|A glass of Gordon's sherry|
The wine shop is on the ground floor. The bar is in the cellar. We'd gone before late on a hot summer night. This time, it was a rainy winter day and lunch time, and when we came down the steep and narrow stairs, the lunchtime buffet was still being served.
The "dining room" is unique. Just off the main bar-room with its ancient ephemera and cobwebbed wine bottles, it's a low-vaulted stone wine cellar. There are no electric lights inside - the rough wooden tables are candlelit. Once your eyes get used to the dark, it's very atmospheric.
The stone vaults arch close overhead. The space rumbles with the sound of the nearby Underground trains going into Charing Cross. You can imagine the people at the next table as revolutionaries plotting to overthrow the government - or perhaps a businessman having an afternoon liaison in the darkness with a sweet young miss. You can huddle together and hold hands in the darkness - or you can hold forth about art, politics and philosophy like the great embittered intellectual heroes of literature. These stone walls have seen and heard it all.
|A baguette, butter, and Gordon's sherry|
A happy one.