Recently I went to a party at Casa del Cooper, where I met a lot of James’ family. Loads of them mentioned the blog, having read it and enjoying following our adventures. A few of them also commented that we were always either in the process of getting drunk, drunk, or hungover. Which we laughed at and carried on drinking the party booze in a little hut above a cesspit until gone 3am.
Visiting New Capital Kebabs was a decision made while stumbling along the canal at around midnight clutching a champagne flute full of red wine and a slab of MDF wood covered in marker pen messages that I insisted James brought home with us (the red wine never got drunk and that slab of wood is still outside E-8te Towers). We had been in Victoria Park for a birthday picnic, which involved a heady mix of Champagne, red wine and Pimms, followed by a trip to the pub where more red wine and prosecco were thrown into the mix.
By the time we headed home I was feeling pretty merry to the point that if I had gone straight to bed the room would have spun round and caused me to regurgitate the cocktail that had been mixed in my stomach. The only solution was to eat something.
N.C.K is just a short distance from home and, abandoning the red wine and MDF, we passed one kebab shop, deciding that because it was “the better of the two” we should save that one for when we might actually remember it accurately.
We ordered a lamb kofta in pitta with all the salad bits (“BUT NO ONIONS” as James shouted) and some chips to share. Even in an inebriated state you could tell the chips were a bit rank; old and had probably been sitting there a while. But the kofta itself was pretty decent. I recently ate at Mangal, ordered the exact same thing, but found the lamb to be quite gristly. And Mangal is supposedly Gilbert & George’s favourite restaurant. The lamb at N.C.K was much nicer and had less of that lumpy fattiness I had previously experienced.
I couldn’t say much else about the meal. I ended up wearing half of it and trying to throw it away thinking it had all been eaten. It hadn’t.
All in all a fairly standard kebab shop experience; the place seemed clean, the salad fresh and the queue that I walk past most nights on the way home from work is a fair indication that N.C.K serves up some OK nosh (Ed – I don’t think I can see the word nosh in a restaurant review without thinking of this – so please don’t shout at me for making any changes to this).
We woke up the next day sans food poisoning, and with a vomit-free hangover to boot – also a good indication that the place is doing the job it’s designed for.
So to those relatives that read the blog then; touché guys, touché.
P.S. When got home, James had realised that he had possibly broken his toe whilst playing sport in the park. As a result, this is what I had to look at while eating.