Post-Ecstatic Pertika

The triumph is that almost 12 hours afterwards I do carry the taste around, as if it has comfortably stored itself somewhere between my tongue's tastebuds per se and my somatocensory cortex. From the Canapes and the Amuse-Bouche and the most joyful maitr d' in the whole world to the cheese cart at the end, inclusive of storage tips and extremely thin crispy toasted bread with asortments, from the openig bottle of champagne - a Deutz- upstairs at the bar to the old fashion, old world foie-gras with french beans and truffle shavings, to the wine and the way the wine was treated - with respect (3 people would test the bottle some times so as to be absolutely sure - and when they were not they would, after a mini conference, excuse themselves, and bring another botle - service ah?!) yet not as something to be arrogant or irritatingly 'precious' and 'snobbish' about- to the massive team of attentive and talkative staff keeping pre-emptive track of 8 peoples idiosyncrasies plus the meals of the rest of the restaurant and the way Michel Roux Jr. made an understated yet investigative and reassuring walkabout [Perikli klase mou ta arhidia!!!], the orgasmic cry has to read as Partridge! Partridge! Partridge! Whole Pot Roasted Partridge cooked with Sauerkraut, sliced chorizo and bacon served with potatoes and carrots and refreshingly cleansing 'game chips' (opws ta akoueis).

En xanamairefkw pote, tipote ospou na mathw na kamnw toulahiston ena piato. Ena efkolo piato, oi kati opws spinach and caviar baked lobster mousse, i red mullet and beef marrow toast in red wine reduction sauce.

Clap your hands. And again. And Again!