364+1=000
May 2nd, 2007 by Eats Wombats
All three wheels on the dayometer turned together once again. I briefly recalled an opening by Christopher Fildes in The Spectator years ago.
The wise dinosaur asks himself two questions in the morning: Am I extinct? And, if not: How long have I got?
Bah.
Squeeze nr 1, senior partner in the extinction stakes, gave me a card featuring a badger on his way to a bottle bank, escorted by two bunnies. Badger greeting cards have been a family tradition but, as they are encountered about as often as badgers in broad daylight, stockpiling and improvisation are sometimes necessary.
It crossed my mind some years ago that a personalized greeting card business might be a good wheeze, then I read that it had been done (by Moonpig; what a name). Out of curiosity I checked if they had any badgers. Bah, again. Lunatic swine!
The actress, who is also a talented artist, drew me a card featuring the cat, and a copy of The Economist, neither of which are supposed to be seen within reach of the dining table during meals.
In the evening I was treated to a nice meal at Fishworks in Marylebone High Street (reservations always needed). Finally! After years of saying we ought to. We dined at the table in the center of this photo. Everything was first class. Later, at home, over a bottle of New Zealand Pinot Noir (from the Stoneleigh vineyard, source of my most memorable bottle of wine, drunk under the stars on a holiday in NZ) I reflected on restaurant dining experiences.
What I concluded is that for me being a regular customer trumps everything else. I would rather a simple meal in a humble restaurant where I am known and greeted as a regular customer than the most sublime fare, regardless of cost or taste, though I have enjoyed some sensational meals here and there. I miss a small restaurant in the Philippines that served ordinary Italian food and where I had many wonderful evenings with friends. The often unpredictable order of course delivery was just part of the charm of the place. In The Hague we had a nearby pizzeria run by an Italian family, members of whom came and went from Italy. Always, for regulars, a complimentary sambuca or amareto, and the ritual of setting fire to it if it was sambuca, and our son’s delight in dropping a beermat on it. And the Turkish place, another family enterprise with great affection for regular customers. London is just too expensive to eat out regularly, alas. The nearest we get to it is The Romna, a local tandoori and balti place run by a Bangladeshi family. We were greeted and remembered as regulars in the years in which we paid two annual visits to London!
Anthony Bourdain’s take is that the best customer is the regular who lets the restaurant decide what to serve.
They are welcomed as warmly as fellow employees; advised frankly and honestly on the best menu selections; and in every way treated like the home team instead of visitors: “Great to see you . . . let me send you dessert? . . . A nice snifter of Calvados? Thanks, and please come again.”
–from The Nasty Bits, which I am rationing with pleasure; the chapters are short. His send-up of pretentious London pub food sent me to sleep chuckling.
Ah, yes - will be eating at Joe’s tonight, indeed. I agree wholeheartedly re: the joy of being a regular and letting the restaurant decide for me. This is partly because of your reasons and partly because I’m awful with decisions.