An enjoyable evening with family at my favourite wine bar in Belgravia. Met them at the place I frequented when I was saying hello to Sven – a very old haunt of mine.
I’m not averse to catching up with family.
The place was packed so we were lucky to get a table. A Belgravia wine bar. More v-neck cashmere than you can shake a stick at, but to my mind, an oasis compared with the West End and it’s trashy, gaudy joints. This place is old school which suits me.
Dowager women jostle for space with a younger, Aquascutum bedecked crowd. Not necessarily my type but I find them preferable to the shiny, cheap suited after work drones that you find in the heart of the West End.
At a nearby table, a businessman in his 50s – sharp suited with a bright red handkerchief in his breast pocket – brushes the face of his considerably younger female companion. It’s that kind of place. A couple of well heeled American tourists (i.e. not the sort with blue jeans, big white trainers and sweat tops emblazoned with MICHIGAN STATE) vie for tables. They’re more the Nantucket set – adorned in tweed and the women have big rocks on their fingers. Like Boston Brahmins.
Wine and food lovely. A plate of antipasti and whitebait for starters. Brother and mother each opting for the daily tart (salmon and leek) & salad – which looks good. I go for the premium burger and chips. Rest assured – McDonalds this isn’t; the burger is very good. Pudding rather lovely. I go for mandarin, blackcurrant and raspberry home-made sorbet. My mother goes for the ‘trio of puddings’ which incorporates greengage butter pudding, panacotta and something else. The brother goes for the cheeseboard. They follow with coffee (I opt for another glass of wine).
I pay the bill (my younger brother hast just taken voluntary redundancy and is currently interviewing) and I always like to treat my mother, doubly so as her birthday is imminent.
An evening noted for its conviviality.