A Bridge too far by the Thames

This review was published in August 2002

The tone for Just The Bridge is set by a notice on its door warning passers-by that lavatories are for the use of patrons only. Given that the place has views of Tate Modern, Lord Foster's no-longer-wobbling bridge and the Globe, one might have expected slightly more than the aesthetic charm of a motorway-service-station food court.

The floors are of some slate-alike substance, and the chairs look like a Charles Rennie Mackintosh range for Homebase. Clientele was limited to City drones on tentative dates or decisive drinking sessions.

My friend asked for red wine and received a tiny copita of a noxious-smelling substance that purported to be C?tes du Rh?ne - I advised him to send it back, ordering instead a decent bottle of NZ Sauvignon Blanc.

Food is adequate and undemanding. Rather charmingly, it offers nostalgic hints of the Nineties, viz the sundried tomatoes that find their way into a Caesar salad and the lemon grass that infiltrates a slab of tuna.

Otherwise the menu is calculated to give as little offence as possible: hence such dishes as smoked haddock and leek fish cakes, medallions of Aberdeen Angus with b?arnaise sauce, chicken satay for the Orientalist, Eggs Benedict for the all-day-brunch eater, sizzle-cooked Mongolian lamb for the sizzle-cooked Mongolian etc.

We munched our way dolefully through palatable starters of slightly charred Welsh rarebit on toasted walnut bread and field mushrooms on muffins. Similarly inoffensive were mains of seared tuna and seared calves' liver and smoked bacon. Puddings were the only relief, both Eton mess and sticky toffee pudding were actively pleasant.

As we left, I happened to notice a woman sitting on a bench outside, her legs wrapped around her male companion's torso. I could only surmise that, having read the notice on the door, they had refrained from using Just The Bridge's washrooms and were attempting sexual intercourse alfresco while observing the other notice to keep the noise down for fear of outraging the residents.

One or other of them probably asked the post-coital question: 'Did the bridge move for you, darling?'