Confessions of a Wino

Another weekend in London and another opportunity to knock off a “trophy” restaurant – this one from the effing Gordon Ramsay stable.  If you swear by food as much as I do, then you start to appreciate that London is really the place in the UK to do fine dining.  There simply isn’t the demand for it in Manchester, for example.  Not one Michelin star in the city!  Sure, there are plenty of good eateries, but the overall experience is just better in London, and surprisingly, not always that much more expensive.

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If Ian Fleming, the creator of James Bond, named this his favourite restaurant, and Adrian Gill, erstwhile restaurant critic of the Sunday Times, also raves about the place (albeit that he is presumably on a retainer for writing about the history of most of the major restos in Caprice Holdings Ltd), then any self respecting wino has to visit.  Sunday lunch is just the perfect time to eat oysters, and my rocks were from Malden.  I am embarrassed, though, to admit I had to ask the waiter to explain that Essex is where these crustacea were reared.  I am such a northern oik!

The service at Scott’s is obviously superb, highly professional and (unusually) English.  However, our waiter was having an off day.  I had to ask three times for my wine to be topped up.  You may be thinking “lazy so and so” but I would have had to walk about 300 yards to get to my bottle of Pouilly Fumé from where they parked it.  Talking of which can you spot our car in the photo below?

No I can’t see it either.

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We Will Rock You was a decent show, albeit mostly performed by under-studies on the wet Saturday afternoon we were in the audience.  Fortunately it was dry inside the theatre and, whilst the programme (£4) did not reveal the storyline, the show turned out to be set in the long distant future and was a McLeanesque retrospective on the day the music died…or didn’t…yawn!

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In theory Dublin should be one of the best places in the world to eat shellfish, since Dublin Bay prawns and oysters are shipped far and wide.  Intrigued to see if the Irish kept any for themselves, I tracked down Ivan’s in Howth (pronounced as in “hoe” not “how”), an offshoot from legendary fish and chip emporium Beshoff’s that has been clogging Dubliners’ arteries since 1913.

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“Armstrong and Miller in Gay Threesome Shocker” read the headline, admittedly only in my head, as the comedy pair walked past us with an unknown accomplice, perhaps a BBC commissioning editor?

“I didn’t know they were gay” Fred said.  “They aren’t” I replied, “so far as I know anyway”, although judging by their choice of fruity shirts one cannot be 100% certain.

We had a decent table near the magnificent bay window atop the ageing Whiteley’s Shopping Centre.  The stars were enveloped by the bay.  The atmosphere is light and airy and the service prompt, efficient, courteous and professional.  Our mop-topped waiter looked like an early 60’s Beatle, so I assumed he was French (as a nation they do like old music – I mean, walk around any public space in France and Phil Collins persists like a 1980’s itch that is weeping puss).  When he described the cheese I realised his French accent was completely fake “erm….. I is Polish” he admitted.  Nonetheless, serve he did, and he was knowledgeable about wine as well as food.

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Twas the eve of the UEFA cup final when all through the house, nothing was stirring, not even a mouse.  However, Scots and Russians littered the streets of Manchester and made a right old din too.  In fairness, Glasgow Rangers fans travel brilliantly and even though they lost the final (2-0) they remained in great spirit, and enormously friendly.

One of the advantages of writing a weblog is that on average it connects you to much more interesting people than, say, Facebook, or visiting a cup final.  Having previously conversed only in cyberspace, Rob kindly invited me to a wine tasting in Manchester.  I wasn’t about to say no to the opportunity to taste more wine, never mind meet a new face, so….erm….. I said yes.

The evening was jointly hosted by Kro2 bar, Dinastia Vivanco, Castillo de Clavijo, and Bibendum.

 

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You may remember I visited Linen, in the lofty part of the posh casino for my last birthday.  The other restaurant at Manchester 235 is Italian, on the ground floor next to the entrance and has the advantage of not having to be a member of the casino to enter and eat.

Numéro is an odd layout, with a bar in the middle and a simple opaque glass screen separating diners from the gaming tables.  The service is efficient and pleasant and the food is decent.  But if you do intend to go to the casino afterwards, I would recommend booking for Linen.

Linen, you see, is already the other side of painful casino security, and at meal finishing time on a Saturday there is a big queue.  Secondly, the atmosphere is classier, the prices similar, there is live music, the wine list is better and perhaps most importantly, you are more likely to get your wine served at the right temperature in Linen.

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…at promoting themselves, but I still seek them out as often as I can.  Especially those that share my values, humour and, above all, pure enthusiasm for food and wine.  I find the content of most such British blogs to be informative, amusing, and interesting.

My latest find could equally well have been named Confessions of a Foodo, but in fact, the author chose the equally witty title Gastroplod.  I think her stomach is in Provence and her liver in Burgundy but her head is clearly in England.

Well worth a glance.

How do you eat mussels?  As a child on holiday in Nantes, I was taught to eat them by breaking the shells apart, using one half to scoop out the flesh in the other, then to use the remnants to paint a Lautrecian masterpiece.

I don’t buy the noncy idea of using one full shell in a pincer movement like a crustacean Pacman, that is for Londoners.  One area you and I probably agree on is that to dispense with the shells in the small waste bowl requires some imagination, some organisation, and demands some artistic endeavour.

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As Frankie once said, I did it myyyyyyy waaaayyyyyy, but he made the mistake of singing the song in English, at least according to the owners of this Italian resto in Leeds.

It must be hard to compete against Bibi’s but Mio Modo does so with panache, at least as far as food is concerned.  The wine list, however, is a different matter.

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