street kitchen

Last night I dropped the baton because it was slick with bbq sauce.  I was at Street Kitchen’s stall in Shoreditch, with two friends at the table and a contraband beer in my hand thanks to Tesco Metro.

The first time I’d sample Street Kitchen fare was at the Monkey Shoulder ‘malt jockey’ night.  This was a glorious affair with drinks, cocktail masterclasses, arguments over the Scalextric horse racing; all while wearing a jockey style patterned rugby shirt with the three monkey logo on the shoulder.  (This shirt was taken by the man as soon as I got home.  Anything red & white is usurped by the Arsenal fan.)

But a real highlight of the evening was our freebie sandwich.  Billed as a bacon butty, this sandwich was as reminiscent of the standard fare as a wood pigeon is to a peacock.  We found ourselves reeling back on a stack of hay bales, agreeing it was the best sandwich we’d eaten in ages.  I posted a compliment on twitter which progressed into some tweet chat, and eventually lead to me being back in the gleam of a shiny airstream with tasty fare on my plate.

I’d first like to give a double thumbs up for friendly service.  The new location on Shoreditch High Street is a made over empty lot with a floor of raked gravel, tables set into little conversation groups, and three food trucks parked under string lights.  It was kinda like a trailer park for hipsters.  Right at the back is the Street Kitchen truck with the lovely Nadith smiling out and a hot grill primed for burgers.

We had wings for the first course and they were so good that we seriously considered cancelling the rest of our food and ordering three more batches.  The sauce has an Asian hit with a scattering of spring onion.  A gentle tug of the teeth and all the meat falls off the bone, an impressive feat with something that also has a crispy crust.  These are from Label Anglais chickens, reared free range in England.

Next up were the Foghorn Leghorn chicken of spatchcocked, grilled chicken.  (Not what we expected and collected a mixed review.)  Alongside these were cups of triple cooked crunchy fries with rosemary laced salt.  The Buffalo Bill passed my very stringent burger snob criteria.  And the area was so pleasant that we lingered well past the last scraps of food.

I brought a tin of brownies to compound the sin of beer smuggling and we chatted until the trucks started to close up, reminding us to go home.  We’ll definitely be back.  And ordering double wings!


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