The DLR has its finger on the pulse. For instance, we heard that a new, cool restaurant-cum-bar opened up on the Kingsland Road and that all the kids were going there, sporting moustaches and sleeveless T-shirts. So, two years later, we decided to check out the Dalston Superstore. What an ideal start, we thought, to our series of reviews on local eateries and entertainment spots; somewhere that everyone has already been to, where they will learn nothing from our bon mots.
We hied ourselves hence at Sunday lunchtime to partake of their highly acclaimed hamburgers. Believe the hype: they really were quite good, and reasonably priced at under eight quid, although the unwieldy size and finger-coveringly juiciness of the meatslab made it a messy meal. It wasn’t the best burger the DLR has ever tasted (that award lies gathering dust in New York), but for a Sunday hangover lunch it hit the spot.
Their tasty smoked trout salad was light and refreshing and the fish was of good quality. We will say that there is something of a rocket salad fetish in this place that smacks a little of the mid-2000s. They hide the peppery, leafy bad boys everywhere: under the trout, in the burger; they even created a bed of rocket for some bacon on the side, as if they feared the rashers would be uncomfortable on the hard plate.
On the drinks side, Bloody Maries were pleasingly fiery, but black marks were scored for a total dearth of bitter at the bar. Oh, there are lagers galore, but a simple bitter shandy eluded them. Do they not know that real ale is now back in vogue? Just ask the skinny kids at the Pembury.
Overall, we give the Superstore high marks for food, ambience, the smutty decor in the single toilet and the moustache density of its serving staff (100% of two male barstaff; 0% of one female staffmember). We were not wowed, but we were pleasantly sated, and we liked the vaguely American look and feel, ’50s diner booth seating and all.