A shitty day
...a copy of the Wall Street Journal (hotel bars never keep The Economist), a double measure of Talisker with water (no ice) and a Hoyo De Monterey double corona (clipped) as soon as you like...
Once upon a time in a land far far away, I read a review (Gault et Milliaut) of all the finest restaurant in Paris. The idea was to walk into all the (five or six I think it was—the Tour d'Argent and the Grand Véfors were among them) three-starred restaurants in town and order a glass of tap water and an omelete. The results were enlightening, the Td'A was clearly not a place you wanted to try it on (nor Maxime's at the time) and on the whole the three-star establishments didn't fare terribly well. I seem to remember two (2) restaurants met the challenge and they were the best ham & eggs the reviewer had ever eaten...
Cut to the Churchill Hotel cigar bar, Portman Square, London, 17:18 on Wednesday, 16 October 2002. The nose-feel of the H de M is good—peppery but light, the tobacco equivalent of a good Saint Emillion except that since I'm a pleb I couldn't name a good St E vintage—but you get the idea—all manner of good things rushing through your body, well balanced and a step closer to Heaven.
Victim of the sniper
Our trusty barman has met the challenge, I suppose the London Evening standard isn't the WSJ but hey, it's the thought that counts.
At the door of this place I paused, and thought you're feeling sorry for yourself and figured I should go home to Nicki and be a man. Ok, I'm fallible, I'm a sucker for comfort—I went for the Talisker even though it doesn't appear on the Atkins menu. But six O'clock is rolling along and I should head for home (as I cook meals)...
Apologies to readers, I'm using you guys as my personal Loraine Bracko—normal service to return any second now:-)
