How many Gordon Ramsays does it take to spoil the broth?

We came, we saw, we donned our glad rags and we feasted our eyes and ears on Gordon Ramsey’s Boxwood Cafe. For two little ladies, the ?21 three course ‘special’ Sunday lunch produced a bill of ?95. It’s amazing what a bottle of wine and a cocktail can do. Luckily, it was worth the smack in my bank balance’s fragile little face.

Don’t get me wrong – price doesn’t always mean quality. Often, the opposite is true. I’ve dined in a number of fancy flops. This time around however, the big man knows what works.

My last near run in with the celebrity chef almost happened during the filming of the TV reality show ‘Hell’s Kitchen’. I didn’t even make it in to dine that time around… a few too many pre dinner drinkies rendered me legless. All dressed up and no functioning limbs to carry me on. We’ll leave THAT for another column…

These days, I’m a little more London savvy. Cocktails begin after five and meals are savoured like I’m fasting on my very own ‘Last Supper’. The Boxwood Caf? was no exception.

Duck soup was good enough to banish any poultry loving thoughts and Bream, tomato and herbed leek mash was melt in the mouth material. Again, any fleeting fish morals were pushed to the back of my mind. Anyway, fish is good for the brain… or so my Grandma used to tell on the eve of every final year exam. I ate a lot of tuna in those days.

Viognier ‘Sainte Fleur’ Domaine de Triennes went down a treat but if my budget had stretched I would have played the role of ‘Miss Patriotic’ and chosen the Shiraz, Starve Dog, Adelaide Hills 1999. It hails from a winery near my home back in Oz… South Australia is a wine lover’s oasis. Go.

I don’t ‘do’ sweets but since I was breaking every rule in my little pink book of diets, I foraged into the world of grapefruit, berry and Satsuma jelly. Mango sorbet was a little ball of pure heaven and the almond wafers were worth every inch they contributed to my ever-expanding hips. Tell the M&S giants you can’t but THAT in a packet.

I expected the waiters to be stuffy little men with a Gordon Ramsey efficiency-rods inserted firmly up their backsides. A joke with every course however, proved that Gordon does indeed train his staff to perfection. Our glasses were never empty, they appeared like magic when needed and remained at bay when they weren’t. Genius I say… there’s nothing worse than a pestering waiter (other than a hassle-happy sales assistant in the ladies’ fitting rooms).

We should have stopped there – the bill should have pulled the ‘I’m broke and it’s only mid-month’ reigns… but somehow, cocktails in The Blue Bar at the Berkeley Hotel seemed like the next logical step. I’ve been there in the evenings when it’s rammed with the rich – sitting around mastering the art of ‘just being rich’ but it seems that Sunday afternoons are the best time get a seat and watch the tops and tails go by. It was within these blue walls that the best cocktail I’ve ever had began a love affair with my taste buds… if you ever meet an Espresso Martini, go there; you’ll never look back. And I didn’t – twice.

?11 a pop is steep but on a girly day, some things just have to be overlooked.
The bright red crocodile shoes on one man’s feet and the tumble one fine lady took down the hotel stairs was worth it. As my ever-persuasive Swedish bombshell of a companion reminded me – “life in London is for living… it’ll happen once, make the most of it while you can and worry about the rest tomorrow”.

She has a point. Dine somewhere you shouldn’t this week, consider it homework for the tastebuds. It doesn’t have to be expensive… just push your culinary boundaries. We don’t live in this city for nothing you know. And who wants ‘she died dining on Maccas’ on their birth stone?

I guess if that bus ever does hit me, I’ll die with a delightfully full tum.
Now, as I look forward to two week’s of carrot sticks and a strict poverty induced diet of water, I can’t help but wonder if the rich life is for me. Bring on payday, and if the lottery fairy happens to flutter on down this way anytime soon – my door is wide open.