No, actually look. Then have a sit down. If faced with these bad boys in the Antarctic, Kurt Russell would no doubt have run away and perhaps had an accident in his snow trousers. Some of these chos were the size of my hand, adding to the “I’m eating a pasty but it’s not a pasty” feeling. And yes, I have massive hands. The salsa was also sickly sweet, counteracting the utter pointlessness of the guac and the cheese had been bizarrely brushed onto these mini extra terrestrial pasties instead of spread, leaving a layer of cheese slime. Never experienced this before, although as you can see from the picture I did eat them all. This was mainly down to curiosity and disbelief and acute hunger.
Would have preferred to have eaten a tentacle.
The Nacho Times 