A Gudie to the Drunken Pitstops of Bristol

You’re heading home from a night out with blisters on your feet and a rumbling in your stomach. Before packing you off to university, your mum told you to have three square meals a day. You suspect your approaching hangover will make breakfast unlikely, if not an impossibly herculean task. You decide that it is only sensible to eat before you go to bed. But which of Bristol’s many late-night food options do you choose?

You don’t have the mental faculties to make such an important decision. So let me guide you to that golden chip. I’ve handily arranged recommendations by area, so you won’t have to stumble too far to find that kebab you’re craving.

The Triangle

Clifton’s Triangle has so many good late-night options that it really is difficult to choose. Magic Roll is a deserved favourite for its fresh ingredients, inventive combinations and impressive choice. Ultimately, though, their drunken customers just love the portable pockets of warm, toasted satisfaction. This is a particularly good choice for veggies or indeed anybody who gags at the sight of congealing kebab meat.

For the biggest, best and most bizarre range of burgers in Bristol, visit Yo-Yo Burger. Their basic meal deals can satisfy even on a student budget, but it is their gourmet choices – including wild boar, ostrich, kangaroo, and Japanese wagyu beef – that appeal to the intoxicated foodie.

However, if you’re frankly past caring about the quality of your early-hours snack, then there’s only one decision to make: Hatch or Grill?* Divisions not seen since the Montagues and Capulets brawled on the streets of Verona have been inflamed by this debate. But as a star-cross’d lover of both establishments, this writer has to put it out there that there really is very little difference between them. Both provide generous portions of greasy kebab for reasonable prices. Both are famous for their cheesy chips or chips and gravy, which really do represent the peak of human achievement. My advice is to choose whichever has the shortest queue.

Park Street

The kebab shops of Park Street are ideal for 02 Academy indie-kids, Java goers or anybody bravely trudging up to Clifton from Bristol’s city centre. It is almost too easy to stumble into one of the many takeaways. Diamond Kebab is popular but can be painfully slow when busy, so head down past College Green if you’re desperate for pizza.

Cedars Express is the late-night food so good that you could even eat it sober. (It is, in fact, open at lunchtime as well.) Serving fresh Lebanese cuisine, this authentic establishment cooks kebabs the way they are supposed to be, rather than the cheap, offal-y sponges normally seen in Britain. Their takeaway pizzas have a delicious choice of toppings, the dips are to die for and, if you have a sweet-tooth, you should end your midnight feast with some honey-soaked baklava pastries.


Whiteladies Road

Whether your night ended in many of this area’s fine drinking establishments, or you live way up in Stoke Bishop, Whiteladies offers plenty of late-night options. Jason Donervan, found right at the bottom near The Bunker and Lizard Lounge, deserves a special mention for its name alone. Their chips and kebabs are the perfect accompaniment to shivering on a bench in the drizzle. Further up Whiteladies, M&M Kebabs provides similar “nourishment” further up the road, but with the added benefit of (albeit limited) indoor seating.

Domino’s Pizza is now open until 5am but can be a pricey option unless you happen to be carrying around one of their vouchers. If you can survive the walk to the top of Whiteladies without sustenance, Domus Pizza offers a much more reasonable alternative. Their pizzas are freshly made on crispy bases, and there is also some seating for you to collapse on.

Miss Millie’s Fried Chicken is a Bristol institution. Like KFC but cheaper – and without pretentiously pretending to be fresh, high quality or even edible – Miss Millie’s is a fresher’s last resort before the crossing the cold Downs. For fried chicken fans, their special coating is a golden, crispy thing of beauty. The Megabite burger comprises a chicken fillet, cheese, lettuce, ketchup, mayonnaise and the genius addition of a hash brown. If you prefer your chips thin and crispy, then wait until you reach this chicken emporium.

REVIEW: Nick Helm

Nick Helm is an overweight, 30-something, single, white male, whose material covers living alone, luminous condoms and failed relationships. So far, so conventional. But that is where the comparison to the average circuit comedian ends. Helm’s show is an experience unlike any other in comedy – simultaneously brutal and tender, both needy and confrontational – that gives the audience no choice but to ‘GET INVOLVED.’ As Helm says, ‘THIS IS HAPPENING.’

‘DO YOU LIKE JOKES? DO YOU LIKE JOKES? DO YOU LIKE JOKES?’ Helm spits in the face of an audience member as soon as he comes on stage. Within a minute, he has ripped open his cowboy shirt to reveal his name scrawled across his beer belly in biro. He demands the audience sings along to his songs. He constantly shouts at his stunned punters in a gravelly roar; despite coming from St Albans, his accent seems strangely west country, like Justin Lee Collins’ evil twin. There is no other option but to be dragged along in his seemingly indefatigable wake.

 

But there is a subtler side to his initially aggressive persona. He counters his brashness with bitter sentimentality and genuine pathos. He carries a pink notebook covered in cartoon cupcakes, from which he reads love poetry. In calmer moments, Helm is reminiscent of shambolic poet-comedian Tim Key. He shares an uncomfortably lingering hug with a man originally dragged on stage to be mocked in front of his date. These lulls contrast well with his manic energy, although they can seem worryingly like the product of genuine mental anguish. At one point, he whacks his head on the microphone so hard that it leaves a pink mark on his head for the rest of the performance; Helm demonstrates either admirable dedication to his act, or a concerning disregard for his own wellbeing.

Amongst the shouting, songs, shouting, poems, awkward silences and more shouting, Helm strafes the audience with one-liners. He won the award for Funniest Joke of the Fringe this year from Dave, digital home of endless repeats. ‘I needed a password eight characters long so I picked Snow White and the Seven Dwarves… No-one laughs at that joke any more. THANKS DAVE!’

Unfortunately, the Dave award is a rare accolade for Helm. By his own description ‘multi award-losing’, he has been nominated for – but failed to win – the Foster’s Edinburgh Comedy Award, Chortle Best Breakthrough Act and the Leicester Comedy Festival Award, and was a finalist or semi-finalist in the Laughing Horse, Amused Moose and So You Think You’re Funny competitions. On the strength of his Bristol performance, this is an outrageous oversight. Nick Helm is not so much a breath of fresh air on the comedy circuit, but a full-blown gale, and he deserves to be recognised. Look forward to seeing much more of him in the future.

This review was originally published in Inter:Mission on 23/10/11.