On Friday night, I was ‘taken’ out for dinner. The ‘taken’ is in inverted commas because, invariably in these situations, what happens is that I choose a restaurant, I choose the menu, I choose the wine, and someone else pays. Ideal, right? (Well, yes, although I know I’ll have met my match in a man when he can choose the restaurant and there’s still a future…)
Anyway, I was with a friend for dinner (a belated birthday present) at Lab 111 and I wasn’t complaining. The walls are all Mondrian geometry and primary colours – an almost childlike decoration of what apparently used to be a morgue and anatomy lab – while the DJs are shaven headed and the waiters too cool for school.
We ordered oysters to start, which were fresh – and that’s really all that’s worth saying about oysters. We drank South African Sauvignon Blanc which, when the waiter came to pour it for me to taste (as he damn well should – there’s nothing worse than ordering wine only for the sommelier to pour it for your male date to taste), my friend admitted: ‘You do seem to be rather taking control here, don’t you?’ Ok, it’s an affliction…