Handsomely restored: the beautiful room is one of glistening marble, and fluted columns
(Picture: Matt Writtle)Is there a specific term for the emotions elicited by a grand, wholly pointless bit of dish presentation? An obscure German word, maybe, that perfectly encapsulates the ephemeral thrill and lasting confusion that generally accompanies smoke-filled cloches or flatbreads hanging from wrought-metal serving trees?
Well, whatever we call it, that was the precise sensation I felt at Dorothy and Marshall, a new all-day spot in deepest Bromley, as I looked up from my table to see the waitress approaching with my burger. Through the disintegrating bun, it was speared with a serrated knife so unnecessarily enormous she had to hold it in place with her free hand.Not long after, my eldest’s “kids’ burger” arrived with the same teetering, faintly lethal accessory acting as a kind of “My First Maiming” Happy Meal toy.
