How far would you travel to reach Paradise? I travelled all the way from EC1 to the depths of west London for a taste of it. Two tubes: one Central, one Bakerloo; a bit of walking and a five-minute drive.
The Paradise I was in search of on this occasion was the venue in Kensal Green, rather than mankind’s dream destination, though judging by the ridiculous number of people lugging a suitcase behind them on the Bakerloo Line, it seems they’d been victims of a Google mix-up. Fools! I’m all for the school of live and learn, so I followed silently behind, a raucous laugh hidden inside.
The name, although I’d immediately taken a dislike to it, is a critics’ dream, surely. In fact, despite the lengthy journey getting there, I was secretly hoping it would be awful, so I could say things like, “Paradise? Hell, more like!” or words to that effect, but alas, it was actually rather good.
I had other apprehensions about the place, fuelled by the online gallery of ‘fun times’ and partygoers enjoying some of the music of which it boasts a full calendar. I’m always dubious about pub-club-music hall crossovers, especially when they’re mixed with something as leisurely as an à la carte menu. If I want loud music while I eat, I’ll go to Camden Market, or sneak a sausage roll into Ronnie Scott’s.
But there wasn’t anything remotely noisy about the place on the Tuesday evening the boy and I went to eat there, except the din of mingled conversations, beats from the generic chill-out music trickling in between noises of cutlery touching plates, and glasses getting clinked in celebration of there being only three days until the next weekend (I’m guessing). It appears I’d got the place all wrong.
Read More: http://www.arbuturian.com/2011/paradise-kensal-green
The Paradise I was in search of on this occasion was the venue in Kensal Green, rather than mankind’s dream destination, though judging by the ridiculous number of people lugging a suitcase behind them on the Bakerloo Line, it seems they’d been victims of a Google mix-up. Fools! I’m all for the school of live and learn, so I followed silently behind, a raucous laugh hidden inside.
The name, although I’d immediately taken a dislike to it, is a critics’ dream, surely. In fact, despite the lengthy journey getting there, I was secretly hoping it would be awful, so I could say things like, “Paradise? Hell, more like!” or words to that effect, but alas, it was actually rather good.
I had other apprehensions about the place, fuelled by the online gallery of ‘fun times’ and partygoers enjoying some of the music of which it boasts a full calendar. I’m always dubious about pub-club-music hall crossovers, especially when they’re mixed with something as leisurely as an à la carte menu. If I want loud music while I eat, I’ll go to Camden Market, or sneak a sausage roll into Ronnie Scott’s.
But there wasn’t anything remotely noisy about the place on the Tuesday evening the boy and I went to eat there, except the din of mingled conversations, beats from the generic chill-out music trickling in between noises of cutlery touching plates, and glasses getting clinked in celebration of there being only three days until the next weekend (I’m guessing). It appears I’d got the place all wrong.
Read More: http://www.arbuturian.com/2011/paradise-kensal-green
