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With its industrial interior, khaki overalls and pop d�cor � la Warhol, The Factory in Thamel is thematically consistent, so much so that even its cookie-cutter fare seems mechanically processed.
More club, than supper, The Factory is almost always empty before dusk, and for good reason. Its westward-slanted menu, replete with edible descriptions like the Spicy Beef Sliders (which are apparently never available), is what makes American chains a dime a dozen. But at least, US diners are known to glut late-night, knocked-up cravings.
Generally, supper clubs are profit-making ventures that huckster the 'one-stop-shop' mantra: dine and dance without having to shift. But these fair-weather schemes often over stress superficial details and end up slacking off on the more important gustatory appeal. And as the moral police continue to spoil the party in Kathmandu, nightlife is essentially non-existent, rendering a lose-lose situation for supper clubs without a distinct bill of fare.
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A disappointment, the Beef Burger was more comparable to a baked meatloaf sandwich than a chargrilled hunk. On the same page, the Steak and Mustard Sandwich was sadly served on a stale loaf, that if toasted and dressed up like a Philly or even au jus for French dipping would make for a unique addition to the city's repertory.
The Seared Bekti under a bed of creamy spinach wasn't seared, rather breaded and fried but tastier than fish sticks. And for vegetarians, the Cottage Cheese Steak with Ratatouille, a slab of packed cheese topped with a tomato slurry and roasted veg, is too much for a main fare and better ordered as a sharing entree.
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Priced at standard Thamel rates (add 10% and 13%), the mediocrity of The Factory's victuals isn't worth the tab. Come for the music, setting, or as its slogan suggests, 'conversation', but certainly not for food.
Turn into Mandala Street from Thamel Chowk, first set of stairs on the left and two flights up.
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