Three Famous Meals

Saturday 25th February 2017

Yesterday was the Gay Mother’s 93rd birthday. She said, ‘What’s this smell of Friar’s Balsam,’ meaning my ‘Monsieur’ by Frederic Malle, one of the highest perfumes in the world.

There was doubt as to whether she would accept her present but mercifully it was liked: a charming Rudi Patterson, the unknown Jamaican artist of great talent, of a church in Jamaica.

So the birthday lunch yesterday made the 4th ‘meal’ (you must never say, ‘meal’). Really I might have to go down the bulimia path if I’m to continue wearing clothes.

I dined with Joshua Baring at The Smoking Goat. Patrick Lockyer was planned but was no show and hasn’t been heard of since. Big worry. We hope he hasn’t run away or been eliminated by the authorities. His links to those wishing to injunct from Barbados could have proved fatal. It seems that quite a few members of the Baring family have eye-trouble. Very worrying. Another is under-going tests for a condition. Joshua himself, he revealed, very nearly failed at the baby stage owing to an infection. The world might never have known him. Can you imagine – all that whirling grandeur and knowledge of the latest in everything – wiped out in infancy? He was saved by novelty anti-biotics and thereafter became infinitely special. He’s to give up Sandringham St Kil, you know. And might be moving to my neighbourhood! So exciting. His brother, Bover, on the other hand, could be in for millions if business plans come off. After The Smoking Goat (very good: no booking. You have to lobby for admittance. It’s what young people do) we retired to Joshua’s club, which is Quo Vadis. The other Jeremy came out from behind the scenes. He used to be at the Blue Print Cafe but now owns Quo.  He’s the boiled-down essence of Gay put-down and quip. Once the Gay Mother and I dined with him at Angus Willis and Fergus’s. Priscilla was the other guest. The Gay Mother didn’t like any of them, unfortunately and refused to speak.

Then followed that tremendous Saturday, with Boisdale in the evening and Rules at lunch. Rufus Pitman presided at Rules; it was almost his birthday. He announced that he’s going to take an MA in Bengali. ‘Can you speak it?’ Conrad asked. ‘Well, I know how to say “small penis”.’ Rufus said that the new flats in London are being bought by middle-ranking Chinese officials who’ve had their fingers in the till or done well with bribery. They can hide their money in London property owned by a ‘shell’ company so they can’t be traced. The new Waitrose at Vauxhall-cum-Battersea (that bit of waste ground between the two where all the flats are being built, as well as the American Embassy) is quite empty, Rufus said, because they don’t even bother to rent the ill-gotten flattis.

On to bank of Boisdale Belgravia in the evening. Beamish O’Halloran writes for their magazine and gets credit with their hospitality instead of money. What a fascinating place! The theme is Scottish and there is a labyrinth of tartan rooms.  Laura Malcolm said, ‘You’re at a het dinner dance,’ when the band struck up. Couples took to jigging. Some of the young men had the most amazing ladies, incredibly lithe and dancing, whereas they were more steady and restrained, of course, as a man should be, wearing suit trousers, and not really au fait with the wilds of frivolity. An almost conga-line of other young men in evening dress, some with tartan trews, passed through the restaurant. Who could they be? A Gay outing seemed an unlikely explanation. Then they came round again, having made a circuit through the labyrinth apparently. Esme Manning, the Heidi hi star, and I were mystified. I wondered if they were employed to make Boisdale look more populated, but that was hardly necessary. Boisdale was well populated with members of the professional classes of all ages who’ve still got their drives and juices, enjoying traditional fare with chef uplift and interludes of jigging on the dance floor.

Boisdale Dishes a Little Resembling a Dog Bowl: Excellent Food

Boisdale Dishes a Little Resembling a Dog Bowl: Excellent Food

A New Take on 'Switch on te Logs in the Grate'. Moira McMatron and Beamish O'Halloran's Fireplace in their Private Home

A New Take on ‘Switch on the Logs in the Grate’. Moira McMatron and Beamish O’Halloran’s Fireplace in their Private Home

This Thorn has been in my Thumb for the Last Three Months: At Last Extracted

This Thorn has been in my Thumb for the Last Three Months: At Last Extracted

Posted Saturday, February 25, 2017 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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