ALEXANDRA SHULMAN’S NOTEBOOK: These biting restaurant bills are hard to swallow
Going out for a meal is one of life’s great pleasures – but not at current prices.
Finding any restaurant in London, for example, that might remotely be considered inexpensive is nearly impossible.
I’m not talking Nando’s, but the kind of cosy neighbourhood hang-out to go for a gossip with a girlfriend.
And the girlfriend element is important, because generally it’s the chat that’s the prime motivation in such rendezvous. They’re not occasions to try out the next big gastronomic experience. Nor are they times for people-watching – where the celebrity count is added on to the bill.
Last week, I had lunch with a friend (male) and the bill, in what used to be a pretty reasonably priced place in Soho frequented by publishers, art dealers and journalists, was £147 for two courses and a bottle of wine.
Last week, my ex-husband took me and my partner, David, for lunch at Bouchon Racine in London’s Farringdon (Bouchon Racine file image)
ALEXANDRA SHULMAN: I’m not talking Nando’s, but the kind of cosy neighbourhood hang-out to go for a gossip with a girlfriend (file image)
Recently, too, I had dinner with a female friend. We had just one course each and shared a bottle of wine. The bill was £118.
When I mentioned this to someone, they said I was lucky. More often than not, a restaurant bill begins with the number two.
Of course, the days have gone (somewhere back in the 1980s) when a table for two came in at about £30. But, even so, there’s been a massive jump.
Sadly, this changes the whole joy of eating out. What was once a nice, relaxed, relatively frequent event has become a luxury experience with the question ‘Is it worth it?’ hanging over every aspect.
God forbid that you might have a row at the table.
You’d think this would mean that restaurants would be empty, but far from it. Despite these gut-wrenching prices, it’s also a major feat to secure a table in popular establishments.
Last week, my ex-husband took me and my partner, David, for lunch at Bouchon Racine in London’s Farringdon.
Reputedly, it’s the hardest place to bag a table, with people making bookings four months in advance. And now I know why.
It’s a delight. Unpretentious, comfortable and friendly – with delicious French food.
We stuffed our faces (in the unlikely event you secure a booking, you mustn’t miss the chocolate mousse) and with three glasses of wine, the bill was £197.
That’s scarcely a bargain, but compared to many restaurants with indifferent food and insane wine lists, it was reasonable. Worth every penny.
A pity little Royals will miss the big day
The grandchildren of the monarch are rare sightings at Coronations – the last being in 1902 at the ceremony for King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra.
Which makes it particularly sad that Charles won’t have two of his grandchildren at Westminster Abbey next month.
Which makes it particularly sad that Charles won’t have two of his grandchildren at Westminster Abbey next month (pictured as a family in 2021)
It’s probably easier for all concerned that Meghan is staying at home with Archie and Lilibet.
But all the same, it’s a shame that when the Sussexes’ children are older and asked what they were doing on their grandfather’s big day, they are going to have to say: ‘Well, it’s kinda complicated. We weren’t there. We were knocking about on a bouncy castle in Oprah’s backyard.’
Count me out of the trans Census debate
I regard myself as generally keen to be well informed, but if I never hear the words ‘trans’ or ‘gender politics’ again, I would be delighted.
The debate around this subject seems relentless.
Of course, my feeling is because I do not identify as trans. If I did, no doubt I would think the issue disgracefully under-represented. Or would I?
According to Office for National Statistics figures from the most recent Census, about 262,000 people identify as transgender in England and Wales.
Surprisingly, there are a similar number of people who consider themselves Jews.
Admittedly, Censuses are unreliable in terms of real numbers because answers can depend on the way questions on the form are phrased.
For example, I didn’t tick the Jewish box. But since my father was Jewish (albeit non-practising), I certainly sort-of identify with the Jews. Jewish-lite.
Though that doesn’t mean I want to read endless stories about the Jewish condition, either.
Stone the crow’s feet …what a cream!
It appears that Boots No 7 has done it again with the release of its new skincare range, with a waiting list of 94,000 and queues of shoppers snaking around the stores just four days after its launch.
The last time this happened was in 2007 when it released its Protect & Perfect range, which was hailed by users as miraculous.
It appears that Boots No 7 has done it again with the release of its new skincare range, with a waiting list of 94,000 (file image)
The new ‘breakthrough’, No 7 Future Renew Damage Reversal (not the snappiest of names), is being marketed as an alternative to Botox that can target fine lines and wrinkles.
This makes it sound extremely appealing. Even non-interventionist women such as myself, who steer clear of cosmetic procedures, are tempted by a daily dose of cream massaged into the old crow’s feet.
Boots must be thrilled by women’s reactions – nobody can possibly know yet whether it truly makes a difference. That won’t emerge until several months of application.
But no matter whether it does or doesn’t. The reality is that when it comes to handing over cash for a new face cream, nothing has changed since Revlon founder Charles Revson described them as ‘hope in a jar’.
Super-rich leave behind a fine mess
Pity the poor Italians who are being fined for crowding out their own country’s tourist areas.
The mayor of the picturesque fishing village of Portofino has imposed a €275 (£243) fine for loitering at pinch points in the resort where the narrow streets are dangerously busy.
Pity the poor Italians who are being fined for crowding out their own country’s tourist areas (pictured, Portofino)
The area’s popularity is attributed to Italians sensibly realising that the nicest place to go on holiday is their own country.
However, there has been no attempt to limit the number of hideous cruise ships decanting tourists from around the world into this magical spot on the Italian Riviera, or the massive number of super-yachts that anchor just off the coast in summer.
If there weren’t so many of those, perhaps the locals could wander as they please.
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