I know I’m missing out on the Memorial Day grilling festivities that I’m sure many of you are looking forward to in a few weeks time, but May has truly arrived in London and with it has come properly warm and sunny weather and the Bank Holiday season! Two Monday’s every May the Bank of England shuts its doors and as a result two Friday’s each May people flee from their office buildings as early as possible and run to the local pub. The Friday before a Bank Holiday weekend being a free zone where worries of work, and more importantly, of hangovers, fall away and exercising our hard earned right to get pissed becomes a communal experience if not requirement.
So I happily finished up “work” for the weekend by debating the Phoenix’s wine list (The Phoenix being the closest pub to the office’s doors and the sister pub to my former local, meaning the list is, well explored). I quite fancy the white and black peppery spice of their Malbec (Finca La Colonia, Norton, Argentina 2007) yet alternatively the sun was out and the afternoon begging for some of their dry and crisp Rose (Côtes de Provence 2006 , Vignerons de SaintTropez). Decisions. Ho hum. Bollocks!
Was I really going to let Alex spend his Bank Holiday Friday sitting on his lonesome at home? Had I really forgotten that he had just had surgery on both legs and was restlessly stuck on the couch watching golf (to be fair, a fate much worse seen through my eyes than his.)
Alas, I suppose love is going straight home from work on the Friday before the Bank Holiday. Determined to bring the festivities to the couch, I remembered a gorgeous little bottle of sweet wine my mother had brought back for us from the Loire. Perfect. The image of the bottle threw the Phoenix’s wine list in the bin and all attention was quickly focused on what to accompany my sweet wine with (falling in line with my habit of craving a wine first and then picking the foods that go…)
One good thing about living in St. Margaret’s (a suburb of London where I have recently moved to and where you will know doubt hear snide references about in future writing) is that there is a decent butcher and delectable fromagerie right outside the station. Two tins of pate – check; a creamy and rich goat cheese, Roquefort, a local Devon Blue – check; flowers for the patient – check!
Pretty soon, the apricots of the sweet wine danced about with the creaminess of the cheese and pate and the acidity zinged making usready for yet another last bite. So instead of the traditional in town piss up, opting for a special wine and subsequent luxurious nibbles proved to be all that was needed.
Saturday morning I met a friend for lunch, which after a thoroughexploration of the pubs Whites, turned into a stumbling evening walkhome. Friday night might have been relatively subdued but I stillfound a way to share the two day hangover experience with the Britsand even disgracefully had to return to the pub the next for my leftcredit card. Classiness is fleeting even when sweet.
