AFTER THE CURTAIN FALLS

Eating out late in London

Good theatre suppers are hard to find. I’m a post- rather than pre- person. I can’t quite enjoy sitting fully fed and quiet so long with nothing to look forward to. If the dinner wasn’t good and the production too, then shadows begin to fall at the altar of hope. And after the theatre in London, there’s nothing better than chewing the cud over supper. A bit of pocket analysis and critique and some wine. If I’m alone, I’ll read the programme, in company we’ll talk varying degrees of enthusiasm or vitriol. Either bollocks or bliss. Last night I saw Simon Russell Beale and Zoe Wanamaker in Much Ado About Nothing at the National. The Olivier is an amazing space – you’re drawn in to the drama wherever you sit.

I’d had a foodless day of audition and recall. Adrenalin high and energy dip. Bad cop, bad cop interview. Followed by 3 hours of sheer admiration at Russell Beale’s dextrous ability for brilliant comedy and pathos as Benedick. So afterwards, I took myself off to Mon Plaisir in Monmouth St, off Seven Dials. It claims to be the oldest French restaurant in London. The style and delivery would tell you so. It’s a favourite, unfussy place with a haphazard provincial bistro look, that belies the city brasserie menu. There’s even a grumpy French chef proprietor who fawns over his regulars and glowers at the rest.

If there is one thing the Belgian and I agree about where money is concerned, is that it’s always worth spending an extra tenner, when the food is good. So in London, I keep myself alive on coffee in the day and have a decent dinner. Mon Plaisir has the kind of menu I love. All the expected attractions for such a place: snails, coquilles St Jacque, steak tartare, Dover sole, partridge. Trad and clever, complex and simple all at the same time. I’ll travel far to start a meal with Pigs Trotter fritters stuffed with Foie Gras and Langoustines. But last night I had onion soup. Rich dark caramel to warm the stomach after a long day. Followed by roast cod, on a rich tomato coulis with basil gnocchi and a parmesan veloute. Light, undemanding textures and subtle flavours blend. Washed down with a demi-litre of house Gaillac – a wine gifted with lots of ruby Syrah.

Breaking with form a few weeks ago, also at the National, I went pre-. We were going to see War Horse, a stunning, haunting, part play part puppetry production about the life of one of the millions of horses sent to France in World War I. Few returned. They brought this one horse to life with sentiment and skill beyond anything I’ve sen before. Powerful stuff that only the RNT could afford to experiment with. It works. Before we decided to give Canteen a go, just behind the Festival Hall. They do a fast pre-menu with well sourced subsistence things like Arbroath smokies, sausage and mash, chicken and chips and home made pies. I had a starter of potted duck then a mushroom, pearl barley and swiss chard stew. Except no pearl barley. Well a few grains. Ordering something described in a menu leads one to hope it will feature heavily. But even on request from the kitchen for another, the barley was not around. This caused me little ennui before the show. And for some reason this was the second time I had tried to order something with pearl barley in two days. To no avail. The Canteen staff are a delight and work hard to keep those out of town show goers moving.

For one of the nicest post-theatre treats try The Wolsely. I went earlier this year, after seeing Equus. A solid production done justice by Daniel Radcliffe and Richard Griffiths, though a little lacklustre. I was too young for the original and never allowed to see the film with Burton and Peter Firth. Seeing it now, with all that nakedness, I am glad. I’m not sure that my sexual confusion would have taken the strain.

The Wolsely is the lavish Picadilly eatery. They just know how to make you feel a million dollars. And every night they keep a few tables open for post theatre walk ins. It’s modern old in the right way. Perfectly manicured, which includes the staff, who are polished and attentive, never making you feel more or less than anyone else. The menu gambols around some flighty flappers like cheese souffle, omelette Arnold Bennett, Souffle Suisse and Welsh Rarebit and revs up to sturdy dames like braised oxtail, wiener schnitzel and game and seafood heavyweights. Chopped liver, moules, and Chocolate Liegeois was my last foray. And I daresay if it’s not on the menu, they’d make it if they could.

If you have eaten already and you still want a refined environment to escape in the West End, you could do worse than a post-theatre cocktail in the Ritz. They will supply a tie.

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