Call me a philistine, but I'd never heard of The Wolseley, a posh Mayfair institution. Chris, who made the reservation, insisted nothing we did would be more traditionally British. I'll admit, the optics were pretty great, particularly the silver tray on which Thom tucked his AmEx card. The waitress seemed taken aback when I asked how often it had to be polished.
The other diners--not all of whom were as white as this shot suggests--provided an endless source of speculation.
But the service was chaotic and the food a bit bland. I had the three course prix-fixe lunch which started with cream of onion soup.
The veal/bacon meatballs were filling but the lemon eclair--the meal's definite high point--remained unphotographed because I devoured it immediately.
The Wolseley is just a stone's throw from the Ritz Hotel. Mayfair is that kind of neighborhood.
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