Grand Union

GU is one of those chains that popped up when the Gourmet burgers were like the thing (especially on upper street). I ate at them all and they all pretty much sucked (and were hideously overpriced). I used to think the burger at Brown’s was the best in the area, but it’s gone steadily downhill the last 5 years and now pretty much sucks. GU has ok burgers, they would have been the best in the area, but now with Byron in town it’s my go to place (though it’s still overpriced).

if i could leave zero stars, i would. having purchased a groupon from GU, i requested a reservation through their website and received a declined response several days after the request AND within 24 hours of the requested reservation. the general manager, jim, stated that they were completely booked that evening. this turned out to be a lie upon further questioning. he second email stated: All table are reserved from 8pm, if you would like the table before then your more than welcome, but I will need the table by 8pm. i think that’s a very different response than: Unfortunately we are fully booked on Saturday!
i’ve been declined because i wanted to use a groupon from other restaurants and truly just lost faith in the brits and compliance to terms and conditions. i don’t like to work with people who lie let alone give them my money. i would steer clear of the grand union for all locations because they cleary allow half-​truth folks to run their operation.

So a woman walks into a bar. She’s starving. As her friends go to order their drinks at the bar her eye wanders across the menu.
«London’s Best Chips» Time Out
It says this splashed across the laminated surface. She ponders a moment and walks over to the bar, confidently placing her order. Ten minutes later, a bowl of piping hot chips reaches the table. Small bowls of mayonnaise and ketchup and snuggled up beside it. Before she even gets a chance to salt them, several hands dive for the bowl. Five minutes later they are gone. They were indeed good chips Time Out. Five star chips, three star venue, four star staff, ten star happy hour 2-​for-​1 mojitos.

Jeez Grand Union, where have you been all my life? Well the last two and a half years anyway.
From the outside nothing special, but venture in and it looks just like what I imagine Huff Hefner’s bedroom to be. If I’ve got someone to seduce, I’m totally bringing them here.
Lavish wallpaper, big leather booths, low lighting and a photo of Tom Cruise in Cocktail on the wall. Yes, I thought that strange too. This opulent bar is a great mixture of sexy and sophisticated. Excuse me while I order another passion-​fruit Martini and indulge in some of ‘London’s best chips’
With friendly bartenders who really know how to make a cocktail, I would recommend this bar to anyone. It’s not that cheap, but this keeps out the Upper Street riff raff and you can have your sexy time in peace.

If you’re going to blow your diet, it may as well be on London’s best chips and 2−4−1 mojitos in a sultry candle-​strewn love shack that Hef himself would approve of. (Aww, Mum would be so proud!)
I only partook in one of those sinfully delicious altercations, and wouldn’t you know it was the boozier of the two. But I can say that it was one of the tastiest mojotos I’ve had in quite some time, and not just because I’ve been calorie deprived for a week!
I’ll be back, especially when I want to seduce one of my male suitors Austin Powers style. Cause when does loud music, stiff drinks and tacky wallpaper not work?
Answer? NEVER.

Awesome location, all kinds of leather inside around the bar area. I grabbed some Martini’s.

I do have to say that I like the one in Camden a bit better because of the layout, but the Upper St Grand Union is still a great place to lounge around and get some cocktails. It’s on the far end of Upper st, so I don’t really come down this far, but they do a 2 for 1 happy hour, and all night on Thursday (and I think Sun too).
The bar is a cozy place with lots of texture, leather, and mood lighting. It’s deceptively long, I didn’t think the bar was going to be very big because you’ll miss it from the street if you blink, but it goes back pretty deep.
They have an EXTENSIVE burger selection, which I didn’t get to try but I will be back for sure. We did get some munchies of chips & onion rings to soak up some of the vodka before heading off into the night. Try the one in Camden as well if you like this one, the vibe is a little different (via the clientele and surroundings) but you’ll be sure to get some good deals on some good drinks no matter which part of town you’re in!

Ha ha, great review guernican I agree, to a point. I went last night and it was quiet, very quiet, but it was the night before the night before Christmas, so not many places would be packed I don’t expect.
The burgers were ok. I had a Greek lamb burger (£6.95), which was a bit over-​cooked, but aside from that tasty. Re the chips, they were standard pub-​style chips, and for £3 a bit lame really.
Drinks were EXPENSIVE! £6.50 for a small G+T and a coke!
It’s a pub that looks the part but doesn’t live up to its potential. I think this place needs to up its game if it’s to compete with the overflow of pubs/​bars/​restaurants on Upper Street.

Look at the pics to be enticed to The Grand Union. At the end of Upper Street this bar is in a very trendy location of Islington. Its got everything you can ask for a fun and sexy night out.
I love everything about this bar, the music, the people, the snacks, and the superb cocktails. The place is a mix of slightly old and very trendy modern tasteful design. Just look at the pictures to the review (hic, I think I just said that again!)
Over the weekends the bar is permitted to stay open late in the mornings with the advantage of a cool DJ. I’m hooked to the classy Vintage Grand Union.

Men are weak. Weak-​minded fools.
I knew this before I entered the Grand Union. Hey, I read Mailer. I know that our need to continually invent tough, macho fictional characters just means that we’re as soft as a soap advert.
I had been shopping on Upper Street, and was feeling, not to put too fine a point on it, a little too in touch with my feminine side. I had flowers in one hand and an expensive bottle of paraben-​free moisturising lotion in the other. Worse, they were both for me. So, feeling in dire need of a pint of lager and some sort of manly food, I eschewed the gentle and tasty charms of Otto Lenghi, and crossed the road into the Grand Union. It was empty, which really should have told me something.
They claim to be specialists in the fine art of burger preparation. This is a bold claim on Upper Street, which already boasts several of those Gourmet Burger Company Whatsit franchises, all of which no doubt do their thing perfectly well. They’ll have to work hard to compete with this place, though assuming that is that someone has suddenly come up with a national competition to find the Eating Establishment Most Likely To Make You Consider Genocide Rather Than Eat There Again. Seriously. The chips, to steal a phrase, made me want to go into the kitchen and hurt someone very badly indeed, just so they knew how I felt. The bun made me want to kick babies. Frankly, the burger would have made Saint Mother Teresa want to kick babies, before strapping scythes onto her forearms and running amok through a crowded Mumbai orphanage. If Hell’s Kitchen were run by Satan, he’d have this cook strung up with piano wire around his unmentionables and broken glass under his eyelids before you could say Yes? in that slightly hectoring, badgering, aggressive /​encouraging way that Ramsey does so well.
Oh yes, and the beer was poor too. Draught Staropramen shouldn’t taste like that. I wonder how they got the cat to balance over the glass.
As I left, the barman-​cum-​waiter (who, to be fair, had been perfectly charming, if with a faintly apologetic look in his eye) came after me. Perhaps he was about to ask me something manly something reassuring something football-​related perhaps he was even about to offer an apology for the blasphemy he’d served me, and offer a refund? That’d get me feeling alpha-​male all over again, damn it.
Excuse me, he asked in his Mittel-​European drawl, but where have you bought your flowers?
Thanks. For. That.