"It's a huge claim from these Swedish punks. Indeed, nearly 50 years after the UK invented punk, with the Sex Pistols effing and jeffing on live TV and provoking a national meltdown, here we have some folk with mullets and Roxette CDs slopping bumps of caviar on to my hand shortly after beckoning me into a shoddily decorated, fusty-smelling dining room in Mayfair."
"That bump, one supposes, is a playful twist on taking cocaine at a grotty afterparty. However, none of the jokes at Punk Royale is really playful: rather, they're mostly big, clumsy sledgehammer thwacks. Such as when, for example, they turn off the lights, serve some substandard remoulade, and instruct you to lick it off the plate, while blasting Khia's My Neck, My Back again and again as your soul dies. I've heard more whimsical humour at a Roy Chubby Brown gig."
"Punk Royale's aversion to crockery and cutlery is perhaps its most subversive idea. Over 20 breakneck courses, we were served many items on the lids of plastic takeaway boxes (including a cheesy puff with a piped sauce) and in syringes. In one case, we were slung cheap surgical gloves and a tin of something salmony, and told to eat it with our hands."
Punk Royale, a Stockholm troupe, stages a rowdy, immersive 20-course dining experience in Mayfair that promises to destroy British perceptions of posh food. The space is shoddily decorated and fusty, with staff sporting mullets and playing Roxette. Service includes theatrical gags: caviar presented as a bump on the hand, lights-out remoulade served to be licked from plates, and food delivered in takeaway lids, syringes, or surgical gloves. Flavours and drink pairings are uneven, with a tomato water complementing caviar but many thick, vegetal non-alcoholic wines and a largely inedible guinea fowl late in the menu. The show favors clumsy shock over playful humour.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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