Some new openings just sound unappetising on paper. Take the cave à manger Marjorie’s in Soho, a brand new, Parisian-inspired wine bar serving small plates in London W1. “Oh God,” I said on learning that its proprietors are Michael Searle and Josh Anderson. “Never heard of ’em.” Sorry to quibble, especially seeing as this seems to be their first hospitality venture, and I am well aware that eating out for a living is a huge jolly, but eating in wine bars? Well, I am not a fan: too noisy, too boisterous, too give-me-my-bloody-dinner generally – not to mention too many drunken elbows in your toastie de fromage while a sommelier bores on about beaujolais nouveau. Also, Marjorie’s is alarmingly close to Carnaby Street, the natural habitat of the disappointed diner.
So I set off down Foubert’s Place, muttering to myself that at least I’m not heading for the nearby Kingly Court food hub that brims with dining options, each of them more impersonal and oversubscribed than the next. Back in the noughties, Carnaby Street still gave a slight nod to its Swinging Sixties roots, with a few remaining independent shops selling goth gear, pantaloons and bongs. Today, however, it is a shiny row of sleek international flagship stores, with the wondrous, olde worlde Liberty at one end, clinging on for dear life, the poor love, before she is inevitably turned into a Lululemon.
