Wednesday, 4 January 2012

La Food in Londres

My educated readers: I was fortunate enough to experience the last few hours of last year and the beginning of this year in a restaurant with culinary offerings of sufficient quality that they have been differentiated from my homemade risotto by a star from a tyre company. Unfortunately however, what prevented La Food in Londres from receiving the lesser-known but in certain circles equally-coveted Rex black-hole, was that the admittedly un-complicated and primary experience of inhaling, tasting, and swallowing the food in question, was, for me, served on a base of already-digested and almost sexual third-party reviews, dripping with waiter-condescension, and garnished with the unnecessarily energetic trialogue of Yolanda, Anthony and Portia, whose opinion-solicitations on classically dull, yester-year subjects such as the economy, the leader of the opposition and Anthony’s recent holiday to Barbados overpowered the more subtle conversation taking place between my chicken livers with red onion and mango marmalade, baby leaf salad and soft dough bread. I resorted to drowning the entire episode in three bottles of Ch√Ęteau de Chatelaine (1997) and sought further relief by pressing Yolanda et al on subjects as varied as whether vegetarians could, and should, eat road-kill, the probability of one of us being the messiah, and who indeed was afraid of the big bad wolf. As one year ended and the next began, and, having decamped to Anthony’s flat, my by-now-offensive pretension caused me somehow to become furnished with a whisky and a cigar, shortly after the lighting of which - as I struggled to produce a smoke-ring and a voice in the external world commented that I resembled a goldfish having an asthma attack – I settled on the unusual New Year’s resolution of ruthlessly down-sizing my friendship group, a resolution that may in fact have been too-quickly-achieved, as my perceived distaste for the evening - and, I will admit, slight inebriation - was shortly thereafter signalled by a re-releasing of the mango marmalade onto Anthony’s chaise longue and a loss of consciousness to the sight of Portia vacuuming a small portion of vomit.