Bar Bruno

Diners are a thing of cult classics. They are retro and cool but it is hard to find one that isn’t trying to hard to be those things. Bar Bruno on Wardour Street smell’s like fried eggs, like a diner should, and the dark green leather booths are ripped and old. Worn in by many bottoms. It has got the great charm of old Soho. It’s not glamorous, but I like it. I went in hoping for a milkshake and a waitress with attitude chewing gum whilst she ignored my order, but I couldn’t see shakes on the menu of ‘beverages’ and I didn’t feel like a burger from the ‘hot and tasty snacks’ or a lamb chop from the specials. The menus are printed on boards on the walls, and you order at the counter so we ordered coffees and toasted the Italian toasted paninis and slid in to one of booths to wait. Nothing in Bruno’s was pretentions, each table was loaded with plastic squeezy bottles of ketchup (some in Heinz bottles, though definitely refilled with something more economical) and buttercup yellow mustard. The coffees landed on our table in heavy china mugs and it was hot and milky and delicious, and my roasted vegetable and breaded chicken Panini was very satisfying too. I wish it had rained so we had been stuck in there for longer. The waiters were animated and the other customers were as unpresumptuous as the establishment: the man sitting at the table behind me, who looked like Mr Mole from The Wind in the Willows and was as easily pleased, was audibly enjoying his burger and chips (much to the delight of my companion who could barely refrain from giggling at his grunts). Apparently their bubble and squeak is delicious. Next time…