"Well don't you worry, don't worry, no don't worry mama
Cause I'm right here at home..."
“Pabbits,” pig-meets-rabbit icons, are everywhere, stamped on the white brick exterior wall and marking the lips of pint glasses. Beyond the entrance door, ripped from a Belgian schoolhouse, the rustic wood tables, tiny pub-style windows and long sleek bar play host to Aaron Eckhart look-alikes and disciples of chef Jonathan McDonald. They're the types who don't have time to say his full name, erupting in beastly groans of pleasure before their burgers instead. The Windsor, loaded with English cheddar and pork belly, is keeping stomachs and seats full.
Further cues from British cuisine come with ampersands: fish & chips sidled by mushy peas, and bangers & mash. Even a vegetarian pumpkin & sage risotto is a rich course of comfort. For those with liquid appetites, salty and simple bar snacks like malt vinegar potato crisps and the warm bags of peanuts necessitate a constant stream of pints.
There's nothing cold about P&K, even if you happen to have sidewalk seating on the first crisp night of autumn. The dining room, off to the side, is perhaps the warmest of all, but you have to be willing to miss the upfront action for that inner sanctum. Lively desserts are ample for sharing—a white chocolate hunk of bread pudding shellacked with caramelized bananas, or the trifle gone mad with figs, crumble and vanilla custard. The spot-on efforts may even have you slipping on a poor Cockney accent.
A notecard with a single pabbit arrived with the check. On the back, the words of Winston Churchill sent us off into the night: "Eating words has never given me indigestion."
Pub & Kitchen
1946 Lombard St.