While the rest of Kings Cross surrenders to gradual gentrification, Pentonville Road remains stubbornly scruffy as it stretches towards equally gritty Angel. The Lexington sits halfway between the two and looks like your average pub until you step inside where they have mastered a sort of dusty decadence. The tables are littered with flyers for the bands that play upstairs and the dim light, lone chandelier and heavy red drapes at the windows give the place a moody urban charm. It’s a welcome change from chain-pub bland and a far cry from the most recent ETM success story - The Cadogan Arms - which is much more refined. The difference here is that Ed and Tom’s influence only extends to the kitchen, so don’t come here expecting the Kings Cross branch of The Botanist. This is a strictly Sloane-free zone.
The clientele are of the skinny indie variety - (more Babyshambles than Motley Crue) - and on our visit most of them had bypassed the bourbon in favour of cheap lager before heading upstairs for the music. More fool them, because The Lexington’s 40-strong list is one of London’s finest with a mixture of old favourites and sought-after rarities lined up at the back of the bar. There’s a handful of decent wines, some great American beers, and a short list of classic bourbon cocktails like the Manhattan and the Mint Julep. The barman talked me out of the latter and into a Honey Berry Smash - a sweet and dirty blend of Wild Turkey, Chambord, lemon and honey over crushed ice. Very drinkable and ideal if you can’t handle your bourbon straight up. If you can, go for the Woodford Reserve - a toffee-coloured tipple with a slow-burning sweetness that warms the belly like Kentucky sunshine.
American diner food is high on my list of guilty pleasures. I would happily trade half a dozen Michelin meals for one decent dish of chilli cheese fries, if only they were done right outside the USA. Where places like The Diner and All Star Lanes fall short with epic lists of half-arsed Yankee fare, The Lexington keeps it simple with a few classics like BBQ ribs and hot dogs done well. My burger was a prime specimen - good quality beef with enough texture to convince you it was once alive, a rasher of sinfully salty bacon, spicy tomato relish, melted cheese and a big toasted bun to soak up all the meaty juices. My only complaint is that it was closer to well done than medium but it certainly didn’t suffer for it, remaining moist and flavoursome to the end. Skinny fries: delicious; salad: traded for scampi with much healthier dining companion.
The scampi - which they call crawfish - are lightly battered and deliciously more-ish, served with chunky chips and a pot of good not-too-sharp tartare sauce. A side of onion rings proved unnecessary, as the portions are on the hefty side, but their slight greasiness and fiery BBQ sauce proved hard to resist. Snacks like this aren’t exactly rocket science so why do so few places get them right? I’d happily return for these alone, if someone can teach me how to eat one without separating the still-crunchy onion from its crispy coat.
As the place filled up with some ‘colourful’ Kings Cross locals, we hit a bum note with dessert. The bourbon bread and butter pudding sounded great and certainly would have been, had it been reheated properly. To be fair, we were warned the kitchen was busy and after the sizeable mains we were almost too full to care. Even in its tepid state it was deliciously rich and comforting with a creamy vanilla sauce and subtle bourbon kick.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly why we loved The Lexington, but I think it has a lot to do with the staff. London’s restaurants are full of people who would rather stick a fork in their neck than serve you, so The Lexington’s laid-back bar staff and cool-but-in-control manager are a real breath of fresh air. The food is great (and cheap), the bar is fully stocked and the Johnny Cash / Nirvana soundtrack is hand-picked and kept low so you can talk. It's not somewhere you would take a client or a date, but for a slice of low-key Americana after work or before a gig, you can't go far wrong.
Comments