Yet somehow we hadn’t got round to it. But when Janie announced that she was, unusually, seeing patients in town on the Friday afternoon/early evening ahead of the Bank Holiday weekend, that seemed a perfect opportunity to try the place. It was, not least because I was able to get a table on a Friday evening at reasonably short notice.
We chose to try the three course Robata Omakase set and believe me that was plenty of food for both of us. Brace yourselves for food porn photos, mostly courtesy of Janie:
The starter thingieThis sweet waitress explains the sashimi element of the meal to me. She seemed thrilled to learn that we had been to Japan reasonably recently.Once it had been explained, we could and did indulge.A more bulky member of the waiting staff served the grills on great big stone blocks. The grills were served with some sushi on the side – an unusual touch?
Janie and I both thought the food was really excellent and for sure the best meal of this kind we have had outside Japan. The ambience was a little soul-less, but to be fair such places in Japan tended to have a similar, “mall-restaurant” type ambience.
We were both really pleased to have tried the place at last and the meal got the bank holiday weekend off to a very tasty start.
Janie took some more photos; you can see them all by clicking the link below:
Our getting together was long overdue; it’s been a good few years. Mostly because Ashley doesn’t travel to London all that much and my visits to Manchester have been few and irritatingly poorly timed for Ashley’s availability.
…we redoubled our efforts, not least because Ashley was due in London just a few weeks later. So I kept the late afternoon/early evening free awaiting further instructions from Ashley.
He suggested an early dinner at La Fabrica in Finsbury Park. I arranged to meet Ashely at The Terrace Cafe, situated between his hotel and the restaurant, enabling me to do the cross town hike ahead of the rush hour and get some reading done while I waited for Ashley.
Picture from the Hackney Gazette – click the pic for an interesting article about this cafe.
For a while, earlier in the day, I wondered whether our plans might come to nought. Ashley was down in London for a friend’s citizenship ceremony and celebration. Ashley sent me the following pictures and note from The Landmark
– May be slightly squify
I’ve heard of Champagne Socialists, but a Champagne Anarchist?
Anyway, Ashley turned up at The Terrace at the appointed hour seemingly not the worse for wear. He had a soft drink there, though, while I had a juice rather than a second coffee.
Then on to La Fabrica, which was a great choice of place. We tried several tapas, including scallops with chorizo, cod croquettes, Iberico loin with apples, Iberico ribs, prawns in a yummy sauce…
…washed down with a rather yummy garnache/carignon wine.
…to such an extent that he claims not even to remember being there. Bobbie will not be impressed.
Still, Ashley and I did have a very good chat/catch up. Not only that; Ashley and I also had a good go at resolving some of the UK and the world’s problems.
Unfortunately, though, one evening was not enough to actually solve any of those major world problems. Maybe next time. And hopefully next time won’t be years and years away.
Did I mention that I had a recording deal lined up? Yeh, Simon Jacobs, who does producing as well as recording and all that – he signed me up to do a demo in his high tech studio. This could be the start of my stratospheric popular music career and not before time, frankly.
Now Simon is a very musical chap and has been so for longer than I have known him, which is well north of 40 years. Here, for example, is his latest hit, Ghosts, which he released many weeks ago, but it refuses to fade in the Spotify rankings, still getting infeasible thousands of streams a week on that platform – the YouTube is below so you can also see the vid:
So what, in the name of all that is good and pure, was Simon thinking when he suggested that I record the Warren & Durbin classic, I Only Have Eyes For You. Not in the original Dick Powell pitch/key of C (heck knows that is hard enough for me, even with the sheet music to look at), but nine whole stops up the register in the Art Garfunkel range.
Nine whole stops. That’s like, Notting Hill Gate to South Ruislip, if you are daft enough to go west from Notting Hll. Even Ian Pittaway, my music teacher, who has crazy ideas about my ability to reach high notes, only nudges me three or very occasionally five stops up.
Here’s the result of Simon’s wild musical concept:
Anyway, Simon said that he much preferred the Art Garfunkel version of the song:
While I complained that even the original Dick Powell was wicked hard for me to play and/or sing.
But Simon insisted that his recording gadgetry could rectify any minor failings in my singing and that he thought he could, with a little effort, turn me into a latter-day Art.
It seemed like a jolly good excuse for a get together and/but life seemed to intervene for a while, so a ridiculous number of months passed before we actually got round to implementing the plan.
On the day, I arrived at Simon’s West London studio, which also doubles as his house, late afternoon/early evening, ready for a rollicking rock’n’roll evening of music.
First up, obviously, we indulged in some appropriate herbal substances; a big mug of tea each, together with some chat about really trendy topics, such a Brexit.
Then down to business with the recording.
I felt a little strange working on that particular song, that particular week. A couple of days earlier I’d been to the funeral of our neighbour, Barry Edson, who was an aficionado of film musicals. I’d had several interesting conversations with Barry about Warren and Durbin songs and Barry had shown me interesting stuff about those song writers from his library-sized collection of books on the topic.
But back to me recording I Only Have Eyes For You in an Art-like style with the help of computerised sound engineering.
Actually it was a very interesting process for me. Simon clearly does this sort of thing a lot, but mostly with his own, not with anyone else’s, voice.
We had a rehearsal run through. Then we took a recording take which sounded crackly. That led to some rearrangement of the microphone, the music and me. I even offered to remove my socks but those lengths were deemed unnecessary.
Then a couple more takes, at which point Simon thought we might try to repair take four with some fragments, but after we’d done that, I suggested one more try at a better straight-through take.
I’m glad I did that, because the final take was, in my opinion, quite a lot better than the previous ones (I realise that notion might be hard for the listener to believe).
Then Simon really got down to doing the sound engineering thing.
Simon is geeking my song
It was a bit like having your homework marked in front of the school teacher. On many of my notes, there was a huge amount of vibrato which Simon was able to smooth a bit.
Imagine, as an analogy, someone using fancy software to turn my legendary illegible handwriting into something that looks more like a legible script.
Is there any handwriting-smoothing software that might help? – September 1989 sample
The music software would help each note find its probable home on the scale. But sometimes the thing I had sung was closer to some other note than the note that the purist might fussily describe as the “right” note.
Actually I believe I did sing all the right notes…just not necessarily in the right order.
But it didn’t matter because Simon’s fancy software could shift pretty much whatever I sang to the exact place it belonged on the scale.
On just one occasion did Simon have to say, “I’m not even sure what you’re supposed to be singing there – may I please see the music?” – that was on the second intro couplet, which Art Garfunkle doesn’t sing.
And there is the one note that I strangled so very comprehensively that no amount of tinkering seemed able to repair it. Let’s imagine that I was gulping with emotion on that note.
Then some more listenings and some more tinkerings…
…by which time I was getting quite excited and wondered whether we should try more and more takes, on the basis that my voice seemed to be getting better and better each time.
The conversation then drifted towards artistes who had spent months or even years trying to perfect individual tracks for release.
I wondered whether we might lock ourselves away, perfecting this track, for, say, five years, in order to emerge, not only with a sure-fire hit on our hands, but with Brexit over. Simon thought that five years is probably not long enough…to ensure that Brexit is over with.
Anyway, in case you missed it above, or want to hear it again, here’s the end result:
Timothy then joined me and Simon for dinner at The Brackenbury Wine Rooms, which was a suitably convenient and high quality location for some good food & wine plus some top notch natter. It was a good opportunity to get to know Timothy a little better – the only time I’d met him before was at Simon’s Circle Line album launch, about 18 months ago, which was not an occasion for getting to know people well.
On parting, I suggested dates for me to return to record the rest of the album. But Simon just shook his head politely and solemnly. “A one-off recording deal, that was”, he said.
“Not even a B-side for the single?” I asked.
Simon shook his head politely and solemnly again, as both Simon and Timothy said, “goodbye,” not, “au revoir.”
But…
…and here’s a thing…
…when I listened to the track again the next morning, it sounded far better to me than it had the evening before. I said so to Simon, in a thank you message. Simon’s reply, perhaps similarly inspired by a re-listening:
Glad you like your recorded performance! Do let me know when you’re ready to record your whole album!!
So now I have an album deal lined up? Yeh, that well-known music producer Simon Jacobs…this must be the next stage of my stratospheric popular music career and not before time, frankly.
In many ways this evening had been long in the planning. Janie and I spotted Mere as a suitable place to dine with John & Mandy last summer, but in the end we opted for Dinner In Noddyland:
So good was it, that John and I decided that we “owed it to the girls” to all four have a meal there once the opportunity arose. Now was that opportunity.
We met ahead of our booking time to have a drink in the lovely bar. Janie and I got there first and I ordered a bottle of the excellent Sancerre that John and I had tried at Mere the first time around.
We also discussed many other things, not least John and Mandy’s other daughter, Bella, who looks set to go to Manchester to study – does Bella not know about the inclement weather in Manchester?
We all decided we wanted to try the tasting menu; so we did. Three of us (all bar Mandy) also went for the wine pairings.
John And Mandy taking it all in, as the sommelier explains the first of the wine pairingsHere’s all the stuff we tasted, in words.
Janie took the pictures, which explains why she appears in none of them. Take my word for it, Janie was also listening attentively, smiling a lot and enjoying the tastes, smells and the chat.
Leeks & TruffleAttentive listeningCornish CodWas I describing Hitler’s cohones at this juncture? Something like that.ScallopMandy sniffs the interesting Youngblood Grenache served with the scallopRose VealWe really do look like a couple of pseudo-connoisseurs in this pictureWhite Port to go with the cheeseCheese (mine mercifully without the candied walnut)Am I unconvinced by the final wine or just running out of steam?Apple Chocoholics delight
This Ogblog piece makes it look as though we did an awful lot of eating and drinking, which we did. But the portion sizes were such that we did not feel stuffed or sloshed at the end of the meal, just very happy.
We all four know how lucky we are to be able to eat in a place as good as Mere and to be able to enjoy the company of such good friends. It was a truly memorable and wonderful evening.
Or, to summarise in one word using John’s favourite adjective back in the mid 1980s:
When I say, “funny people” in this context, I mean comedy people, not necessarily strange people. Some of them might also be strange of course, but I’ll leave that judgement to the reader.
Funny-comedic, not necessarily funny-strange: Rohan Candappa
First up, for lunch on Tuesday 5 March, was Rohan Candappa. He wanted to try a Malaysian & Indonesian restaurant, Melur, on the Edgware Road. As I had requested that we meet somewhere over my side, as I needed to be at Lord’s for a game of tennis afterwards, that seemed a reasonable choice to me.
The weather forecast suggested heavy rain around the time I’d be finishing at Lord’s, so I took my car to Aberdeen Place and parked there ahead of lunch.
The food at Melur was excellent. I was restrained in my choices given the tennis bout ahead, going for an inoffensive Nasi Goreng. Rohan went for a more spicy version and for some roti canai, which I tasted and reckon was a pretty darned good roti. I shall forever more associate that dish with Rohan, so much so that I’ll think of it as…Rohan Kanhai. Coincidentally, I shall similarly forever be reminded of that Guyanese cricketer when I recall Rohan Candappa’s visit to Lord’s with me, last year:
I’m thinking of naming my novel genre “Mock Tudor Rock”
Rohan, who plans to manage my band, made several branding suggestions – I responded to those thoughts subsequently as follows:
The Wessex Petards might work better as a band name the The Wessex Pistols and I still feel that Sir Michael Smear is a more visceral nom de punk than Sir John Rancid. But I cannot better your album name – Never Mind The Bailiwicks – it ought to go gold or platinum on the name alone, before we release so much as a tiny sound sample…in fact it had better go gold or platinum before we release so much as a tiny sound sample.
I very much hope my thoughts were helpful and that Rohan can find a way to make the Threadmash idea work for all concerned.
I had allowed loads of time between lunch and tennis, so brought plenty of reading matter with me which I enjoyed reading over a couple of excellent cups of coffee at Café Laville, overlooking the canal in sunshine.
Then on to Lord’s in order to be taught a lesson by one of my favourite real tennis opponents who has recovered from injury since I last played him and seemed keen to let me see how well he can now move around the court. A surprisingly close match in the circumstances – I thought I did well to get close.
On Thursday 7 March I had a music lesson with Ian Pittaway, who passed expert judgement on my Mock Tudor Rock…
Place the rascal in the stocks at once!
…while helping me with some other silly ideas (watch this space) and sensible techniques (don’t hold your breath).
Then a visit from John Random for a bite of lunch and the second of two sessions of NewsRevue archiving. The first session was 25 January. John has a large collection of NewsRevue programmes, flyers and reviews, which simply needed to be digitised.
We succeeded in scanning it all in two sessions, despite lots of chat, listening to some music and cricket-match like breaks for lunch/tea.
Following some cheerful chat about murder rates around the world, which identified Mexico and especially Tijuana as a hot spot, we both agreed that Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass must have a lot to answer for. So we listened to a fair smattering of Herb. John was especially taken with his version of the Third Man theme…
…and his version of A Walk In The Black Forest:
We decided that this type of music is, in many ways, the soundtrack of our childhood. Of course we like to remember the cool stuff from the 1960’s and no doubt have listened to far more of the cool stuff in later life, but when we were kids this was the music that was being played on the radios and gramophone players most of the time in our homes and the homes we visited.
We also of course chatted about NewsRevue casts, shows and material gone by. We discussed one of my own classics from more than 25 years ago, Mad Frogs And Englishmen, which I realised I hadn’t yet Ogblogged. I have put that right now:
Job done in terms of the archiving, it was time for us to set off for one of our regular Ivan Shakespeare Memorial gatherings – at which NewsRevue writers from years gone by gather to eat, chat, laugh and informally quiz.
It was International Women’s Day today, so we found ourselves an all male gathering this time. In addition to me and John: Gerry Goddin, Mark Keagan, Barry Grossman, Colin Stutt and a rare but much appreciated visit from NewsRevue founder and “father of the house” Mike Hodd.
The venue was the Spaghetti House in Holborn this time; a good notch up in service and food quality from Cafe Rogues in my view. My first time there but not the group’s first time.
For many years John Random has talked about his vicarious support for a football team by the name of Blyth Spartans. His home town, Hartlepool, is John’s real team but he has carried a torch for this other team for decades.
John excitedly reported that he finally got to visit Blyth Spartans and saw an exciting match there just the other week. I believe it was this match. I feel that this momentous event needs recording for posterity, as does an image of John wearing his new Blyth Spartans titfer.
John reported on the event as follows:
I would like to say a big thank you to all those of you who came out to the Spaghetti House on Thursday night. Thanks also to Mike, Colin and Gerry for their entertaining quizzes. Falling as it did, almost on International Women’s Day I regret to report that NewsRevue has still not come clean on its gender pay gap. We haven’t even had any jokes about it, yet – though I have a feeling, we will – and soon.
As I said earlier, it had been a funny week.
Funny ha-ha, not funny peculiar.
Well, maybe funny ha-ha AND funny peculiar. Good times with good friends.
It didn’t occur to me, when I booked Spring Restaurant, that Bobbie and I were meeting on the eve of the start of meteorological spring…
…but with the benefit of hindsight and subsequent thought processes, what a timely and apt choice that was:
Here Comes The Spring
Talking of timely, I thought I had allowed plenty of time to get from the office to Somerset House, where Spring is located, which indeed I had. I arrived at the South-Eastern entrance of that enormous building complex a good few minutes ahead of our 19:30 booking – only to realise that I needed to be several levels up and across to the North-Western side, where the New Wing and Spring are located.
I was still at the restaurant itself within 5 minutes of the appointed time, but, hell’s bells, Bobbie was already there.
Bobbie, she whose idea of timeliness is based on leaving home at the appointed hour, not getting to the venue at the appointed hour, was some minutes ahead of me, looking smug.
Under interrogation, Bobbie broke down and confessed that her plan had been to see the Charlie Brown exhibition ahead of meeting me, but had been too late for that and so was a little early for the dinner. Hence, both early and Bobbie-style late in the one fell swoop. This at least made more sense to me than the alternative hypothesis – that Bobbie is now better at time keeping than me.
The food, under the supervision of Skye Gyngell, who is apparently a big name chef, was excellent. Unfussy, good ingredients cooked, presented and served very well in a charming setting.
Bobbie went for the beef that evening, whereas I felt fishy and had a very tasty wild hake fillet. We shared some cheese after the main meal, which was an excellent selection.
Bobbie and I once again failed to put the world to rights despite agreeing how dreadful it all is and how much better it could be.
We also reminisced some more about evenings gone by – mostly very good ones – we agreed that many of our theatre visits 30 or so years ago, such as this one…
…were top notch. Although Bobbie is still hyper-ventilating a bit about The Long Way Round, which she rates as possibly her worst experience ever at the theatre:
I wanted to pick Bobbie’s brains about a weekend a few week’s earlier in 1989, when we went to see Don Giovanni and Ashley Fletcher came to stay, which I remembered as being somewhat of a low point for several reasons, more my own issues than those of the opera which I did not enjoy. I need to do some additional unpicking with Ashley on that one, but suffice it to say here that Bobbie and I had a good laugh about our slightly different but clearly linked remembrances of that June 1989 weekend.
But back to Spring on the eve of spring 2019 – the evening flew by and in fact it very nearly was meteorological spring when we realised that it was really quite late and that we should head home.
A few minutes earlier, we had debated the placement of lemons on about a third of the tables and I had concluded that they must denote reservations, but the waiter assured us that they were for decorative purposes only and that the choice of tables was random. He offered us a lemon on our table if we therefore felt bereft…which we agreed we didn’t.
I’m rambling. It was a very enjoyable evening and I hope we don’t leave it another year or so before we regroup.
Still, while not off our trollies, neither were we on the wagon. Indeed, John messaged me while I was still slaving away at the office over some silly numerical issues, already long-since forgotten, to let me know that I’d find him in Ye Olde Mitre rather than his office, when I picked him up on my way to Otto’s.
So there in The Mitre I found him and there I declined a pre-dinner drink; partly to keep my intake within reasonable bounds and partly because I was a bit later than intended and we really did need to set off in the next 10 minutes or so for our booking. The burghers of Ye Olde Mitre and the beadles of Ely Place might, if they notice such matters, have observed that this was the second time in a row that I declined to drink when entering that wonderful hostelry to join the yeomen of BACTA. Mind you, the place was heaving with people, so I doubt if anyone, other than John’s colleagues, noticed my abstinence.
We had a good chat along the way to the restaurant – John’s mum died just a few weeks ago and the funeral had been just a couple of days before our gathering – getting the funereal discussion out of the way before dinner.
Once at Otto’s, John was in an unusually “appy” mood – i.e. using his smart phone apps a lot.
Here’s John learning all there is to know about the rather splendid Burgundian wine we drank together…
…while this picture, of John’s Tournados, was taken by John and zapped off in mid meal – John’s way of making his carnivorous daughter, Bella, envious as hell at the sight of our meal.
Yes, John was clearly keen to show that he had not gone soft on me and was making an excellent Tournados-sized fist of such proof.
I also went for a very meaty option; the special of the day pork chop with mash, spinach and mushrooms. All cooked to perfection.
We both had started with lobster bisque – a classic starter served deliciously well.
I didn’t have room for a desert, but John, still demonstrating his robust dining credentials, went for a “death by chocolate” type thing which he (in collusion with the charming waiting staff) insisted that I try:
It would have been rude for me to decline the offer in the circumstances
When the pair at the next table – very senior gentlemen, so similar looking I took them to be twins – got up to leave, John got all “appy” again with their bottle of Margaux. I tried to capture that moment but was too late and John signally refused to repeat his research with a photo-opportunity-pose:
John completing his Margaux research at some distance from our neighbours’ bottle
It is always such a pleasure to have dinner with John – catching up on each other’s news over a good meal.
Otto’s was an excellent venue for such an evening. While I wouldn’t want to eat French classic style food all the time, we do it all so rarely now (there’s so much choice in London),so it’s easy to forget why that classic style is so enduring. When it is done well (as it is at Otto’s) it is a very, very enjoyable dining experience.
Yes, you’ve seen it written here in black and white; we dined in a vegetarian restaurant, Vanilla Black, suggested by John White.
I hope you’re not going soft on me, John…
…I said, when John’s suggestion came in. But John insisted that this Michelin-starred vegetarian restaurant was quite exceptional; he had tried the place recently with one of his daughters, Lydia.
Next it will be veganism and after that John will become an even fussier eater than Kim.
John and I discussed those possibilities early in the evening and concluded that my concerns (and especially Janie’s) were ill-founded. We should have had that early discussion in the Seven Stars pub nearby, but I was a little late and John was running even later, so we agreed that I would abandon the (to be honest, over-crowded) pub and we’d meet in the restaurant.
This enabled John, although he had been running later than me, to get to the restaurant first. We texted each other with some bants while I was walking and when I arrived at Vanilla Black, John was texting away, presumably in my direction. I suggested that we might stop doing “the youngster thing” (sitting in restaurants playing with our phones rather than talking), but John wondered whether conversation by text while face-to-face might be fun. (No.)
Carrot Broth, Coffee Shortbread and Carrot Cake – Pickled Walnuts and Spiced Carrot Purée (John )
Edamame Bean Ice Cream, Sesame Cracker and Nasturtium – Crispy Soy Sauce, Pean and Edamame Bean Salsa (Me)
Then we progressed to:
Celeriac Profiteroles, Dill and Raisins – Vanilla Roasted Celeriac and Pickled Red Cabbage (John)
Fried Shiitake, Pine Nut Purée and Crispy Enoki – Marsala and Pine Salt (me)
Then we found room for deserts too:
Gianduja Chocolate Brownie and Roasted Hazelnut Ice Cream – Tiger Nut Milk, Salted Chocolate and Nutella Powder (John)
Banana Ice Cream, Whipped Toffee and Banana Biscuit – Vanilla Cream and Toffee (Me)
All of the food was genuinely delicious and we both agreed that we were having an excellent meal.
We tried a rather interesting wine from the excellent wine list, which went well with our food, although the staff said that most punters are not brave enough to try it: ORANGE WINE ZERO-GMT, MULLER THURGAU. John and I were sufficiently brave and were rewarded for our bravery.
As usual, we discussed many subjects, ranging from personal, work, through the ghastly domestic politics to international affairs. When the topical subjects of the Uyghur people in Xinjiang and the Chinese Social Credit System came up over dessert, John said that it reminded him of the fate of Citizen Smith. I paused for a moment and suggested,
I think you mean Winston Smith from 1984, Citizen Smith was the Freedom For Tooting fellow.
We had a bit of a laugh about that and I promised to milk the joke on Ogblog.
I imagine a couple of scenarios in which we switch the characters around. For example, a comedic version of 1984 in which Big Brother’s thought police spy on Wofie (Citizen) Smith only to discover how hapless he is so they decide to leave him alone:
Image from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Citizen_smith.jpg – based on the same fair use rationale as Wikipedia
Alternatively, a dystopian version of Citizen Smith, in which Winston’s parochial attempts to liberate Tooting from the clutches of Wandsworth Council inexorably lead to Winston Smith’s torture and incarceration in the dreaded Room 101, in which dire situation comedies from the 1970s and 1980s are shown on a loop until the victim breaks down and submits to the authorities.
Image from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Winston_Smith.jpg – based on the same fair use rationale as Wikipedia
John obviously thought my ideas for milking his slip of the tongue were very funny, as he laughingly gestured that he thought I should milk the joke with at least four scenarios:
So, I think it is safe to say that John has not gone soft on me after all.
In fact, the more observant reader (who drills into the menu) might notice that it was me who ate an entirely vegan meal that evening – not by vegan design but simply because the dishes I chose all happened to be vegan.
Even Janie seems to be somewhat of a convert after I showed her the pictures and described the dishes – I can hear her on the telephone as I write telling Kim that she thinks Vanilla Black might be a good place for them to go.
As always, it was great to catch up with John regardless of the food and drink- although we do try (and mostly succeed) in also having great food and drink too. This Vanilla Black and John White evening was great in all of those respects.
…although Mere was in any case fully booked at the weekend many weeks ahead of time. But I had more luck at relatively short notice for a Monday evening with John.
Both of us are really glad that I recalled liking the look of Mere and booked it. The food, service, presentation, everything was top notch. John and I agreed that this was one of the very best meals we’ve had in London.
What did we eat? – I hear you cry.
John started with Pumpkin: Pumpkin Filled Agnolotti, Mixed Mushrooms, Marmite Emulsion
I started with Octopus: A la Plancha’, Caper & Raisin Dressing, Potato, Piperade
John progressed to Cornish Cod: Black Curry, Pickled Celery, Hazelnut Dukka, Lovage Sauce
I progressed to Pigeon: Roast Breast, Braised Leg, Lardo, Girolles, Pedro Ximenez Sauce
The above was all washed down with a well-chosen bottle of Sancerre – one with more oak and fruitiness than I would normally associate with Sancerre and spot on for the diverse dishes – thank you Mr Sommelier.
After a suitably long pause to chat, mull the world’s problems and finish the wine, we moved on to
…in John’s case Cheese: Selection of Four Artisan Cheeses , Fresh Figs & Jam, Seeded Cracker
In my case Hokey Pokey: Manjari Cremeux, Salted Toffee, Honeycomb Ice Cream, L&P Gel
The sommelier also did us proud with drinks to accompany our afters; in John’s case a white port, in my case an intriguing sherry that went surprisingly well with a chocolate desert.
There was an element of skittishness to our mood. I questioned (between ourselves) whether the much lauded Samoan chocolate came from Western Samoa or Eastern Samoa.
John added to his self-confessed spacial challenges by confessing that he keeps a little chart of the cricket fielding positions at hand when he listens to cricket on the radio, as he finds the names of the leg-side fielding positions confusing.
By Py0alb – in powerpoint, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27694084
To be honest, I was pretty impressed that John is now taking that much interest in the cricket. Who knew? I’d better get him to a match again soon enough. But I digress.
We also discussed some serious subjects, such as the dire state of UK politics. We wondered whether occasional fine dining detracted from our left-leaning credentials. We thought it probably didn’t, but agreed a pact along MAD lines not to denounce each other. John then told me that he was to give evidence to a House of Lords select committee the next day, on the regeneration of seaside towns.
I’m an old hand at such appearances of course, having done two on Brexit in the past couple of years:
John’s appearance can be seen through this link or the embedded vid below starting at 16:11:53:
I must admit that my mind wandered skittishly a few times as I watched – the regeneration of seaside towns is not at the forefront of my interests/concerns at the moment – other than naturally taking an interest in a good pal’s work – so the following questions and answers passed through my mind:
Does John show any signs of a tremendous but slightly over-indulgent evening meal the night before? No;
Should John’s evidence session be re-titled “Peers On Piers”? Yes – unquestionably;
When the chap from the British Association of Leisure Parks, Piers and Attractions and the chap from the National Piers Society meet, is that pier-to-pier networking? Yes – what else?;
When the Lords form a select committee on the regeneration of seaside towns, have they done so as a last resort? I’m afraid so, yes;
Are there other good puns about this topic that I can’t think up right now? Let the court of public opinion – i.e. the Ogblog readership, decide.
Anyway, we’ll quite possibly be returning to Mere one day – especially when the girls read about what they have missed. A Mere tremendous evening.
28 September 2018 – Dinner With Deni, Tony, John & Kathleen
Early evening was my last game of real tennis at The Queen’s Club in my capacity as an MCC refugee:
Photo of me at Queens (from a different day) with opponents cut/airbrushed out
A fierce battle, it was, with a gentleman way above my pay grade, but through the wonders of the handicapping system we had a close fought match, which ended as a draw.
I thought 20 minutes would be more than enough time to get a couple of miles down the road to Deni & Tony’s house, but I hadn’t counted on the Friday night traffic combining with an accident nearby.
Yet, I arrived at the same time as Daisy, coming from the opposite direction and we really weren’t that late.
Plenty of time for drinks and nibbles before dinner.
Deni had gone to town in the kitchen, with a gazpacho soup and a salmon dish as the main. Desert was their favourite; profiteroles – it happens to be one of Daisy’s favourites too.
Tucking in good and proper
Lots of lively discussion too, trying to put the world to rights. John’s moderate views were somewhat tempered by his opinion that the only feasible route back to sensible, moderate politics might be barricades and politicians up against the wall and shot.
Everyone was on good form despite it being Friday evening and we were all surprised when the Cinderella hour struck and we said our goodbyes.
2 October 2018 Jamming Session & Dinner With DJ
Coincidentally I played real tennis (now back at Lord’s) before my next evening out; a jamming session with DJ at DJ’s place.
As I had all my tennis gear in tow as well, I decided to forego the electric instrument (which had sort-of been the plan), taking my baroq-ulele instead.
Electric-ulele – not selected for this match in the end
We tried amplifying the baroq-ulele for a while, which sounded rather interesting actually. We also mucked around with the strange assortment of songs I’ve been working on; then mucked around with a few of our favourites.
We still cannot decide which of us is ground control and which of us is Major Tom. It shouldn’t be that complicated, but it certainly is.
As always, we had a good chat and ate some good food too. An interesting bottle of Croatian red wine too – that worked wonders on my vocal chords.
4 October 2018 – Ivan Shakespeare Memorial Dinner
It’s been a while since we had an Ivan Shakespeare dinner – this one had been rescheduled more often than a routine visit by a British Gas engineer. But at least an Ivan Shakespeare dinner is pleasant and worth the effort.
Actually not much effort for me. Jasmine had suggested we try Bill’s in Kensington, which, frankly, is a hugely convenient option for at least two of us; me and Jasmine. In truth, many of us are starting to find Cafe Rogues tedious, in terms of the food (ordinary), the service (poor) and the tedious, Byzantine rules for Christmas gatherings.
A great turnout this time, a dozen of us, including some new-old faces, such as Emma, Nelson, Neil and Sam. Plus many of the usual suspects. I mostly got to chat with Jonny Hurst, Barry Grossman, Mark Keagan and Nelson at my end of the table.
What, no quiz?
For sure the food and service was better at Bill’s. The traditional “food half an hour later than everyone else’s” game for baiting Jonny Hurst is clearly just a Cafe Rouge Holborn thing; not a standard entertainment in all restaurants. Who knew?
John Random made an executive decision that the traditional quiz would not quite work with the ambiance – we were in a very central table position.
We are all keenly awaiting Graham Robertson’s “would I lie to you?” game, but we’re starting to think that he has sold our stories for megabucks to television syndicates in the Stans and has now fled the country with his ill-gotten gains. We don’t care, we’re having a great time at these dinners without Graham and his game anyway.
Seriously, I always enjoy these gatherings and others must also do so because so many of us have been coming back for more, several times a year, since not long after the turn of the century.
