Restaurants Reviews

Review || The Little Yellow Door

One of the great things about being a blogger is that you get invited to some totally random, but exciting things. But one of the other great things about being a blogger is having blogger friends who bring you as their plus one to totally random, but exciting things.  Needless to say, I always leap at the chance to be Emma’s plus one. 

On a very dark and rainy eve, Emma and I met outside of Notting Hill Gate tube station to make our way to The Little Yellow Door. Thanks to Emma’s keen sense of direction, we found it immediately. If I had been on my own, I would have been wandering around lost for at least 20 more minutes. The concept behind The Little Yellow Door is that you are spending your evening in a quirky Notting Hill flat share. Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays they throw a “house party” complete with amazing cocktails and Fridays are their supper club nights with The Wandering Chef. Emma and I were there for the supper club, with a menu inspired by “Hank” their newest (fictional) flatmate from America. As a pop-up, I really like its creative approach.  If you are a regular to the “house party” nights, you get a mug with your face on it, and your first drink of the night out of your own mug is free. 

Everything kicked off with cocktails; the first one I had was a passionfruit puree, vodka, prosecco concoction topped with toasted marshmallows. (It was called Passion of Christ.) It was heaven, no pun intended. It went down dangerously easily, but I would have ordered 7 more in a heart beat. Our second drink of the evening was an earl grey infused gin and bitters cocktail (with egg white foam) served in a tea cup. (The Libertine). As Emma so wonderfully put it on instagram “These teacups aren’t as innocent as the ones in your Granny’s house.” 

The next course was a sharing platter of bacon and sausage, and salad including some pickled watermelon. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m a big fan of pickled watermelon skin. The next course was a serving of clam chowder, which sadly I couldn’t eat, but Emma assured me that it was delicious. Next was the heavy “meat” course. Pulled beef shin, buffalo wings, smoked sausage and bourbon glazed ribs; with sides of mac and cheese, grilled corn on the cob, pickled chile and kraut slaw and potato salad. The pulled beef, I absolutely loved. The ribs on the other hand, I thought were a bit tough for my liking. I enjoyed my mac n’ cheese, but I didn’t love it. Maybe being American makes you a mac n’ cheese snob. Or maybe I’m just difficult to please. The potato salad, however, was amazing and I definitely ate more than my fair share. 

All this was followed up by brownie bites and banana and bourbon milkshake shots. Both delicious, but by this point in time there must have been something wrong with my tastebuds because my milkshake only tasted like banana to me. 

In amongst all the food were games and activities. For example, each table wrote a poem about the Little Yellow Door. Ours clearly should have won. We were robbed. Although, I will completely confess, I didn’t contribute a single idea to the poem. Sometimes my inner bitchy child rears her head and goes, “forced group participation? I’d like to see you make me.” I’m a dick. Apologies everyone. Although the jovial atmosphere on our end of the table, ended up getting me into a participatory mood and I got into the spirit of things.

Highlights of the night: the cocktails, pulled beef, grilled corn, sharing starters and the general atmosphere of fun. 

%22housemates%22
One of the “flat mates”. 
tables
sign
little yellow door
decor
plates
knock knock
fish tank
The flat fish “Cam” and “Bert”. 
bar tender
marshmallow drink
Look at that toasty marshmallow goodness! 
drink
sharing platter
clam chowder
meat course
potato salad and coleslaw
pulled pork and bbq
brownies
oreo shots
glowing drinks

Dear Little Yellow Door, if you are reading this, I’m really sorry, but I accidentally went home with my lego piece. I thought I had lost it at dinner, but I found it at the bottom of my purse. 

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