[Score: 94. Currently this puts MOK in second to last position, however this should only serve to educate the reader on the limitations of our scoring tabulation. The MOK scored low on Server, Price, and Parking lot. The burger itself was superb, and would have found itself floating to the top tier except for our having to wait for over two hours to eat (not strictly our server's fault but simply the nature of the establishment)--it is extremely popular and the hungry observer should find his/her way there only on off-peak hours...NEVER on a Friday or Saturday night which was the unfortunate timing of our reviewers. The price of the burgers was elevated, the highest of our participating restaurants, but the selection was also the greatest. And there was technically a parking lot, yet due again to the extreme popularity of the MOK it is simply overwhelmed by the following which is due a restaurant of the MOK's reputation: it draws from far and wide.]
The evening began with a certain joyful expectation, encouraged by the distant sound of a gleeful sort of gathering within what appeared to be a slightly magnified dollhouse, the words, “Man of Kent,” emblazoned next to the visage of an Englishman donning the garb of a foxhunt.
But companion and I couldn't just pop over; we were cut off by a defensive line of bulky Wranglers and Escapades and a Ranger with a rusty top. We had pulled off the road to access the line of scrimmage. It appeared too testy, a bit “argy-bargy,” and so we went down the road, turned about, and came back to see if there might now be an opening for us. There was. Like a halfback through his blockers we found our way through the threshold...only to be met by a queue as long as a Whitehead’s Principia Mathematica. We were approached by a MOK waitress with the words...mebbe half an hour.
Oh, were that only half as true as the gab tossed about the bar in what turned out to be a two hour test of wills between management (The Gaffers) and our as yet untested pack of flankers (The Tosspots).
We mauled a bit within the rugby scrum.
We set our mark. Made a move left; a right. A bit of a dodge. But the MOK were tested; they were firm and experienced. This wasn't to be an easy match--no not on either side. What we lacked in experience and manpower, we more than made up for with persistence and an uncanny sense of idiocy. We’d no burger in a donkey’s years. Two hours of sidling, and shifting. Two hours of the MOK mocking us with a, “Dun jus’ stan’ there lookin’ Gobsmacked!--Fancy a pint?;” and a “Innit a fine night, chums!” Chaps, we were buggered.
Just as we was about to “throw a wobbly” (companion can be a bit tetchy), a table cleared. But others sat down. Two at the bar disappeared only to be replaced by the backs at the openside of the pitch. We tried to catch the eye of the ginger tending bar. She looked back at us like we was only muppets who lost their way.
But would my companion--Nay! My blood brother on the Rugby Pitch, my Grubber of the Grail Grill!--and meself fail to score even a pint, er point? Even a drop goal? Sure to say, we nearly gave up hope for a try in the endzone, even a Chip Kick (look it up), but we weren’t leaving without at least a’kickin’ ‘em in the shins. And hard too!
After a bit more of shilly-an-shallyin’ we made our final push all sixes and sevens and there! On the far side of the pitch a table for two and we made certain we would not be moved by a scrum of outrageous proportions, even if the guv’na himself ordered our bums be put out out of doors.
We chatted up some patrons. The place is a tad wonky and everyone seemed on the skint side of life, still...Me and my mate were as happy as a dog with two tails.
We ordered. We e’t.
Blimey, the chips were heaven-sent, the ale a native’s cradle-to-grave National Health System--and that aren't codswallop! And the burger...Oh, as Bob’s my Uncle, the burger! We wafted, we wefted, we wended our way toward the end zone of our peculiar possession: Ours was the win; ours the triumph! If there was a burger to out-burger this of MOK celebrity, I have not met it. It was as savory as me mam’s Thai Green Curry (me mam, she hates English cooking!)
MOK? We fought. We drank. But Oh, at the last, this night two blokes walked away as
winners in a match well-fought, spot on, and proper! Cheers!
| Juiciness | 9 | |
| Size Matters | 8 | |
| Sides | 9 | |
| Price | 7 | |
| Char-ability | 8 | |
| Meat Type | 9 | |
| Hand-ability | 9 | |
| As Ordered | 9 | |
| Server Issues | ZERO | |
| Taste | 10 | |
| Ambiance | 10 | |
| Parking Lot | 6 |
No comments:
Post a Comment