A Luxury "Sleeper"

“I noticed that you didn’t order a starter, so I’ve taken the liberty” 

The handsome gentleman standing at my table was quite dapper. And I was so taken with the decadence of his tone and elocution, like a rich chantilly cream, that he could have instead pulled a Daisy Fellowes, leaving me only Champagne & Caviar for sustenance, and I would have considered myself delightfully charmed all the same. The word “liberty” carried a melody that caused me to consider it’s etymologic pedigree.  Liberty.  His delivery gave it the air of honor and privilege that a Queen’s Guard Horse might expect to enjoy.

His name is Jeremiah.

And you should meet him at the rail station that was, for me, deliciously situated between Waverly & Gare du Nord known as Bob Bob Ricard.

“Miss Smith?” they endearingly inquired when I arrived. My heart’s pitter patter allowed me to answer with a rosy-cheeked, grin. And I knew at once that the two-day stop in London inspired by this one reservation, had been validated in its entirety - if not so far as to say underestimated even.

I don’t know what it is about an unpressed button that, from such an early age in most (if not all) of us, inspires such exhilaration. But I do know that this occasion bore no less enthusiasm than it would have had I been under five and in an elevator, pleading (if truth be told demanding) to be the one allowed the honor. My point is . . .

I had "pressED for champagne" before they even managed to
stow my wrap in the coat closet attached to my compartment.

I believe that some of you might refer to my "compartment" as a booth.  But I was not in a restaurant.  I had boarded a version of the Oriental Express that exists only in my dreams, bound for a destination that couldn't possibly live up to the experience I was in store for in between.  Jeremiah & Nurdia made sure of that, respectively only leaving me alone long enough to enjoy the most exquisite meal of my 36 years and to begin missing them just moments before they rounded the corner in return.

Taking a cue from their impeccable timing, I should zip it and let the epicurean photographic erotica ensue!

Bollinger Grande Année, 2002

Truffled Potato & Porcini Vareniki

The one and only thing my Dirty Oyster Martini
was missing was a smuggled pearl!

The STAR of the show!  Humble Pie.  It's crust was as indescribable
as the unbelievably light and comforting filling that it cradles.

Can you even begin to get over it?  Those darling minxes
brought me HOT SAUCE of their own accord! 

Carrots & Parsnips roasted in Beet drippings with Maple & Thyme

Black Cherry Amaretto Sour, from Jeremiah of course!  Princess, who?

Warm Chocolate Fondant with Pistachio Ice Cream

I was treated to an after dinner tour, becoming enchanted with every inch of BBR.  Far from a household name and inexplicably picked upon by the press at times, I find it to be a luxury "sleeper" en route, in my experience, from Edinburgh to Paris that deserves an independent itinerary in the near future.   A "swallow" if you will, filled with delicious secrets.  From the Backgammon floors and the book-binding covered ceilings in Bobby's Bar to the irreverently playful Private Room above where I immediately imagined a Birthday celebration, featuring His Ryness in a funny hat!

It's a place whose special rubs off on you and tags along on the way home.  I know I give it . . .

On The Fifth Day of Christmas

Well I give it Five Gold Rings of course!

To Humble Pie.

To a dish, and it's address. 

Both bringing to mind a favorite quotation:

“Denys (Finch-Hatton) has been written about before and he will be written about again.  If someone has not already said it, someone will say that he was a great man who never achieved greatness, and this will not only be trite, but wrong; he was a great man who never achieved arrogance.” 

Beryl Markham, West with the Night