Went to Gymkhana on Friday night, the well posh Indian on Albermarle Street which doles out things like tandoori scallops and wild boar vindaloo. Tanya Gold, the magnificent food critic of the Spectator wasn’t a fan of the place when it opened last autumn, declaring that the concept of an Indian restaurant based on the British Raj was ‘morally repulsive’. Read her review HERE.
Each to their own. Boris Johnson and Keira Knightley were both there on Friday night, so they’d clearly overcome any such scruples.
Anyway, the point is I can never go back. Never ever again in my whole life. It’s not that I was offended by the poppadums. Or the quail kebabs. Or the salmon tikka. And it’s not even because one member of my family went into the loo after Keira and then came out shrieking ‘THE SEAT WAS STILL WARM FROM HER BUM!’
It’s none of these things. It’s actually because, on the way in, I merrily trotted through the door, strode purposefully past several tables, flicked my hair and then…my right leg went from underneath me and I fell on my face in the middle of the place. There were actual ‘oooohs’ from other punters, who momentarily looked up from their guinea fowl curries and winced as if I’d just gone down in a boxing ring.
There’s not much you can do to maintain dignity in such a situation, flailing around on the floor like some kind of epileptic seal in front of London mayors and Hollywood actresses. I just clambered back up again and made a good show of rubbing my knee and doing that fake laughter thing so everyone thinks you’re alright WHEN ACTUALLY YOU FEEL LIKE A PRIZE TURNIP.
So, dubious moral issues aside, my main gripe about Gymkhana is that the floors there are perilously slippery. But then I ‘spose highly polished wooden floors are probably a throwback to the British Raj too.
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