Delicious UK - (02)February 2020

What makes a

good restaurant?

There’ssomuchmoretodiningoutthansimplyscoffing,payingthe

billandheadingforthedoor.Theplacesinwhichweseekcompany

andsustenancereflectwhatwevalue,aswellaswhereourliveshave

takenusandwherewe’reheading.And,saysDebora Robertson,

if you can see and hear while you’re tucking in, even better

R

estaurantshavebeenthe

canvasonwhichI have

paintedthemostimportant

scenesofmylife– fromfallingin

andoutoflovetojobinterviews,

forgingfriendships,playingover

familydramas,exchanging

scandalsanddecidingwhowilllive

andwhowilldie(oh,sorry,that

wasanepisodeofTheSopranos).

WhenI wasinmyearly20s,

consumingplattersofoystersamid

theclatterofLesDeuxMagotsin

Paris,ordevouringSundaymorning

eggsbenedictontheUpperWest

SideofNewYork,restaurants

openeduptheworldtome.

AsnewlywedsinLondon,my

husbandandI oftenwenttoa little

bistrointheheartofMarylebone

thathe’dgonetosincehewasa

boy.We’dturnup,Brunotheowner

wouldhugusandfindusa corner.

Wemoved.Heretired.It closed.

Youneverknowwhenit’sthelast

timeyou’llgotoa place.Butinthat

yearafterwemarried,theBistrodu

Village,withitscoqauvinand

crèmebrûlée,wasasimportantto

measourlittlekitchenfullofnewly

unwrappedLeCreusetandSpode.

If I wasn’tinthebistro,I was

traipsingtothenewestplaces,

enjoyingeverythingtheNineties

andearlyNoughtiesLondon

restaurant boom had to offer, from

Quaglino’sandtheAtlanticBarto

Hakkasan,ZumaandTheWolseley.

Glittering pleasure domes, all.

DININGOFA MOREMATURENATURE?

Today,inmy50s,I walkround

thecornertoTesti(calmdown,

it meansjug),ourlocalTurkish

restaurant,forkebabsand

grilledonionsalad,ortoWolf,a

neighbourhoodItalian,fora plate

ofcharcuterieandsomepappardelle.

Orwehopinthecarandheadto

Xi’anImpression,a tinyChinese

restaurantintheshadowofArsenal

stadium,a placewherethewaiter

reminds us to keep the receipt so he

canmakesurewehavesomething

differentnexttime,eventhough

wealwaysorderthebiangbiang

noodlesandsmackedcucumbers.

Ina piecelastyearinTheNew

YorkTimes, columnistFrankBruni,

thepaper’sone-timerestaurant

critic,wrote:“Whatyouwantfrom

restaurants,it turnsout,is a proxy

for what you want from love and

fromlife.Noneoftheseis constant.

Allreflectthearcthatyou’ve

travelled,thepeacethatyouhave

orhaven’tmade.WhenI was34,

I wantedbling,becauseit persuaded

methatI wasspecial.WhenI was

44,I wantedblinis,becausethey

mademefeelsophisticated.At54,

I justwantmartinis,becauseI’m

certainofwhat’sinthemandof

whatthatpotioncando:blunt the

dayandpolishthenight.”

Bluntthedayandpolishthenight.

Howperfectis that?It’snotonly

whatI wantina cocktail,butalsothe

primejobrequirementfora husband.

Havingspentmy20stryingthe

latest,themostrecherché,the

coolest,nowI havenointerestin

show-offplaces.I don’twantto

queue.I wantsomeonetotakemy

coat,findmea seatandfixmea

drinkwithinfiveminutesofarrival,

justasI wouldif youcametomy

house.I wanttobeenvelopedin

thewarmembraceofa well-run

restaurant,enjoyitsdazzle,andthe

delicioussenseofpossibility.Forme,

NobleRotinBloomsburyepitomises

allofthat;it is a masterclassin

Perfect Neighbourhood Restaurant.

SOUNDANDFURY?NOTHANKS

I hateloudmusic,itseffectsjarringly

amplifiedbythemodernaesthetic

of hard floors and walls. Professor

Iwantsomeoneto

takemycoat,findme

a seatandfixmea

drinkwithinfive

minutes of arrival