It’s hardly an exclusive spot to lay claim to – nestled between Morrisons and the Wimbledon multiplex – but Bill’s is an colourful oasis amongst the popcorn debris and BOGOF ads for turkey ham.
We ventured here on a pre-Orange Wednesday dinner and got seats immediately without booking. It’s a light and clean looking place with hanging lampshades and wooden tables; throw in the chalkboard recipes and shop selling homemade produce and you’re in a humous-eater’s heaven. The picturesque ductwork on the roof dispels the image a bit mind, but it’s still all very homely & inviting. And the food is canny too.
I wouldn’t have chosen Doritos and dips for a starter, but ignoring my advice to take advantage of the local BOGOFs V opted for the home made tortilla chips. I was pleasantly surprised – soft and crunchy, covered in loads of chilli powder with some nice takes on tzatziki, guac & salsa.
Chicken liver parfait came potted and smoother than Bradley Cooper on a water slide (fans oneself at the idea.) I bloody loved the stuff. The only grumble was not being supplied with enough toasted baguette to carry on applying obscene servings to. It was so beautifully rich I couldn’t finish it, despite the beautiful pear chutney and a few sweet mini gherkins helping me along. I hate sending perfectly good parfait back – I lost hours of sleep in the coming days.
Gearing up for my bitch now. I’m the first to get riled at a lazy waiter, but Bill’s was at the complete other end of the spectrum, uncomfortably so. Staff were swarming everywhere and just wouldn’t leave us alone for longer than two minutes, giving a persistent but rushed service. The reason I live in London and not Tampa Bay (the only reason) is so I don’t have to suffer being asked how my day was eighteen times as I tuck in. What’s more, kneeling down next to us with each exchange does not make us feel warm and fuzzy. It makes us feel like utter remedials. Needless to say I was ready to start throwing out gang signs: these punks were indubitably all up in my grill.
Ok, back in the room and mains are with us. I do like the way Bill’s tries to make the food feel like it’s been rustled up at home. I really enjoyed my cheeseburger, a refreshing break from the gourmet American variety; the fat patty and sesame seed bun had little in common with the Meat Liquors of the world. This was a big and British hunk of love with lettuce, tomato, horseradish mayo and Monterey Jack cheese (ok so not completely home grown.)
V’s moules frites came in a cute little pan and the mussels were juicy & tender. I’d say the mariniere sauce was possibly too cream heavy but perfect for dipping a cheeky skinny fry or two into.
Bill’s describes itself as being about ‘fresh, seasonal, smile-in-your-face food’, and you can’t fail to agree with them. Every effort is made to make you feel at home, trying to keep the East Sussex warmness from which the chain originally grew from. The double edged sword is in their desperation to please, service slides between being helpful and being intrusive (or at least in this example.) Regardless I’d still go back for more parfait pleasure.
3/5
20 Hartfield road, Wimbledon, SW19 3TA
London Socialeat 