Picture this: floor-to-ceiling sash windows inhaling the day's light from the neighbouring tree-lined courtyard. A mid-century coat rack guarding a discreet doorway, pleated fabrics orbiting bespoke light fixtures. There’s a smooth, stainless steel coffee counter acting as a textural contrast to fluted doorways and pale panelled walls.
This is an architectural and design marvel.
Can anyone tell me how it’s improved by the addition of 50 boorish England fans?
I enjoy the summer of sport as much as the next person: give me a flat-roof pub and a screen and I’m yours. But restaurants showing the football? Please, make it stop.
It seems as though any time England are on international duty, restaurateurs forget they’re running a restaurant and behave more like the substitute history teacher who wheels out a telly and pops on a few episodes of Blackadder.
For instance, why on earth would Nightingale — one of the most beautiful cafe-cum-restaurants to open in London this year, the place with the sash windows and the coat rack — elect to erect its own mini football fan zone? Who thinks: “The footie’s on, I’d better surround myself with pastels”? It’s like owning a Raphael and hanging it in the men’s changing room at Wembley.
From the outside, it looks like a blatant cash grab from restaurateurs who don’t really want these punters beyond this coming Saturday, but do want their spending money. It just doesn’t make sense: I’d get it at the sort of trashtastic places run by sorts with kids called Cole or Declan (conceived with a scream of, “It’s coming home!”), but here? What gives?
The beautiful game is ruining some beautiful restaurants
Even middling restaurants are blighted by this affliction. Bluebird on King’s Road should be a quiet haven for people who can’t get into the Ivy and think Made in Chelsea is good television, not a place for recruitment consultants who go by Gazza to mansplain Jude Bellingham’s Borussia Dortmund career.
Roka in Aldwych and Soho’s Duck and Rice are at it too. Instead of busying themselves by perfecting delicious sashimi or crispy duck, they’ve got the footie on. The beautiful game is ruining some beautiful restaurants. Spaces which have been carefully curated and put together with thoughtful design are being spoiled by the big match.
After all, this is why we have pubs. Pubs are the perfect place for watching a game. A thick carpet to absorb all that beer and possibly blood, or fan zones like Boxpark or big outdoor screens… or Germany. Go to Germany and watch there instead: just please don’t ruin my 8pm table with your screaming.
Even the most respectable gentlemen become absolute louts when England’s lads hit the pitch — look at the pictures of the future king last week and tell me he doesn’t remind you of a man who voted Reform. There’s a time and a place for such enthusiasm, and it’s not at the dinner table.
Surely I can’t be the only one who is desperate for Southgate’s boys to lose? I want my restaurants back.
