If you roll in on a Sunday, you’ll find a crowd that looks like they’ve just rolled out of bed—which they probably have. There’s a glorious lack of judgment in the air. The roast dinner here is a hug on a plate. The Yorkshire puddings are the size of small hats, and the gravy is so thick you could probably use it for emotional support.
Gorilla
I once watched a bloke order the full English breakfast at 4pm on a Tuesday. The waiter didn’t even blink. He just nodded, like, “You do you, pal.” That’s the spirit of Gorilla: no pretension, just good grub served with a side of understanding.
The Cocktail That Sneaks Up on You
Order a “Gorilla in the Mist” cocktail. It tastes like a tropical holiday had a baby with a mischievous prankster. You’ll sip it and think, “This is lovely and light,” and then stand up and realize your legs have left the building. It’s dangerously drinkable.
The bar staff move with a rhythm that says, “I’ve seen it all, I’ve cleaned up worse, and yes, I will pour you another.” They’re the unsung heroes of your night out—the ones who keep your glass full while you tell them about your failed Tinder date with zero embarrassment.
'Lacked a bit of filth' - Gorilla, Whitworth Street, reviewed
