Toast (23 page)

Authors: Nigel Slater

BOOK: Toast

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The Bistro

âYou mean you've never been to London?' said Andy, incredulous. You'd have thought I had just admitted never having heard of the Beatles. And with that we climbed aboard the college coach to Victoria and the dubious delights of a catering exhibition called Hotelympia.

Like most students forcibly attending such annual events we whizzed round the show's corporate stands quicker than you can say automatic-napkin-dispenser, then headed for somewhere, anywhere, less mind-numbing. We grabbed our two friends Sally and Clare, who had just been âmoved on' from the exhibition's hallowed Salon Culinaire for laughing at a sugar-icing replica of the Eiffel Tower (first prize), and fell into the nearest pub.

I had never been in a gay pub before. In fact, I'm not sure I even knew such a thing existed. Andy swore he only realised when he went to the men's room, though he chose not to elaborate on exactly what gave the game away. Whatever, he emerged shaken rather than stirred. Something I put down to his having been to public school. The four of us spent the afternoon getting quietly but paralytically drunk, then heading back to St Ermin's, our hotel in Victoria.

I had no intention of sleeping with Sally, nor she with me. It just sort of happened. Andy and Clare would occasionally toss a pillow at us and mutter something about having to get up later to go out for dinner. I told them we were just working up an appetite. Either way, I walked around with that I've-just-had-a-shag look on my face for the rest of the weekend. We took in the soft red plush carpets of Fortnum & Mason and the echoing marble of Harrods Food Hall. We tiptoed round Jackson's of Piccadilly and waded through the streets of Chinatown with its rank and exotic odours and rails of glistening mahogany-coloured ducks. We drank cocktails in the 007 bar at the
Hilton, more in the modern splendour of the Inn on the Park, and then still more at a bar in Shepherd's Market that Andy had chosen specifically in the hope of showing us some upmarket hookers. âI think we must be a bit early,' he said, clearly disappointed at the dearth of working girls. Clare and Sally went off to visit some friends of theirs who lived in Wimbledon. Andy and I went out to dinner and we all arranged to meet up again later.

Our meal was in a cosy, scrubbed pine bistro with low ceilings and pretty waiters who flirted with everyone, regardless of age or sex. I had yet to realise this was purely a matter of soliciting tips rather than an out-and-out mating call. A bistro where the flickering candles ensured an atmosphere just that bit too romantic for two guys to be comfortable dining together. Especially for one who played rugger at weekends. It didn't help that the waitresses clearly assumed we were a couple, even though we did rather play up to it. Or at least I did, partly to wind Andy up, partly because it felt strangely comfortable. The meal was absurdly rich â Campari sodas followed triangles of fried Camembert in breadcrumbs with a redcurrant and orange dip, then portions of saltimbocca the size of Jersey. We finished with profiteroles and hot chocolate sauce, pretty much the obligatory dessert that year. Andy had suggested a Chinese but I refused, making up a tale about being allergic to monosodium glutamate. It was one thing to have a shag in front of your more worldly best mate, another thing altogether to admit you had yet to master chopsticks.

Toast 3

I failed my exams, much to everyone's amusement. âYou'd have been all right if they hadn't included your accounts and economics results,' scoffed one of my lecturers who knew numbers had never been my thing.

I turned up in London one Tuesday morning with a backpack and just enough money for a couple of rounds of toast and a frothy coffee at a cafÃ© on the Strand. I asked an old guy emptying rubbish bins in the dark, stinking loading bay of the Savoy if they had any jobs and he just pointed towards the flaking, subterranean corridors that wound their way under the hotel. He was still there, hosing down his vast garbage skip, when I emerged with a crisply starched white jacket over my arm, bearing the proud legend âSavoy Grill'.

âThey don't have anywhere for me to stay,' I shrugged. He shook his head and gave a weary little laugh, like he had seen it all a million times before. âBest thing you can do is walk up to Piccadilly Circus and stand outside Swan & Edgar's,' he said. âThere will be someone who'll ask you if you want a bed for the night soon enough.'

âWhat, just like that?' I asked.

âYes, son,' he smiled. âYou'll be fine, you'll be just fine.'

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank Louise Haines, Araminta Whitley and Allan Jenkins for their support, patience and encouragement, and Justine Picardie, who commissioned the short story, first published in the
Observer,
on which this book is based.

About the Author

N
IGEL
S
LATER
is the author of a collection
of bestselling books including the classics
Real Fast Food, Appetite
and the
critically acclaimed
The Kitchen Diaries.
He has written a much-loved column for
the
Observer
for eighteen years and is the presenter of the award-winning BBC
series
Simple Suppers
. His most recent books are the bestselling
Tender Volume
I-A cook and his vegetable patch
and the companion volume
Tender Volume II-A
cook's guide to the fruit garden.

Praise
THE SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER

âAn ingenious and touching treat'

Times Literary Supplement
Books of the Year

â
Toast
follows a recipe â boyhood blues without
bitterness â that looks simple yet is actually hard to pull off. Slater manages
it'

Guardian

âDelightfulâ¦singular and original'

Evening Standard

âThe genius of his food writing comes from an obvious belief that
food and happiness share the same organ in the brain'

LYNNE TRUSS
,
Sunday Times

âA banquet of unlikely delectationsâ¦England's answer
to Anthony Bourdain's
Kitchen Confidential'

Daily Telegraph

âProves he can write mouth-wateringly about families and life too:
I gobbled it up'

Daily Telegraph
Books of the Year

By the same Author

Real Fast Food

The 30-Minute Cook

Real Cooking

Real Good Food

Nigel Slater's Real Food

Appetite

Thirst

Real Fast Puddings

The Kitchen Diaries

Eating for England

TenderâVolume I

TenderâVolume II

Copyright

Fourth Estate

An imprint of HarperCollins
Publishers

77-85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith

London w6
8JB

First published in Great Britain by Fourth Estate in 2003

This edition published by Fourth Estate 2010

Nigel Slater asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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EPub Edition Â© AUGUST 2010 ISBN: 978-0-007-38687-1

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