IT wasn't only the triumphant comeback of Jeremy King, the returning emperor, literally with Jésus by his side, but it marked the renaissance of the business lunch. The opening of Arlington in March reminded us that if we don't quite have the know-how to build nuclear-power stations or high-speed rail, maintain an effective army or run a respectable police service, we can do one thing brilliantly: lunch. And not any old lunch, but the business lunch. A full-steamahead, bells-and-whistles, multi-course, clearthe-afternoon-diary, booze-fuelled feast.
The Brits do lunch like no other. New Yorkers are a pitiful example, brandishing tepid water and actually being appalled at the idea of alcohol at lunchtime. God forbid the novice Englishman arriving in the Big Apple to entertain clients orders wine for his US counterparts. Mad Men is a long-gone myth, the martini-opening lunch horrifies the delicate New Yorkers who can only stomach the idea if it's on Netflix.
The French can only manage a long lunch at the weekend: if a businessman in Paris has an hour spare, he'll forgo lunch and bonk his mistress. Scandies seal the deal mid sauna.
But in bonny London, after a hiatus brought about by the covid plague, the business lunch is firmly back. A flurry of exciting new openings, grounded in the traditions of great service, uncomplicated food and a superb wine list, matched with a polishing of some age-old establishments, is backbone to the resurgence. Proof comes in the form of booking agony. If the lack of yellow taxi lights is a sign that the economy is up and running, then the seeming impossibility of bagging tables in the capital's hotspots without a steely PA or a concierge service is proof of a booming restaurant lunch trade. Hustle for a table, strap yourself into a suit (IT-geek T-shirts and baggy jeans are so last decade) and tell your other half you won't be needing dinner (you might still be at lunch...).
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