Red Kitchen

Each to their own I suppose but Bar Red remains one of the places I encounter in life where I can’t help but look at everyone involved and think «How are YOU enjoying this?» Surely human opinion can’t differ on something this vastly?
A thumping, smoky, often pitiably vacant dancefloor flanked by windows and the bar, it baffles me to think somebody would spend any longer than one drink here. Even then to dance and laugh, instead of frenetically glugging it to quicken your escape, is one of life’s mysteries. Right under the Bigfoot Triangle.

If ever there is a place to demonstrate what is wrong with trying to spread yourself too thinly it is Bar Red or is it Red Kitchen or maybe Red hole-​in-​the-​wall-​style-​butty-​shop?
There is something fundamentally wrong with a place that is open til 6am serving all sorts of new fangled alcopops to saucer eyed kids and yet still be open for a full on buffet style breakfast — I have eaten here however too hungover to make the connection between the sickly sweet smell and sticky floor and the empty dancefloor behind me.
The late night blog/​review websites catagorise Red as being filled with trendy, rich young things but there are few places along Slater Street — with the possible exception of The Shipping Forecast — to be able to make such claims. Don’t expect that whilst you queue for a sausage barm.