Year of Eating Differently (69): Hummus Brothers, Wardour Street

Now I like hummus. Or houmus, or however we're going to spell it this week. In those dark days when I lived in Folkestone (twinned with Mordor, for those of you unfamilar with East Kent) there was a period of at least a month when I ate nothing but hummus and pitta bread. Clearly it's not good for you, but you survive.
But when you go out to eat, usually it's because you're hoping to get something different to what you could make for yourself; that's one of the reasons why you pay more than if you got the same ingredients from the supermarket. Thus it's strange to go to somewhere whose whole raison d'etre is mushed up chickpeas.
Now that said, the service here is very good, and when I'd lapped up my bowl of hummus and had nothing else to do, unprompted they brought me a cup of mint tea on the house to drink while my lunchmate jabbered on, but despite this, well, it's just a bit dull. You can dress up hummus as much as you like, you can decorate the toilet with a paen to your life-changing discovery of hummus, but you can't make it interesting. Or perhaps it's because I have a mortifying hangover at the moment, and really should have gone to Sunset Strip for lunch today to take my mind off things.