restaurants – BECKY SAYS THINGS

Sometimes, when life gets you down, or even when it’s just plodding along perfectly acceptably, you just have to spend a weekend eating.

That is what I have done.

On Saturday, some buddies and I had a posh lunch at The French Table in Surbiton, a much-revered local restaurant that I’ve often gazed at from afar, dribbling slightly and cursing the mocking emptiness of my pockets. It was like having lunch in Masterchef: everything came with a foam, a froth, a cream, a mousse, a jus – even an emulsion.

So I feasted on mackerel with a vodka and lobster froth:

Hake in a bisque with roasted vegetables:

And the best sticky toffee pudding I have ever tasted, paddling serenely in pretty much half an inch of toffee sauce:

It is a miracle I was able to take a picture before pretty much slamming my face right into it.

You’d think all that incredibly rich food would be enough for one day. But it wasn’t. About two hours later, in Gordon Bennett’s bar and after several drinks, we decided we were hungry again and feasted on a banquet of nuts and Japanese rice crackers. Then, after several more drinks, I found myself at home eating chilli-stuffed tortilla wraps.

WHAT A PIG.

So when I woke up on Sunday, I thought ‘I’ll eat nothing but lettuce and air today, for I over-indulged yesterday and must cleanse myself today’. Did I hell. It was Mother’s Day, for Pete’s sake, I had a roast dinner to eat.

So at Mum’s, after ripping apart the leg of lamb and gnawing on the bone, I had to eat the obligatory roast dinner:

And then I had to eat the brilliant lemon pudding, made by my own fair hands, and the gooey lemony spongy sauciness of it was so amazing that I didn’t take a picture. Look, there was only time for me to have two helpings and then lick out the serving dish, okay? There just wasn’t time for pictures.

That should’ve been enough. A good Sunday roast and a stodgy pudding.

But, you know, sometimes you just have to think ‘Today I shall mostly be eating’, and you have to follow through with that. And I did. Half a box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray and a chocolate brownie later, I waddled home, looking, and feeling, like a pregnant mallard on its way to the hospital to beg a midwife to please, just get whatever’s in my huge feathery stomach OUT.

That should definitely have been enough. A good Sunday roast, a stodgy pudding, and a lot of chocolate.

But, you know, I’d started, so I had to finish. After a few cheeky Sunday drinks at the pub, myself and my boyfriend (who hadn’t had a roast dinner, a stodgy pudding, or lots of chocolate) got a takeaway curry. A big, steaming, totally unnecessary takeaway curry.

And to top it all off, because I hadn’t quite over-indulged enough over the weekend, I found some sweets. And because I found some sweets, I had to eat them.