Review

The English dictionary tells us an 'inn' is a pub or small hotel, especially in the country, and the French word for a house to drink and sleep (an inn) is 'Auberge'. It's a misnomer that here near Waterloo station, underneath the railway arches close to Waterloo East, there is a trendy wine bar called 'Auberge' that has a distinct lack of beds! This 'Auberge', therefore, is not an Auberge, but a busy bar à vin branché - a hip and trendy wine bar!

Any beer that rhymes with kak and sounds like Donald Duck's favourite tipple deserves some investigation, and £3.95 will get you a 33cl bottle of 'Kwak' beer. At that price it must be good.

Unusually for this kind of place, beer is available in pints at the bar; a quick glance at the menu shows all the standard brews are on offer, although the specialist beers have their own section on the menu and the unexceptional beers are lumped together under a heading called 'The Rest'.

Sit here, enjoying a quiet glass of wine, and you're likely to be rudely shaken off your seat by the load roaring that emanates from some indeterminate, nearby place, the type of roar that doesn't have a single source but surrounds you, encasing you in a tomb of noise. If it weren't a million years too late, I'd be convinced that Godzilla is a) hungry and sitting in the restaurant waiting for his food, b) not happy with the portion of Peanuts, Pistachios or Olives he purchased from the bar, or c) realising his French isn't up-to-scratch and he's having difficulties reading the menu (which is written in French, other than the descriptions). Sitting dumbstruck, waiting for the roof to be ripped off and a Tyrannosaurus Rex to pluck you off your seat, like the scene in Jurassic Park where the bloke gets snatched off of the toilet, when it suddenly dawns that this bar is virtually underneath the railway lines from Waterloo! That dinosaur is actually the 8:05 to Dartford passing overhead. The dinosaurs are more reliable than the Railways, or more accurately the Railways were last reliable when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.

The gents' loos stink. Not from somebody splashing their boots or dropping their lunch, but a pleasant, floral fragrance, like our French teacher at school who we christened 'the walking, talking perfume bottle'. It's not natural that the Gent's reeks of anything other than a repugnant odour, and I'm sure blokes leave here and cross the wooden floor like Pepe Le Pew's girlfriend in the Looney Tunes cartoon, with a palpable bouquet trailing behind! "It eez love, ma cherie!" Whilst on the subject of the Gent's loos, it's worth noting that the hand-dryer has as much chance of drying your hands as Godzilla has of taking the vegetarian option in the next room: it's pathetic - a drab, light blast. That's why blokes tend not to wash their hands after a slash, as it would take too long if all hand dryers were this pathetic; taking too long in the loo results in your drinking colleagues assuming you're opening the bomb-bay doors and dropping your brown payload - something all blokes try to avoid in public, enclosed spaces.

Despite its fairly large size, the bar area seems tiny in comparison and isn't the main feature. It's wedged between two large rooms, the walls of which are decorated with vandalised fence panels that seem to have been stolen from somebody's garden and hung here in the name of art! Theft must be a fairly common occurrence in Auberge, as the excess of 'Please mind your bags' notices is quite disconcerting. It's not too salubrious outside either, with an abandoned, wrecked car straddled across a mountain of brinks only a few steps from the entrance. Directly opposite Auberge is the Union Jack Club, which despite being incorrectly named (there's no such thing as a Union Jack - I assume they mean the Union Flag), it's not too obvious what this club is; at first one assumes it's something to do with the BNP due to its flag-waving name, but further investigation reveals it's a hotel, club and restaurant founded in 1904 as a National Memorial to commemorate the troops in the South African War. Today the Club provides comfortable accommodation and first class amenities at a very reasonable price for serving and ex-members of HM Armed Forces.

They're obviously expecting 20 coach loads of dinosaur fanatics to turn up to eat at any moment, as there are about 20-30 menus on each table and each table seats between 4 and 8 people. Wishful thinking, I suspect. There is also a separate till in the bar area, which any passing tinker could open and rob, although there is a bell attached that he can ring to attract attention to his criminal activities when he feels guilty.

It's nice not to receive your change on a pretentious tray in Auberge, and if Salsa's your thing then this is the place to be, as the Latin music is loud and insistent that you dance. The only thing dancing in my vicinity was my glass waltzing across the table every time Godzilla roared!

Review by mr_psm