One of my favourite people is leaving town.  Her old haunt is The Endurance so she arranged to meet some of us there for some of the last few glasses in London to be raised in her honour.  We met a little earlier to catch some chicken before the drinking began.

Now, this wasn’t the first time that that we’d tried to get some eats during the Mother Clucker pop-up residency.  After the Tanqueray event, I had lured my peeps along with promises of southern-style biscuits and tasty food to go along with our cold beers.  At the bar we were told that this was a usually chicken free night.  There was supposed to be food, but there wasn’t .  So we drank up and then went down the street for fondue.

This time we were smarter and asked about food first.  I shuffled up along the chicken feet markings painted along the floor and stood just below a large advertisement to enquire.  The bartender gave me a look of distain.  (Maybe I should have been alerted by the absence of a food truck outside?  Sure I was a little nervous about the lack of chicken eaters around but I had my fingers crossed for a well stocked hot box or secret kitchen.)  I continued to look hopeful, he continued to look disgusted.  “It’s too busy for  chicken” he said, and waited until we turned away.  Bizarre.

So we left and ate bratwurst down the street.  When the rest of the party arrived, we wandered off to another pub for our drinks.  After all, The Endurance was too busy…


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