moving antidote

Of course moving house means decreasingly interesting food cupboards: each meal we try and use something else up until we have herbs, half a tin of tea and 27 grains of rice in the bottom of a packet.

I intended to make some pork with mustard, cider and cream (a scraping of dijon being the inspiration here) but the gent and I have been working late a bit so had missed the shops. I ask you: live in central London and you can't get a potato after 8pm!

So we headed to Antidote for a bavette steak and bottle of wine. The satisfaction of a good day at work, combined with relief at not having to create something out of 27 grains of rice and dijon mustard, made me appreciate this trip all the more. As we arrived a downstairs window seat came free and it turned out to be the same seat I had sat in by myself last summer, in the broiling heat, when this was La Trouvaille: charming serendipity.

And then as we enjoyed the glorious red wine (the gent's assessment: "funky"), and the anticipation of steak to come, it began to snow. It was easily one of the most magic evenings, partly because it was by chance, but also because it is so good to properly appreciate when you are living a charmed moment. We have had the opportunity to live in Soho, eat at some terrific places, and now to walk home in the snow - and not worry about tube delays or waiting, freezing at a bus stop. A perfect farewell, and the antidote to moving stresses.

The gent had bordelaise sauce (shallots, red, wine + stock) and I ate my steak with bernaise sauce. The jury is still out on which is better.