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.
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no subject
Date: 2005-12-12 10:35 pm (UTC)I've been there once ...
I was on the verge of resigning from Telewest. Having put in a 60 hour week, working far too hard and not having had a word of acknowledgement or thanks for months ... a member of staff had just complained about me to the divisional MD - a hard nosed uncompromising Scot. As a reflex he sent an e-mail to practically every senior (and career determining) manager berating how incompetently and apallingly I had acted. The thing was no-one had spoken to me, I had done nothing wrong, the employee was just being vindictive before leaving the company. Rather than escalating the matter to the CEO, I addressed it directly to the MD - making clear to him how I felt about what he had done. I knew the two most likely outcomes were (i) He persisted with his unreasonable behaviour and I resigned, taking the company to tribunal for constructive dismissal or (ii) He apologised ... tricky, as the damage had already been done - there was no way he would apologise in such a way as to back down before all the people he had cc'd to the original e-mail. He opted for option (ii); a mealy apology, motivated by fear of litigation.
My boss then phoned me immediately after (it had been perfectly choreographed) - apologised for the mistake and said I could have a meal out on the Company.
... so that Friday evening I pitched up at Oxford, bumped into Quantambo and Metame at the Shadow Gallery and asked if they'd eaten. We went to the Elizabeth - had champagne cocktails, every course available, coffee (and I too remember the steam punk contraption ... still looking for one!), the most expensive brandy and charged the meal to the Company ... £280 - a cheaper settlement no company could have hoped to negotiate. The meal was fantastic :-)
no subject
Date: 2005-12-13 11:06 am (UTC)