Foodie Pseudery (5)
I wish I could say that this is a hoax, but it isn’t. Behold: possibly the most pretentious restaurant review ever written:
The perfumed neck by my side gives off that familiar lemony scent, and suggestions of sandalwood climb past the Scandinavian landscapes that have already come alive against the white-washed walls. I want steak, and a large portion of it – recommended medium-rare with the incredibly smooth Malbec Catena Zapata perhaps? ‘It will blow-your-mind’ Vincenzo says, a curiosity he picks out from Co-owner Xavier Rousset’s almost endless international wine list. He leaves us (or her) with a winning smile, and two shots of cold watercress soup and diced apple puree (offered as a pre-starter).
Table-stalking as I always am, I noticed a Sorority-type girl lean across the table and give her man – a gentle man, I should say, and one of great elegance and remarkable seriousness – a considered kiss. The kiss simmers, and the lights dim and I hear the high notes of Tchaikovsky move in from the Champagne bar (a worthy destination in its own right). The girl draws back mysteriously, provocatively even, and her mouth opens again as she pushes something towards the gentleman, his eyes ablaze now with that half-bottle of Riesling Auslese 2001. ‘It must be the Varlhona white chocoloate mousse with ice cream, dill and cucumber’ I think, and smile at my starter of well-tamed pinkish beetroots, oats, Mizuna and powdered goat’s cheese.