Doesn't really do it justice (no jeweled taxidermy visible) but the antique handbags suspended from the ceiling point in the general direction. Realised after about 45mins of being there that soon I was going to be ejected back into the real and oh-so-drab world and rather than being excited and stimulated by my surroundings I had already accepted it as the norm and now viewed 'outside' as reality's crepuscular cousin. Basically thats what my house is going to look like one day and when I get my way everywhere will.
Had a pre-appetizer of artichoke soup with truffle oil, then scallop soup, then herb-crusted monkfish, then cheese and port. Was all tasty and drenched in butter. I guess its one downfall is the price, but since Rowley paid (on the grounds that he is going to Afghanistan for 6 months to shoot people and therefore will not be able to spend any money, so what's one giant restaurant bill?) I can't really complain. How much? Well my soup was called 'Crème de coquille Saint-Jacques d’Ecosse avec des biscuits Lavosh' and cost £16. Lets just leave it at that. Since there were 5 of us and the meal was started with a bottle of champagne and finished with a bottle of port I dread to think how much Rowley shelled out, thank you sir! Oooh and the service was amazing, I've refused to return to a few Indian restaurants because of overly obsequious service but here I honestly wouldn't have noticed if they'd given me a sponge bath it was so featherlight and efficient.
My favourite part of the restaurant is that the three guys who own it (les trois garcons) all live above the restaurant and share one bed as a beatifully ornamented menage a trois. Tres moderne. They have one of the nicest dressing rooms I've ever seen as well, can't find a picture of it alas, so you'll have to imagine the walnut wood paneling and glass fronted shoe cupboards all by yourself.
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