my house

Glamour. Decadence. OTT. Karl, we're talking the same language,
although I might want to restyle you and Stella, non?

I don't like to think of myself as someone to whom you could paste the word 'jaded' on. Not yet. Hopefully not ever but who knows what lies ahead. Right now in my life, especially whilst typing AND chomping on an intensely garlicky homemade burger, sandwiched between a warm fresh bagel oozing drippings of melted butter, things couldn't be better.

all gone.

...but that leads me to my point which is restaurants, their interiors and their food.

I don't eat out so much anymore, despite living in a capital city, bursting with food joints from chic to sheeeeeeeet although many of the great places, I have been lucky enough to eat in over the years and the newer ones I hear about through Mr Jennings or friends that live more professional lives which takes them to 'dinner meetings' rather than food fights with a bunch of nutters in the kitchen (my children that is). Once tucked up in their little fluffy cloud snugglekin beds (?!) however my mind quickly turns to all things gastronomical and I have slowly begun to master the art of turning out a couple of plates loaded with very satisfying food flavours and tummy fillers, whilst wrapped securely in the confines of my own four walls. No need for baby-sitters, bracing the unwelcoming winter nights or having to navigate a journey home. Instead it's just a few flights of stairs and 'whoomp' into my heavily duvet + 274 quilts bed, perfect!

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

So, to get me out, that restaurant has got to deliver and I'm not just talkin' food. I want an atmosphere, a divine interior and staff that don't swish around with a whiffy smell under their nose. I don't live in restaurants, I don't live in a party but when I go out I rather like the idea of something different. Something big. Something extreme. And guess what, I've almost found one - in a toilet. The restaurant Nopi is the more grown up version of Ottolenghi (of which there are two in London) and the food is a mix of Meditteranean, Middle-eastern and Asian but look to proper critics for a more foody review. I just remember saying oooh and aaahh to every one of the tapas style dishes and coveting a number of gold ornaments and objects scattered around the joint. Having driven I only drank one cocktail but I suddenly got a teenager buzz about the idea of drinking all night and not giving two hoots about the morning. It was some kind of champagne concoction with saffron syrup, gin, elderflower and lemon. Honestly, after a drink like that you too would have wanted to eat your dinner in the loo. There you found yourself surrounded by gold and mirrors and suddenly I felt it was wholly inappropriate to not be pumping out some great music from the Charleston era.It is decadent, glamorous, romantic and so not what you would have at home (unless you happen to live like Marie Antoinette). In fact, that is my only criticism of the restaurant. Not to bring 'the outside in' but to 'bring the toilet out'. By most peoples standards however it is probably just perfect although if they had really gone for it in the dining room... I'll say no more. The night scored itself 9 out of ten - losing a point for my toilet/dining room issue - sorry, I said I'd say no more - and when I woke the next morning I found a magpie must have been doing a bit of work for me too. The gold O they use as a bill weight at the end of your evening happened to have found it's way onto the end of my keyring. I swear it happened whilst I was dancing in the loo.