Visited on 14 January 2017 by JC & JB
I’m sorry but we’re going to have to talk about lasagna. I know we shouldn’t. I’ve been to writing school. I know the first rule of Pub Reviewer Club is: Don’t talk about food (the second rule is: Don’t use hackneyed popular culture references). And I know eating’s cheating. But we’re going to have to talk about lasagna.
Boozehound’s two regular readers will probably know that we don’t usually eat in the pubs we review, because if we did we’d be even poorer and unhealthier than we already are. But when we arrived at The Salutation we were at the business end of a pub crawl having not consumed any solids since lunchtime.
In a moment of weakness, we browsed the menu. And then the very friendly bar staff eagerly recommended the vegetarian lasagna. It was only £7, so I assumed there was something wrong with it, or it would be a tiny portion. Wrong on both counts. It was the size of one of those massive fancy bibles they have in church, and much more delicious (sorry, Jesus).
How could we give The Salutation a bad review after that? In fact, how could we anyway? The pub looks impressive outside (a listed building dating to 1910) and it’s spacious and welcoming inside. I’ve already mentioned the friendly, lasagna-pushing staff. The drink selection was good enough, and very reasonably priced. The food (not just the lasagna) was exceptional value. It even has some outdoor space to compete with the pubs on the river, in the form of a little garden out back.
One criticism might be that it was kind of empty on a Saturday evening, maybe lacking a bit of atmosphere as a result. If you live near Hammersmith, you should do your bit to change that at the earliest opportunity. It’s a great pub.
Do they do food? No idea mate.
Are they in the 21st Century? Yep, contactless, no minimum.
Are there dogs? Seems dog friendly but would probably be more popular with Garfield, the lasagna loving cat. By the way, not to go off on a tangent, but why the hell did Garfield hate Mondays so much? He’s a cat, a famously workshy and pampered species, and it’s highly unlikely that he would even be aware of the weekly cycle, let alone be troubled by it. Oh, sorry Garfield, are you upset that the weekend’s over and you’ve got another busy day of licking your own genitals and staring outside? I’ll keep you in my thoughts as I’m crushed against the door of an underground train, you poor thing.
I want to smoke: There’s a little garden out back.