With the exception of Rio de Janeiro, where we were shocked and appalled to find a restaurant serving a prawn cocktail starter for the equivalent of £20, one of our favourite things to do whilst Gap Yah-ing was eat. To be rather honest with you, it is and always has been, and I imagine always will be, one of our favourite things to do.
The simple pleasure of being served a meal in a restaurant, sampling cuisine from around the world, often for less than a few pounds, is unbeatable. Eating out became an every-day occurrence, but never lost its unique ability to turn a meal-time into an occasion, regardless of the quality of the establishment.
Since moving to London, despite its prominence as one of the world's finest cities for dining, to my disgust we have only managed to eat out a couple of times. Of course this can be mainly attributed to the fact that meals in restaurants in the big smoke cost slightly more than a road-side shack in Peru, however this is no time for excuses and I propose that this must change. Not only am I beginning to tire ever so slightly of playing Dobby to my ever-so appreciative Wizard, but a good friend KW made the excellent point that meals out are not only good for the tastebuds but aren't bad in helping a relationship that is experiencing Gap-Yah-dining-out withdrawal symptoms (common symptoms include staring in an empty fridge despondently and arguing needlessly over the second mince-based dish of the week).
So in an effort to beat the blues, KW prescribed a lovely little restaurant that often serves as the antidote to her relationship woes, Le Mercury on Upper Street, Islington. I should point out that our last meal out was a dining-in-the-dark debacle on our 5 year anniversary, where every mouthful tasted like raw meat and although an interesting and unusual experience, my only real positive comment in the end was that I did quite like not being able to see F eating, so Le Mercury had little competition to beat.With relations between gf and bf teeming towards the frosty side, luckily for us the atmosphere inside the charming little 'Franco-Islington' bistro was welcoming enough to thaw even the iciest of moods. Weaving our way through the tightly-packed tables, we were shown to our seats on the second floor, a candlelit table for two tucked away in a corner by the window. Although it wasn't said, but it was the perfect table for our needs (mainly arguing about housework and social lives). I splashed out and ordered a Bellini, but at £2.75 I do believe that 'splashing out' is somewhat of a misrepresentation, especially in London.
My only complaint at this point would be that service was a teeny bit on the slow side, but this was easily forgiven as it was clear to see that there was not an empty seat in sight on any of the three floors, and the waiters were not just stood round idly chatting but dashing from table-to-table depositing plates of delicious smelling food with somewhat harried smiles on their faces. Our wait was mollified by the bread basket, but for this particularly particular diner this just served to add to the tension at the table when F did his usual unforgivable thing of slathering on the butter and chomping down on the bread as though he hadn't a) eaten in days, b) eaten in a restaurant before and c) ever eaten with me before. Thankfully before I could get too worked up our starters were served, and my attention was diverted by the arrival of Ravioli de la Mer and Carpaccio de Beouf. As we often do we did half-and-half, a clever technique perfected over time to provide us with winning flavour combinations; the crayfish and lobster ravioli in its spinach and shellfish sauce contrasting perfectly with the thinly-sliced rare beef, capers and red pepper relish. Divine and delicious at a gob-smackingly cheap £3.95 each.
After being ever so courteous and polite with our shared starters, as the conversation turned away from our respective days to the elephant in the room [hey! that's a bit unfair, I only had one slice of bread...] it was fortunate that we had both ordered the same main course and didn't have to share or politely offer each other a taste of our meal. Like bf, like gf, we had both gone for Magret de Canard, a luxury that our London budget wouldn't ordinarily stretch to. The beautifully roasted breast of duck was just on the right side of rare, and complimented perfectly by garlicky mash and savoy cabbage. The dish was kept from being too dry with a red-wine jus, although I did find this to be a little salty and might have preferred a fruitier sauce possibly, but that is simply nit-picking at what was otherwise a scrumptious dish. We both finished every morsel, washed down with a lovely Rioja. And did I mention the price? EIGHT POUNDS AND FORTY FIVE PENCE. An outstanding meal just got even more marvellous.
I have a feeling that F and I will be forever indebted to KW for sharing her happy place with us. A charming and welcoming atmosphere, beautiful food and extremely competitive prices, and not to mention the perfect distance from the tube to ensure any cobwebs from a heated dinner discussion are swiftly blown away and forgotten. Le Mercury has gained two loyal new diners. Merci.
