It was official – the worst had happened. I had just found out my ex-boyfriend was holidaying with a multi-millionaire pop star in Italy (they weren’t dating, just hanging by a pool..
. but still.) I won’t name them.
But let’s just say, Good For Him! So it was time for a glamorous pick me up; tonight would be the star, and I knew just the place: Mayfair’s Il Pamero, that new Italian restaurant adjoined to the Harri hotel, for which I had heard wonderful things. (Think Tuscan chic meets five-star vintage glamour.) ‘I just.
.. I just can’t stop thinking about it,’ I kept saying, my mouth full of tuna steak.
‘She's so ...
hot and...
rich.’ (Speaking of rich, we had just ordered Beef carpaccio with marrow crumble and salsa verde.) ‘I know, but you’re better!’ said my friend, who at this point was regretting telling me she was free this evening.
Neither of us were too convinced. Hoping to cure me of my intense pangs of jealousy I threw my hand up for more champagne – nothing like a chilled bottle of Krug to wash the blues away. My telepathic waiter soon appeared, dressed in tails with a smile as large as a dinner plate, bottle in hand, glass tipped for receiving a refill.
.. I was half expecting him to lean over and hug me.
‘And for pudding?’ he beamed. We had just feasted on a plethora of mains: pepper-seared beef carpaccio; pici cacio e pepe; roast Mediterranean vegetables; seared-tuna steak, roast tomato and stracciatella and crispy Zucchini fries. It was our first visit to the Harri so, naturally, the menu needed a gluttonous exploration.
In particular their array of puddings...
Tucked into our circular booth in the corner, beneath a window overlooking Belgravia (it was wonderfully private – perfect for DMCs about self-worth and plotting our rise to global pop stardom) I slid my finger down the list of sweet offerings. Bingo! Tiramisu. At The Harri, nothing is done in halves, so ordering Tiramisu ensues a circus-like performance.
First out comes the tray, equipped with coffee, cream and a sieve for that all-important chocolate dusting. Our waiter, arms splayed, pouring with exaggerated precision, was a natural performer. And what magic he produced! Creamy, rich and sweet, the dish transported us straight to the Umbrian coastline - and away from thoughts of my ex’s poolside buddy.
.. Why would I have a care in the world? Especially when here Italian hospitality meets Belgravian luxury.
So while Aperol Spritzes on sandy beaches are pleasant, at the Harri cocktails can be sipped reclining on velvet stools around a gold plated bar. Following a tipple, or four, guests are welcomed up to their plethora of luxurious suites. My friend and I were tempted, given we were three glasses of champagne down and we couldn’t stop shouting ‘her songs aren’t even that good’.
.. So, bad thoughts of lovers banished, we bid our private booth .
.
