Good restaurants were thin on the ground in the Surrey village where I grew-up. In fact, in those days they were pretty thin on the ground everywhere in England.
So junior Cro's experiences of fine dining were limited to very occasional trips to London.
My father's favourite restaurant was Schmidt's in Charlotte Street, and I don't remember visiting any other restaurant with him.
We always ate the same thing; 'Mixed Grill'. It came on a giant silver platter that was covered with just about every type of tasty meat morsel you can imagine. Small Lamb chops, exotic German sausages, kidneys, meat balls, and lots of other bits and pieces. Wonderful; the memories are etched deep.
The only other pukka restaurant I remember visiting when I was small was Veeraswamy's off Regent's Street. I think it was my mother who took me, and the whole experience of eating top-quality authentic Indian food was just fantastic.
Luckily I was one of those children who would try everything and anything; and liked most things (bread and butter pudding being the one exception). Children who won't eat what they don't know miss out on so much, thank goodness I had parents who made sure that I wasn't amongst them.
Can't believe you kept a receipt all that time - love the tel.no. - they don't make 'em like that any more.
ReplyDeleteI'm ashamed to say that it came from Google Images. I was looking for a photo of the restaurant itself, but couldn't find one! And what about the price!!! It's a shame it wasn't dated.
DeleteI am always reminded of Alan Bennett and his parents when there is talk of 'eating out'...his memories mirror my own.
ReplyDeleteAs children we were never really taken to restaurants, the cost for two adults and 4 children would have been prohibitive and my working class parents would have felt uncomfortable. So we always had good home cooked food and treats like ice cream from the ice cream van.
I do love the way food memories are so firmly lodged, but easily accessed, by our brains. Mind you, I would have swapped the mixed grill for bread and butter pudding any day!
ReplyDeleteYes, I remember Schmidt's well but would not have been taken to Veeraswamy's.
ReplyDeleteLyons Corner House for us!
ReplyDeleteLooks like you have fallen foul of the latest copyright protection software - I hope they didn't include a nasty little bug to teach you a lesson, like Getty images did with me once! (In case you don't know, the software company has substituted the photo with their own advert - at least here in England they have!)
ReplyDeleteYes, I've just returned to find that they've scrubbed it! I'm not surprised; it did have a copyright thing over it.
DeleteFor those latecomers, it was an old bill from Schmidt's restaurant.
Right... I've just posted a new picture. Not quite the same sentiment, but hopefully the image police will leave it alone!!!
ReplyDeleteWe did not eat out very often, but I also remember those special times when my parents took us out to a "fancy restaurant" where music was played and the food was memorable.
ReplyDeleteYour post gave me a nice memory to start my day. I thank you sir.
I thought of you last night Cro, and your love of chicken. I put marinated chicken breasts on the grill, and when they were done to perfection, shredded them and used them as a topping for a spinach salad. Yummy!! I wish you could have tasted it! :)
ReplyDeleteMy mouth is watering. I shall have roast chicken in about 4 hrs time.
DeleteMy mother could and would cook just about anything, and we ate it. And it was good.
ReplyDeleteLove that photo of the boy with the pancakes. A boy on a mission, pass the butter and syrup, then stand back.
Would Schmidt's still be there by any chance. I googled it but what I got looked to be something different.
ReplyDeleteI think it's still there, but doubt if there would be much similarity with when we used to go.
DeleteIt was my grandfather who introduced me to fine dining. They were always long, leisurely lunches during which he encouraged me to try everything, snails, frog's legs, caviar; he seemed to delight at the expression of his eight year old grandson when he told me, 'you are now eating raw fish eggs!' or, 'Tastes like the tenderest chicken, doesn't it? They're frogs legs not baby chicken legs!', 'No, no! They just use shells to stop the succulent meat drying out when they bake them ever so briefly in a hot oven in that lovely garlic butter, try them and see' and then when I had eaten and enjoyed them admitting they were snails after all.
ReplyDeleteDo you know, now that you've got me thinking. I cannot recall ever eating in a restaurant with my Father. For him eating was a necessary evil in order to survive and was conducted like a Formula One pit stop in a greasy spoon. While my Grandfather can lay claim to my love of Haute Cuisine, my Father, having caught me nipping his scotch and smoking, forced me to consume an entire cigar and enough whisky to stun a rhino leaving me with temporary nausea and a lifelong affinity to Romeo y Julietta's and aged malt whisky.