In town for the Tindersticks we needed pre-gig grub. What would one eat to prep for the ‘Sticks? Something old school I felt since they are a band that I’ve loved since an adolescent. Food that would connect me to the pre-Eurostar days. And definitely not something that would give me a city sickness burning inside me.
The Bouquet de Wagram, a short stagger from the hotel, seemed ideal. The room is friendly, the waiter’s kids eyed us across the backs of their chairs, perhaps wondering why these rosbifs were in town for brexit day.
Confit de Canard arrived with a mountain of crispy spuds and a minimal salad alongside. A pichet of Cotes du Rhône helped it down and all was good in the world. The duck was nice enough and set us up well for two hours of English soul bliss.
‘This is a sad song for Brexit’ was Staples’s sole comment on the events of that night. No Treasure but Hope seemed a fitting anthem for a disillusioned but steadfast Europhile.
Blue Badge guide to London and academic specialising in early twentieth century history. Blogging on history, academia, and food and culture in the capital (and occasionally elsewhere).