We are having something of a premature summer here in London and there is a sudden superabundance of blossom in SW3.Monday is actually quite a big night in Chelsea, because a certain proportion of the local population have spent the weekend out of town and so often make a big effort to dress up and go out on the first night of the new week.
As a belated birthday treat my mother took me to a recent discovery of hers, a high-end French bistro on Dovehouse Street near Chelsea Square called Le Colombier.
I had a delicious escabeche of dorade (bream) as my starter (essentially an uptown version of ceviche), followed by a skewer of pejesapo (monkfish), which I all too routinely pick when eating out, but in this instance turned up a touch too soggy and lukewarm. Not enough to spoil my overall sense of satisfaction with the occasion however.
It's the sort of place where I like to look around at the people sitting at nearby tables. Unfortunately it's also the sort of place where my mother likes to interact with them.
Didier the manager, whose manners were described as "ugly" by one London-Eating reviewer, was a study in effortful charm as my mother engaged him in her postprandial prattle. Merci, Merci, you've paid the bill, now ALLEZ VOUS, was the subtext of his obeisance.
No comments:
Post a Comment