#198 Wright Brothers Oyster and Porter House
We keep doing champagne bars ‘by surprise’ at the moment. ‘By surprise’, as if we’d tripped and ended up chinking glasses in a swanky too-narrow joint, surrounded by swanky too-narrow people. Oops.
You may be able to guess what the Wright Brothers Oyster and Porter House is famous for. That’s right! it’s the world’s first flying house. (Oh, suit yourselves.) I’m not much of an oyster eater, but I enjoyed slurping back the disgusting little bastards, flavoured with chopped-onion vinegar and lemon juice. I always feel eating oysters is a bit of an evolutionary slap in the face to them – they couldn’t have done more to get themselves protected, and yet we humans come along and prise them open with contemptuous ease. For our next trick, we colonise the universe! Awesome.
Where was I? The WBOaPH is an unpretentious joint in Borough, with friendly and informative service. You’re seated on tall chairs at high benches, which didn’t exactly encourage a long stay, but didn’t stop our fizz-and-mollusc-addled selves from hanging around for far too long. It serves
feisty, combative oysters that try and climb back up your throat, desperate for revenge delicious, fresh-from-the-sea, well-behaved oysters, with only the most subtle and appropriate tang of the ocean about them. My mouth’s watering as I write this. Mmm. Oysters. Now I want pizza. Which is odd, until you remember that I pretty much always want pizza.