Sunday, 19 February 2012

Review - Coco Momo

From Sunday onwards, 'no more chaos' began. Once I exempt work experience and a trip to Prague (where I can do whatever the hell I like, screw finals), I will have one week per subject. Which is not enough. But is enough to do oh-kay i.e. decent 2:i. We hope.  Except that went to hell a little bit on Thursday. Which is only one day but since my day started at 5 and was broken into three discrete parts, it felt like three days and so it feels like I'm more of a failure than I am. Does that help to explain the title? Well, in case it doesn't, I'm rather obviously alluding (classic misused verb) to the fact that I am ridiculous, a fact confirmed by three different people on four separate occasion on Hell Day. The thing is, I think this ridiculousness is kind of an asset sometimes (or at the very least, it's sort of endearing) and if I'd really ramped it up for The Interview, it would've gone OK. Instead, I straddled the line between sensible (read: boring) and being myself. Add an unhealthy dose of nerves, a bitch of a cold, all the painkillers and too much caffeine to mask said cold and you have the perfect recipe (ha, puns) for a disastrous interview. So that was how I came to be sitting in a pub in West London sipping an 11am screwdriver. Of course, most people who drink at 11am are old, weird men who pretend to be diamond dealers/friends with the MD of Deutsche bank/friends with Simon Cowell/heavyweight champions in the Army. So I pretended to be a lesbian. And then my 'girlfriend' turned up and we made like a New York Saturday and drank cocktails with brunch at Coco Momo. I'm not sorry.
Vodka, elderflower and champagne. So good. And it went surprisingly well with the nourishing (though underseasoned) root vegetable and 'spice' (vague, right?) soup. To follow came the incredibly boring poulet-frites. 
Boring though it may have been, it was really good. I screwed myself over though. I have a tendency to leave my favourite bits of a meal for last so I can really savour them. Good things come to those who wait and all. What frequently happens (and that is what happened here) is that I fill up on less-delicious food and then am too full for the more-delicious. This chicken was really moist and had perfectly crispy, slightly fatty skin. I know this because I ate all the breast, the bit most prone to become dry, and that was all perfectly cooked and juicy. However, that meant that the even-more delicious thigh meat didn't make it to my stomach. The fries were crispy and dry, as they should be. The whole thing again lacked a little seasoning but no complaints aside from that. This all came to £20 including a tip although that was because we enjoyed a 50% discount since it's a sister restaurant to the place my friend works or something. This cheered me up no end. As did my super-impressive 100m stiletto-clutching dash for the bus home. Members of the public clapped. But then I didn't bother to re-shoe myself for the rest of the journey. I'm a joke.

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