When I find a restaurant I really like, I’m happy to eat there time and time again ad infinitum. In Brussels, it was a small neighbourhood place called Via Rome, in Minneapolis it’s French Meadow, in Boston it’s The Franklin, Toro, or Hungry Mother, and in London it’s St. John. What do all these places have in common? They’re comfortable, they serve consistently good food and they have a staff that takes good care of their clientele while reinforcing the overall ethos of the restaurant.
As such, it was a no-brainer that David and I booked our anniversary lunch at St. John yesterday. I had big plans to document our day (and meal) in pictures. I wanted to capture the soft light, rows of tables and hooks that hung heavy with jackets along the wall to share the ambiance of the restaurant with you. I wanted to take photos of the mackerel with pulpy horseradish that made my gums tingle, of the purple-green broccoli vinaigrette, and the softness of the rhubarb trifle, but as I focused my lens on David taking a sip of Pernod, I realised that I didn’t want to spend my anniversary with my eye behind a viewfinder. I didn’t want to live tweet it or instagram each course. No. I just wanted to enjoy it. So I did.
Thank you for the sweet comments, tweets, emails and texts over the weekend, you guys. We had a lovely day and an absolutely lovely meal. I hope you did, too. xx