WRIGHT BROTHERS: NEVER REALLY GOT OFF THE GROUND
Supper tonight with some chums. Slacker, erstwhile West Country fop. Anny & Gavin,city dwellers ( he a misanthropic Bill Nighy-a-like, she a "far too good for him" Scots woman ) and Mike, chum of Slacker and scarily loooking like James Taylor.
We met, very early in the evening at Wright Brothers in Borough Market.
Going South of the river to Borough in midweek is scary. Whereas, at the weekend, it has a sheen of North London civility, in the week, it has no such thing. It is like being on the set of The Omega Man. The restaurant, however was a bit of an enclave and not too chocker when I turned up although, I hated the high tables with a grand passion. Still, not my choice and with chums, so be calm dear boy, be calm.
By the time we all arrived, a bottle of Chablis was to the good and we moved on to a cheaper, but much more enjoyable Picpoul, that wine from The Laungedoc that is becoming oh so fashionable. It was a star and we polished off two bottles without a blink.
For nibbles, the rest went for oysters. I can't anymore after a bad one at a Frankfurt book fair dinner party eight years ago, but they seemed to enjoy the half dozen Rock and the half dozen Falmouth. To make me feel better we had a pint of prawns at a massively inflated £12 a pot. Fuck sake!, Some good if slightly too peppepry potted shrimp and some winkles that were so impossible to extract the meat from as to make them pointless.
What I tried was fine, but the portions were small and the service was very inattentive.
By the time we left it was absolutely chocker. Our bill with tip came to £26 a person which I thought was quite a lot for very little, served slowly with some good wine.
Fine, but not somewhere I would rush back too.
Afterwards, it only being 8pm and all, we ambled up to The Market Porter and had a pint of ale. Which just about set me up to go home and see how lucky England had been.
Lovely to see the gang, but next time let's make the right choice, not the Wright choice