London
The great portals are now clear, though there is still scaffolding around much of the frontage. In the 1980s, they used to have a poster that said “A great caff with museum attached”, but that too is gone.
Some people thought it vulgar, though, in fact, the V&A claims to be the first museum in the whole world to provide public catering. It had a restaurant from 1868 and, by the look of the cooking range (preserved), it was a good one, too: jugged hare for 1/6d and poached egg for 1/-. A shilling was quite a lot of money in 1868. It is interesting that the relative values are so skewed, by the eggs, I think. Eggs and chicken were rare and expensive in those days (and still special when I was a child); obviously, hare was common.
We went through the beautiful Medieval galleries, avoiding Giambologna’s “Samson”, to the restaurant. Self-service, pine furniture and a tiled floor, high ceilings and brick columns, modern lights. Quite tasteful.
The tables are larger than those at the British Museum, and each had a little vase with a single Chincherinchee, a flower of the onion family and the appropriate table decoration, in view of my choice of first course.
I began with the soup of the day, which was leek and potato and a lot of pepper. Sue had a cold poached salmon, which was alright, not overdone, “still succulent” and of good flavour. She declared the accompanying salad to be well dressed, not too vinegary. I try to avoid eating grass, so I had a small roll with amply salted butter—I like salted butter. Sue found the roll too crusty, whereas I particularly liked that.
There was a choice of two red and two white house wines. We chose the Bordeaux in each case but could have had Pinot Noir and Chardonnay from Pays d’Oc. What we had was perfectly acceptable.
I ate grilled cod with lentils and olives, and grilled vegetables—mostly highly peppered courgettes and a few aubergines. There was also some tasteless undercooked cauliflower, but there are, I guess, people who like it that way. The fish was fine, flaky and moist, which is not easy to do in a canteen where pre-prepared dishes are used, and they had already scored with the salmon. Well done.
Sue had a chicken breast wrapped in streaky bacon with leeks, and a sort of latter-day bubble-and-squeak. Bubble-and-squeak should be made of mashed potato with bits of cabbage, but this had rather crispy bits of leek in it and a lot of pepper.
I think the potato was powdered, or maybe very old; it had the consistency of boiled glue with green flotsam in it. The chicken was almost totally tasteless, but then it mostly is these days, whatever you do—is that why people like it? I think the chef had a brainstorm that day and, having covered everything with pepper, he was flogging off an overbought consignment of leeks. And flowering onions.
Menus should be printed large enough so that older people can choose their food even if they have forgotten their glasses. Here everything was clearly labelled and priced.
We examined the cheeses under a nice plastic dome and a pretty Madonna by Fungai just outside the restaurant. There had also been an array of tarts, Bavarois, fresh pineapple with passion fruit, and a cheese cake. The portions had been good and at £24.50 for the two of us, it was very good value.
If not quite gastronomy, it is quite acceptable. Alas, the entrance fee of £5 per person to the museum will deter just those people who might pop in for a bite of lunch and a quick glance at a Japanese Inro, as they can do at the British Museum.
Then we were off for coffee and cakes in the rooms decorated and named after William Morris, Gamble and Poynter, tiled and painted, though not as grandly as the Ferme Marboeuf in Paris, which is a bit later.
Here, amid the Victorian tiles, criss-cross vegetation, columns and painted ceilings, were a proper espresso and three kinds of cake, blueberry muffins (for Americans, I suppose) and sandwiches, juices and teas. The “film-director” canvas chairs were comfortable and blended well. For an extra £5.36 we now got coffee and cakes, dense creamy and calorific. “One would not need to take tea at the Ritz having eaten that cake”, said Sue.
The rather up-market plastic cutlery in these rooms seemed nicer, more appropriate, than the cheap stainless steel cutlery in the restaurant. A notice offers an apology for it, explaining they have no washing-up facility, and wanted quiet in the adjacent museum galleries. Yes, definitely excused.
There was another café at the exit to the Grinling Gibbons and Aubrey Beardsley exhibitions—with, if anything, a larger choice than the Gamble room. But by then we needed to look at art again and had eaten more than enough.
Originally appeared in The Art Newspaper as 'Tasteful and tasty'