... and I want to die (of embarrassment)
Let’s get this straight at the start. I like restaurants. I love eating out. I like simple, well-sourced food, and as an impecunious young(ish) urban sophisticate I’m particularly fond of what Time Out roguishly calls “cheap eats”. So why haven’t I eaten at nascent chain de nos jours “LEON”?
Well, I have to admit something at this point. I’m called Leon. I’ve always been called this, in fact. As a result, I’ve been unable to walk past any of this upstart restaurant’s branches (in Spitalfields, Great Marlborough Street, and elsewhere) without inwardly wincing. It’s...it’s just too embarrassing. But this state of affairs couldn’t continue for long (mainly as I kept walking into people while backing away from the frontage in mute horror) so the other week I finally summoned up the courage to walk through its doors, actually try the food, and record my impressions, as a kind of aversion therapy.
The experience didn’t start well. “I love Leon,” gushed Giles Coren from a noticeboard, “and want to have its children”. Well, I mean, really. I’ve read a few of his reviews and everything, but was that necessary? The second thing I noticed was that every bit of publicity, décor and information seemed to have been designed solely with my humiliation and eventual flaming, Aristotelian-type downfall in mind. This was a restaurant that liked to remind you of its name (in screaming capitals, just to make sure) at every available opportunity. Barely had I recoiled in horror from an invitation to “tell us what you think of LEON” before my attention was drawn to a suggestions postcard marked “Are you a LEON lover?” This was all despite the fact that thanks to the inevitable progression of the seasons, their earlier menu slogan “Springtime for Leon”, with its unfortunate effect of associating me with certain historical dictatorships, had thankfully been ditched.
Still, I was a Professional, dammit; so I ordered some food from the off-duty art student acting as waitress. Leo...the restaurant has a two-part menu based on lunch dishes, with a heavy salad emphasis, and a pleasant evening menu, which nevertheless suffers from the capital’s worrying obsession with ‘tapas’-style servings. Don’t ask me to remember what the food actually was. It was tasty, and the house red wine >>
Let’s get this straight at the start. I like restaurants. I love eating out. I like simple, well-sourced food, and as an impecunious young(ish) urban sophisticate I’m particularly fond of what Time Out roguishly calls “cheap eats”. So why haven’t I eaten at nascent chain de nos jours “LEON”?
Well, I have to admit something at this point. I’m called Leon. I’ve always been called this, in fact. As a result, I’ve been unable to walk past any of this upstart restaurant’s branches (in Spitalfields, Great Marlborough Street, and elsewhere) without inwardly wincing. It’s...it’s just too embarrassing. But this state of affairs couldn’t continue for long (mainly as I kept walking into people while backing away from the frontage in mute horror) so the other week I finally summoned up the courage to walk through its doors, actually try the food, and record my impressions, as a kind of aversion therapy.
The experience didn’t start well. “I love Leon,” gushed Giles Coren from a noticeboard, “and want to have its children”. Well, I mean, really. I’ve read a few of his reviews and everything, but was that necessary? The second thing I noticed was that every bit of publicity, décor and information seemed to have been designed solely with my humiliation and eventual flaming, Aristotelian-type downfall in mind. This was a restaurant that liked to remind you of its name (in screaming capitals, just to make sure) at every available opportunity. Barely had I recoiled in horror from an invitation to “tell us what you think of LEON” before my attention was drawn to a suggestions postcard marked “Are you a LEON lover?” This was all despite the fact that thanks to the inevitable progression of the seasons, their earlier menu slogan “Springtime for Leon”, with its unfortunate effect of associating me with certain historical dictatorships, had thankfully been ditched.
Still, I was a Professional, dammit; so I ordered some food from the off-duty art student acting as waitress. Leo...the restaurant has a two-part menu based on lunch dishes, with a heavy salad emphasis, and a pleasant evening menu, which nevertheless suffers from the capital’s worrying obsession with ‘tapas’-style servings. Don’t ask me to remember what the food actually was. It was tasty, and the house red wine >>
