23a Edwardes Square
W8 6HE
Tel: 020 7937 1811
Date of Last Visit: Sunday, February 5
The Victims: Feathers, Feathers’ Boy (Boy, you need to come up with a new name for yourself.)
So on Saturday night, February 3rd, I was present at a party about a groundhog. This is my second such party in London. I remember seeing Groundhog Day, the movie, back in hmmm–1993?–and not liking it so much. But boy, have my tastes changed. It’s a classic all right.
So there I was, in my ugliest shirt (affectionately known as a "vommie shirt,") sunglasses at midnight, someone else’s hat, and Aunt Helen’s old jewelry (bling, baby, bling) when I accidentally dropped my purse and everything spilled out across the (unfortunately for Destri) wine- (and salt-)soaked floor. Being a generally orderly person (except when it comes to my desk and my bedroom), I picked everything up, didn’t think twice about it, and continued on my merry way.
Fast forward to 1 a.m. when I arrive home. I have not one, but two mobile phones. Yes, they’ve gestated, duplicated, multiplied, and given birth in my bag on the short taxi ride home.
The other mobile belonged to Feathers, and knowing that without her mobile, she is like that guy in A Million LIttle Pieces with no arms, I quickly organized to bring it to her. As long as there was a new restaurant involved.
All of this is my very long way of saying that I had Sunday Lunch at The Scarsdale. (See, aren’t you glad I’ve taken 1.5 months off? I can feel the words coming faster now.) And it was delicious and perfect. We were by the fire in the corner and enjoyed some great burgers (although I swear there was lamb or something else besides beef in mine) and some awesome potato wedges. Feathers’ boy had a very gourmet looking chicken type of sandwich–roasted red peppers and goat’s cheese and all that. We were very cozy. And the crowd was just right–not totally crowded, and not totally empty either. (I tried to go back last night, Feb 18th, and it was packed packed packed! No dice.)
The bad part was when Anna and Stephen arrived with little Miles, all bundled up in his Bjorn. He was asked to leave. The waitress made up something about it being a licensing law thing, but she did not deliver this message with the voice of authority, thus we were all convinced she was lying. Apparently, babies are only allowed outside in the garden–where it’s FREEZING.
Anyhow, that bad part aside, my VERDICT is…delightful. I wish it was over in my neck of the woods.
4 days til Gordon…
