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Holy hell! Not another chicken restaurant! Afraid so – except this massive, 1960s-style spot in the City serves a little bit of duck and likes its poultry pulled, roasted, barbequed, smoked or with a beer can up its bum (yep, whole beer butt chickens are on offer). But are these chicks really as divine as they claim? Well, if you like your rotisserie, you’ll be in finger-lickin’ chicken heaven, that’s for sure. A hefty, tender half of a garlic’n’herb-coated bird was delectable and nicely balanced. It came with gravy, but was better paired with a buttery side of mash and seasonal greens.
You’d be forgiven for passing on the starters. A duck sausage roll with date chutney was heavy on the paprika and cold in the middle. Heritage root veg with goat’s curd and curry oil was only okay. Nothing I had broke the bank, though.
Desserts were far better. If you’ve got room, try the house Eton Mess; a wonderful jumble of chunky meringue and strawberries that didn’t overdo the cream. Throwback cocktails are also a must, if only to take the edge off a venue so orange it might’ve been decorated by an Oompa Loompa. HB’s colour scheme might send you a little loopy, but keep your eyes on the chicken and you’ll be just fine.