If you have not been to Wimpy, you're an idiot. If you have not been to THIS Wimpy, you're an idiot who's missing out on an experience that nourishes the soul and stomach in a way that cannot even be matched by your own grandmother.
I know what you're thinking:
But Robert, my Gran used to cook the best mashed po..SHUT UP YOU'RE AN IDIOT REMEMBER?
Did your Grandmother wear a uniform with a name badge? NO.
Did your Grandmother greet you with a polite smile and offer to "be with you in just a moment to take your orders"? NO.
Did your Grandmother ever make a "Bender" NO.
Just google "Wimpy Bender" (With safesearch on) to see what this is.
Did your Grandmother serve your food on real plates with real metal cutlery? N..YES. She probably did, but that's what makes Wimpy better than any other restaurant available. It's authenticity.
Draped in the mystique of yesteryear, this time honored establishment may be easily overlooked by the shallow, fashion-conscious and trend-driven restrauneur, but believe me, Wimpy is the real deal. The staff are eager to provide you with everything you might expect from a restaurant with such historicity. They await your arrival with baited (fresh) breath, eager serve with the professional, respectful and sincere manner that the Wimpy reputation has afforded them. The food is cooked to order, and isOH HANG ON YOU THINK THIS REVIEW IS IRONIC? WELL IT ISN'T.
When I asked for a milkshake in there, I made a fool of myself by asking the beautiful waitress arrogantly and rudely, "What you got in the way of milkshakes? The standard Chocolate, strawberry and vanilla?"
Can you possibly imagine what a cretin I felt when she smiled, tilted her head to me and informed me that they also do Banana? (I don't like Banana that much so I wasn't interested, and to be honest, it's a pretty standard flavour of milkshake, and I can't believe I missed it out) AND LIME!
THEY DO LIME F**KING MILKSHAKE.
LIME.
...
LIME.
...
Lime...
...lime.
That's why this review is not ironic in the slightest. I want to be as sincere as I can when I say that Wimpy not only has the traditional restaurant fare signed and sealed in terms of cafe cuisine, (Breakfast and grill menu) burger dishes (there were plenty to choose from including several vegetarian options), but is now boldly and confidently leading the way in a forward thinking and groundbreakingly artistic blend of the creative and the culinary. I had a chocolate milkshake in the end.
My parents divorced when I was five years old. What followed, were years of a difficult and emotional upbringing, made tormented and torturous by being shared between my parents at weekends, evenings, and public holidays. At times it felt like I was forced to choose which parent I loved more. Can you imagine what that felt like? Just right now, imagine your house is burning down, and you can only save one parent, or one sibling, or one child.
"Robert, would you like to come to the funfair with me this weekend, instead of spending time with your other parent?"
"I...i...i...I'm only seven"
Imagine the look of forlorn heartbreak on the parent who lost the weekly competition for my company, unconditional love, and emotional dependence".
As a result of this maternal/paternal tug o' war, I got to go swimming alot.
Near the swimming pool (Waterfront in Woolwich, London) was a Wimpy restaurant.
By the time I was twelve, I had had all the burgers, bacons and benders my flabby little fingers could cram into my plump cheeks. On what was to be my last visit to wimpy for seventeen years, I went for a completely different option. A bean burger.
It was was like angels were kissing my elephantine throat.
Soon afterwards, I was a teenager, and my interest in the affairs of divorcees began to dwindle, alongside a growth of self loathing at the due to being incredibly unsuccessful with girls. A self loathing that caused a hunger that no bender of any mass could fulfill. It was a repulsive and repeating cycle of gluttony, greed, and depression for all of my adolescence.
Last Saturday I ate a bean burger in Wimpy, Peacehaven with a girlfriend, that looked almost as good as that burger, and the accompanying sense of accomplishment tasted:
Wimply Marvelous. read more