Also: Book of Mormon, Dinner by Heston Blumenthal
It’s been a while since I did a diary-post. I had become too elitist for chronological recounts. But the awesomeness of today is worth being humble.
The day had a pretty slow start. I languished in bed after replying texts regarding results, then dragged myself for a run at Burgess Park. The cool weather, the sparseness of Monday mornings and the calm-lazy atmosphere of British parks made the run quite pleasant. Though it is still a run.
I reached back, lazed around some more, waited for my turn at the bath. Biscuit (breakfast) in mouth, laundry bag and iPad in one hand, selfie-camera in the other, I finally set out. By the time I reached town, it was 2PM. So I gave the restaurants-that-had-full-reservations-one-week-before-I-flew a shot. Petrus turned me down, ratherly rudely, if I may add. Dinner by Heston Blumenthal was much more hospitable.
And that was when the pleasures of the day truly began. Lunch was a three-course, 1-Michelin-star, fifty-pound meal; perhaps overpriced, but not overhyped. The quail was absolutely perfect – tinge of red, flesh clinging delicately to bone, an aftertaste of smoke. Even the mashed potato was the best I have ever eaten, though I had to play bloody 5 pounds more for it.
Still reeling from lunch luxuries, I headed to Hyde Park for a leisurely stroll and continued my Neverwhere Tour. I visited Serpentine, read finish the last 15% of Peter and Max on a bench, then wrapped up the evening with Knightsbridge, Harrods, Odeon Cinema and Brewer Street. #LondonBelow
Harrods is quite the shopping wonderland. As I stepped in, there was a wonderful moment that I felt I understood why Gaiman wrote a Floating Market locale into it. Even in London Above, it is a little magical. After all, not many shopping buildings harbour a Toy Kingdom.
While (somewhat) rushing to Prince of Wales Theatre for my daily dose of theatre, I chanced across Notre Dame de France at Leceister Square.
I stopped short, peered inside, marveled at this little piece of quiet amidst bustling West End, and decided to enter and pray a while. Then I was on my way.
Save the best for last: the day closed with the Book of Mormon. It was absolutely fantabulous. I even tweeted twice about it. The Mormon boys were flamboyant and gay. The Africans were crude and vulgar. The show was hilarious, irreverent and utterly delightful. This. This is Broadway. Even if they all dress in black and white.