Upper crust

Hartford House – now officially the second-best restaurant in the world. The setting was old-school colonial (rare these days); the food nearly had me in tears (of joy – I'm not kidding); the service was prompt and barely detectable (in other words, perfect). The weather was dreadful, but it didn't matter. We sat down to a platter of bread, salted and unsalted butter, onion confit and smoked olives. I started with a salad: fresh garden leaves and herbs, deep-fried sage and lemon dressed with meunière sauce; then oven roasted bone marrow with vegetables, capers, fresh lemon and julienne chives (and some toast on the side). It was the kind of decadence that had us wandering out onto the lawn afterwards in a kind of blissful daze, believing we'd come off the better even after merrily signing over half our salaries. (The meals were actually very reasonable, we just drank a LOT of wine – which may, in part, account for the blissful daze...)