Palmers Restaurant E3, followed by a trip to the Palm Tree down Memory Lane

Roman Road, East London is something of a cultural backwater, perhaps since its days as a marching route through to Londinum; latterly, the last bastion of the proper cockney, refuge of gangster lore, and purveyor of retail flotsam and jetson. It is, at last, finding its feet in London Inc. as exactly that – selling East London as was, back to its newly gentrified residents: jellied eels wrapped in newspaper served with a gold toothed glint, for more than triple its traditional price.

It is here, half way to Bethnal Green that a hidden gem lies, inconspicuously flanked by housing estates, where wealthier incomers can get a slap up feed of traditional favourites: steak and chips or, posh sausages and mash, presented with a flourish and a touch of east end multicultural charm for a truly bargain price.

Well known to locals, Tom and I discovered it by chance when we were kitchenless, doing the house up and new to Bow – an internet search of seemingless scanty local eateries turned up Palmers, an unobtrusive restaurant opposite the Globe Town Estate. Expecting little, but lured by its value offer of two mains for the price of one on weekdays before 7, we came, ate like kings and paid like paupers, with two slap up meal of steaks and wine for something silly like £20. It seems we’d found the key to the city. One by one, neighbours and locals extolled the praises of this discreet little diner with its unimposing decor and friendly local staff. We went back, and back again, taking friends and family for a good value (for Victoria Park) Sunday roast – (although it lacks a little atmosphere in drizzly Feburary).

Spurred on by last week’s dismal review of local squibb, Ink, I decided I’d write up a sterling review of Palmers to balance the books. I went again last night – a girls’ night out of cackling wenches chortling like drains over white wine and G and T’s. As usual, it was faultless: polite, unobtrusive staff – faces we see each and every time we go – guided us through the menu of tasty classics, unfazed by the late arrival of Linda who’d been having a snooze after a boozy lunch.

My chicken ceaser was a juicey leg sliced over crisp leaves, dressed to perfection; a side order of fat crisp chips complemented by complimentary aioli. Bestie Kate had rump steak – juicy and considerable at £15.50, with chips, a garnish and a plump tomato included in the price. Claire’s wild mushroom tagliatelle was plentiful, garnished with fresh watercress. In short, it was simply great food.

We all chose puds – me sharing a gooey chocolate and raspberry affair with a cuinelle of clotted cream with Kate, while Claire went for a vanilla and coffee biscotti confection and Linda went for lemon tarte. All declared it delicious.

We split the bill, with four G and Ts and a bottle of house totting up to just £30 quid a head. Job’s a good’un. And where it had been rather empty when we arrived at 7.30, by the time we left at around 10pm, the place was full and buzzing – my neighbor, Shiv, from two doors down dining a-deux with his girlfriend, greeting me with a kiss and a promise to keep an eye on our house when we go away on hols. “Let’s swap keys”, we enthused, with good East End neighborliness and several glasses apiece down, making me feel genuine pleasure to live in an area where, though break-ins may be frequent, the people who live on your street have still got your back.

Us laydeez trotted off the main road onto the darkened canal path leading up from the Roman to the Palm Tree Pub, East End boozer and local stalwart, that remains largely untouched since the turn of the century, (although thank god, they seem to have changed the carpet that was until recently sticky and threadbare) complete with soap opera locals, a house band of oddballs turning out bluesy classics with loving, practiced aplomb.  Fronted by a delightful, doll-faced singer, all twitchy-nosed smile and creamy curves moulded overspillingly into leopard print, her Hollywood rendition of Fever sent shivers, and the unlikely star turns she unearthed from the audience left you gobsmacked the minute they opened their mouths.

In all, the music provided a motif for the evening and indeed for the whole of Bow – it may not look much to outsiders, but once you’re in with the locals it’s full of heart, soul and boozy, inclusive joy.

Pic from Aug 2013