Chicken Run

This is a humble neighbourhood joint, filled with people who’ve grown up eating their granny’s west indian food. Don’t be deterred by the line, it moves quickly. There are only two tables, always occupied by elderly men holding court, asking after people’s cousins and swapping good-​natured insults.
I love this place, but it is definitely not perfect: there is a light sheen of grease on every surface, it is not always clear what is included in a meal, and it can take a little trial and error to figure out which menu items to avoid (*cough*sauteedveg*cough*). Like many small local places, sometimes the food is overcooked or stale, and they just sell it anyways. If you secretly find yourself upset when they spell your name wrong on a Starbucks cup, this is probably not the place for you.
But if you can look past the surface, you are in for a very special treat. Oxtail stew and goat curry are standouts, service is quick, and you can feed 4 people for £10, easy. Whenever the weather is unexpectedly good, I grab a couple of pieces of fruit and some mini carrots from home, head down to Chicken Run for a couple of quid worth of freshly barbecued jerk chicken (served only in summer), and then eat on one of the benches next to the lake in Alexandra Park.
P. S. If you ever want to see your toes again, don’t get a chicken split for £3. Make sure not to watch them pile up those succulent fried chicken drumstick pieces high on a fried baguette, and then drizzle it with sweet, sweet salad cream. Definitely don’t unwrap that grease-​dotted paper and eat the whole, steaming sandwich in under 4 minutes. You have been warned.