I know I'll never find another you
Dec. 12th, 2005 08:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ventaA little over ten years ago Felix, whom I knew as an online presence, arrived in Oxford to begin a university course. The scholarship he was taking gave him a generous settling-in allowance, and he offered to take me out for dinner. Not knowing the city, he chose blind from the Yellow Pages and, since it shared my name, booked a table at The Restaurant Elizabeth.
I'd never heard of the restaurant, much less knew where it was or anything about it. It became apparent as we arrived that (a) it was an extremely upmarket establishment, and (b) we were seriously underdressed for it. Many things combined to put it instantly at the top of my list of favourite restaurants - the beautiful, quiet, oak-pannelled rooms. The classic French menu. The utterly wonderful food. The delightful, steam-punk equpiment they used to brew coffee. And, more than anything else, the way we were treated with impeccable politeness despite being two scruffy students who clearly hadn't dressed for dinner.
We went back on a subsequent occasion, when we had something to celebrate (though I forget what). The Elizabeth had an air of unchanging permanence, and an antique grandeur, but still managed to surprise. We asked the maitre d' a question about the wine list; instead of answering, he brought us the cellarer who joined our table, answered the question, and talked to us about his travels buying wine on the continent until our food arrived.
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leathellin and I treated ourselves to a meal there a few years ago, and I ate there with my parents twice; the last time was about two years ago. Five meals there, in total, and I remember each one. A trip to The Elizabeth was something special, and my chosen way of marking any celebrations. Even had I had the money, I wouldn't have eaten there frequently; it was to be saved for special occasions.
About six months agosecutatrix told me that the gentleman who ran the restaurant had died, and it had been taken over. "It's still a nice restaurant," she said, "but it's not The Elizabeth" any more. From outside the place looked unchanged - still the same wrought iron letters, the unobtrusive sign. Since then I've been suffering indecision: should I accept that my favourite restaurant was gone for good ? Should I try it out under its new management, and gamble a happy discovery against disappointment ?
Yesterday, following a rather muddy walk up the towpath into town, my mother and I strolled up St Aldates. Glancing casually across the road, I noticed a changed sign. The wrought iron letters are gone, and in their place is a painted wooden board which reads "Shanghai 30s"; it is now a Chinese restaurant. It may be a wonderful Chinese restaurant (and indeed Daily Info thinks it is), but I don't think I'll ever go there.
My favourite restaurant is gone for good.
I'd never heard of the restaurant, much less knew where it was or anything about it. It became apparent as we arrived that (a) it was an extremely upmarket establishment, and (b) we were seriously underdressed for it. Many things combined to put it instantly at the top of my list of favourite restaurants - the beautiful, quiet, oak-pannelled rooms. The classic French menu. The utterly wonderful food. The delightful, steam-punk equpiment they used to brew coffee. And, more than anything else, the way we were treated with impeccable politeness despite being two scruffy students who clearly hadn't dressed for dinner.
We went back on a subsequent occasion, when we had something to celebrate (though I forget what). The Elizabeth had an air of unchanging permanence, and an antique grandeur, but still managed to surprise. We asked the maitre d' a question about the wine list; instead of answering, he brought us the cellarer who joined our table, answered the question, and talked to us about his travels buying wine on the continent until our food arrived.
leathellin and I treated ourselves to a meal there a few years ago, and I ate there with my parents twice; the last time was about two years ago. Five meals there, in total, and I remember each one. A trip to The Elizabeth was something special, and my chosen way of marking any celebrations. Even had I had the money, I wouldn't have eaten there frequently; it was to be saved for special occasions.About six months ago
secutatrix told me that the gentleman who ran the restaurant had died, and it had been taken over. "It's still a nice restaurant," she said, "but it's not The Elizabeth" any more. From outside the place looked unchanged - still the same wrought iron letters, the unobtrusive sign. Since then I've been suffering indecision: should I accept that my favourite restaurant was gone for good ? Should I try it out under its new management, and gamble a happy discovery against disappointment ?Yesterday, following a rather muddy walk up the towpath into town, my mother and I strolled up St Aldates. Glancing casually across the road, I noticed a changed sign. The wrought iron letters are gone, and in their place is a painted wooden board which reads "Shanghai 30s"; it is now a Chinese restaurant. It may be a wonderful Chinese restaurant (and indeed Daily Info thinks it is), but I don't think I'll ever go there.
My favourite restaurant is gone for good.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-12 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-12 08:49 pm (UTC)If either of you haven't been to the Old Parsonage, though, that's worth a visit - less eccentric than the Elizabeth sounds, but (at least when I went there) with something of a similar feel.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-12 09:36 pm (UTC)(I do keep meaning to go there, too, but I just don't care as much about parsonages as I do about elizabeths ;-)