Filo Pastry Nachos

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.


Ultimate London Nacho: The Bridge House

Place: The Bridge House/Canal Cafe Theatre, Little Venice

Upon suffering general malaise due to lack of vitamins I admit, I had a nacho break. Wednesday’s Horrid Nacho Experience at Subway caused a loss of faith. 

Thankfully nachoist, comedian and general man of culture Tom Neenan (one half of the brilliant Gentlemen of Leisure) tweeted The Nacho Times these charming chos (that cost a fiver)

In terms of Baldness, they’ve avoided the problem with canny use of cheese– spreading it lightly over the dish as opposed to allowing it to congeal in the centre. Not quite enough, but admirable coverage. The whole thing is quite small though. Like a pygmy. Or, if I were to be less racist,  a starter.

The proportions in relation to the size and amount of chos are, as with pygmies, bang on with the homemade tortilla action rounding off the experience nicely. These chos probably have a converted townhouse in Marylebone and get excited about Whittards. In other words, they’re Posh West London Chos.  These were made for polite dipping over politer conversation. Followed by sudden hunger and a kebab. Pleasing, but not satisfying. The more I look at them, the more I want to sort of shove my face in the perfectly formed posho plate and cover myself in relish. Screaming and chomping, like an animal. Chos are made to messy. However, this is just my opinion. 

Ultimate London Nacho? Tom gives them 6.5/10 (I failed to inform him it’s out of 5) so will convert this to a solid 3/5. Posh and homemade, yes, but isn’t mess and chaos the point of the Nacho?