Coq, Whiteladies Road: 'Let me eat my chips without trying to shove another coq down my throat'
Coq-a-doodle-don't
A few months ago, a new London newspaper announced they would not be publishing any negative reviews. They will only focus on the good and the cheerful — which is commendable and often necessary when bad news seems otherwise omnipresent.
It is, of course, important to champion the places doing things well and sing their praises. But if everything is good, nothing is good. How could you trust us to tell you where you should spend your hard-earned cash if we unfailingly say everything is great?
As such, I did not think Coq was great. I think it’s leaning to the point of toppling on heavy-handed branding that’s supposed to make people laugh but came across as overwrought and, quite frankly, weird. But just because that’s my view, it doesn’t mean it will be yours. If you’re keen to visit, then it’s always worth seeing for yourself. But if we’ve saved you a trip and £60 down the drain, please consider supporting our journalism by becoming a subscriber. Meg x
Restaurant names are a fickle thing. There’s the prosaic: Really Good Burgers, Authentic Hot-Pot and Hand-Pulled Noodles. There’s the artistic, poetic even: Other, Caper & Cure, Little Hollows. Some take inspiration from other cultures and languages, such as Dongnae or Moltobuono. There’s Snobby’s, which we’ve all come to love. And there’s Coq.
Of all the things I want to be thinking about when I walk into a restaurant, penises are fairly far down the list. To take a leaf out of Slutty Cheff’s rather ribaldrous book, a nice penis — particularly one I’m already fond of — is something I’m happy to contemplate now and again, but unlike Slutty I like to keep my restaurants and my penises separate.
But at the new chicken-based gaff on Whiteladies Road there’s no such option. They literally make the staff wear aprons that read ‘I love Coq’, so they clearly want you to be imagining schlongs as you tuck into your burger. Odd, really, for a restaurant to go down such an avenue. It’s almost like it was a not-that-funny joke that has gone too far and has now actually become a business called Coq and they sort of have to live with it. You won’t be surprised that the business is run and owned by two brothers, though you might be surprised to hear that they are fully grown adults.
Coq is an import from Chippenham, and serves a variety of ‘gourmet’ penis-inspired products. The menu is littered with cocks. Sorry, coqs. There’s various coq-burgers, which can be enjoyed (or not) with a coq-tail. How far can we exorcise an already past-it pun? Espresso coqtini? That doesn’t even make sense? How about a coq on the beach? Instant restraining order. Or try the fresh mint coqjito, which I think is meant to be a mojito with the vague threat of an alternative being made with dried mint. Truly terrifying — and that’s before you stick a penis in it.
Rather than risk being presented with a porno — after all it was only 6pm on a Monday evening — I opted for a bang average glass of grenache gris (£7.50 for 125ml) from France.
The relief from coq-based activity, however, was short-lived. First, the bang-coq (£14.95), a terribly original piss-take of the Thai capital’s name but a woefully unimaginative piss-take of its food. The fried chicken alone might have been passable, had it not been dropped in a bucket of sesame oil and then smothered in sugar and peanut butter. If these brothers have ever been to Thailand, I fear they didn’t make it past the infamous Khao San Road — though even the food you’d get in the McDonald’s on said strip would be better than this. Thai food is some of the best in the world; the most exquisite balancing of sweet and savoury, spice, fresh herbs and citrus. Any reference to said cuisine in Coq is a misnomer.
Now, hop on a brain plane and mentally transport yourself halfway across the globe to the home of another of the world’s greatest cuisines: Mexico. It’s so easy to eat spectacularly well in Mexico. You can get a taco on the side of the road for 50p that would laugh the socks off most Mexican restaurants in the UK. At Coq, inspiration has been drawn from Mexico in the form of Mexican loaded fries (£6.95), which are generously topped with the worst chilli con carne you’ll ever eat, sour cream, homemade guac, jalapeños and coriander. I think you mean coqriander! Surely you’re not going to let me eat my chips without trying to shove another coq down my throat?
Our fellow diner had more sense and ordered the truffle and parmesan fries (£6.45) which came topped with beautiful, elegant shavings of fresh black truffle. Ha! Imagine. Though they did actually taste vaguely truffled and were far more favourable than the Mexican monstrosity on our side of the table.
The guacho coq (£16.45) is perhaps a nod to Argentina — topped as it was with braised beef shin, chimichurri, Monterey Jack and… sriracha. It’s the most expensive burger on the menu and the least offensive of the three we tried, though the bottom bun had to be discarded immediately due to total saturation with grease, leaving a half-naked burger which felt very apt.
There are three burgers than can be enjoyed (presumptuous) vegan, and if you don’t want a burger at all then you can opt for truffle and parmesan fried buttermilk drumsticks. The more adventurous among you might also go for an arachini (sic) (£7), which I can only presume is a rice ball made with spiders. And if you want to splash out, add some ketchup to your order, it’s only 50p!
The irony only compounds with the fact that one of Bristol’s primary blaggers has already visited and declared his love for all things Coq. How meta. He ordered a large, cuboid slab of tiramisu to round off his meal and praised its generous circumference. I wish I was joking. Sadly, the tiramisu wasn’t available on the night we visited due to a nationwide shortage of lady fingers! Honestly, these things write themselves.
Bristol didn’t really have all that much in the way of good fried chicken, and it still doesn’t. Wings Diner at Small Bar remains among the best, though it’s inconsistent. But in the unlikely event I wanted a dirty fried chicken burger, I’d be gunning for an Oowee. In the even more unlikely event I wanted a dirty fried chicken burger with a side of smut, I’d order an Oowee and put the newly-released Pillion on, described by The Guardian as ‘50 shades of BDSM Wallace and Gromit in brilliant Bromley biker romance’. But I shan’t be accused of Coq-blocking, so please do visit and see for yourselves — though I’d maybe consider investing in a chastity belt first.
All words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour
Coq, 109 Whiteladies Rd, BS8 2PB
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I contacted them twice to ask if their chickens were free-range or any other high welfare standard. No reply. I think anyone offering "gourmet" meat should be able to answer this. And this is a request for Meg et al: can you always tell us something about the meat sourcing, please? We need to get to the stage when every restaurant is obliged to make this open, but if even reviewers don't seem to care, it won't happen. No matter how tasty you tell me the meat is, I won;t go unless I know they source ethically.
This review absolutely nails it—sometimes a concept tries so hard to be cheeky it forgets to be actualy good. The bit about 'if everything is good, nothing is good' in honest reviewing is spot-on, and it's refreshing to see someone callout when the emperor (or coq) has no clothes. I've def had meals where the branding promised way more than the kitchen delivered. Thanks for the heads up, saved me £60 and akward dinner conversation.