It was like stepping into a Victorian hunting odyssey. I almost expected a golden maned Aslan to stalk majestically through the lobby. Or the wardrobe door to open to reveal Mr Tumnus the fawn hanging butchered, ageing for 28 days, or whatever fawn meat hangs for.
I have a theory that the more a place is off the beaten track the harder it has to work to get custom, the more it relies on regulars and, therefore, the better the food and wine.
32, Great Queen Street is on, well, you’ve guessed it. Â Just off the main streets of Covent Garden and close to the Freemason’s Grand Lodge, I suppose I could have negotiated a discount had I rolled one trouser leg up and hopped inside holding a kipper to my ear.
Stumble It!