It’s as easy as E & P at Evans and Peel, Chiswick

23 Aug 2018

Drones are filling the sky, Asos delivers the same day, and your wireless speaker is talking to you, but even in this day and age there is no cure for the common cold. You can try all sorts of potions, lotions, pop all the pills, but nothing really helps. The only thing to do is buy tissues the size of bed sheets and pray it buggers off before your mate Mike’s birthday at the weekend.

Wanting to avoid the doctor’s room is as natural as the sun setting in the West, but the pharmacy isn’t quite as traumatising. Especially when the pharmacy is a front for a speakeasy bar.

The Pharmacy in question is Evans and Peel, Chiswick and the only medicine you’ll find there is in liquid form. Once you’ve pressed the buzzer, passed the screening and lead through the trap door and red curtain it’s sexy inside. There are tiny tables, a small bar, lots of candles and no windows. Maybe not the best place to spend the warmest Friday we’ve had since summer 17’, but probably the sickest (yes, I mean that in a good way).

It’s dark in there, which could be why the chunk of fried rib (£5) covered in cauliflower batter and BBQ sauce is so large. The food is served in tins belonging to Bear Grylls and the cocktails in traditional tumblers and pill bottles. The Rheum Rhubarbo (£11) with gin and a distinct sweet rhubarb flavour is so good I want to drink it till I really am unwell.

Childhood memories of boiled cauliflower retaining water like an old dish sponge after it’s had several fights with a burnt Bolognese pan put me off the stuff for years, but the battered buffalo cauliflower (£6) dunked into spicy sauce was the best white trees I’ve ever eaten and made me find a love for them I didn’t know I could ever have.

The contagiously nice mac n cheese bites (£5) were so big you had to bite twice and the grilled Padron peppers served with goat’s cheese (£5) had a ground-shifting flavour, making me eat them like I’d been afflicted with a disorder that forces me to shove them repeatedly into my mouth. This disorder was cured, however, with the deep-fried apple pie and ice cream (£7), which was a little too much pastry and not enough filling for me.

Everything on the menu was battered and fried, which tastes good, but I imagine if you ate here regularly you would need to skip the pharmacy and head straight for the doctor in A&E. Luckily though it’s not every day you get sick, so all I’m saying is ‘Doctor I’ve got that lurgy again, give me a prescription, I think I need to go back’.


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