As I sit and type a long overdue post (I've been on holiday) on my new Blackberry Bold (it's sick) I find it hard not to salivate about the topic of this tale: tender cuts of beef, lovingly served with expertise in exclusive surroundings. Yes, I am writing about Gauchos.
Any of you who know me may be shocked at this point - not a fan of style for style's sake, I usually consider places that I lovingly refer to as (s)wanky as exactly that, but with the brackets and their content removed. But somehow someway, Gaucho bowled me over. Perhaps it was the company, perhaps it was the superb waitress, or indeed my excellent selection of New Zealand red, but something changed my thinking toward central London dining.
A shrine to beef consumption, Gaucho Piccaddily is high end class and value to money to boot. 50 quid per person delivered beer, wine, perfectly cooked steaks and delightful sides, cheese and port...well of course it would be rude not to old boy. The seductively dark decor made any sense of time disappear and my dining comrades and I were lost in a hedonistic black-hole of rare meat indulgence, but avoided any unfortunate anti-matter (except for a family introducing crying babies at the end).
So the tide of the Pond may have been turned. There is, however, a Gaucho in Hampstead - if that's up to par, I'll be able to consume cattle without leaving the North London raunch. The only down side is the planet. Cows are one of the most ecologically unsound animals to breed. Perhaps I'll offset this environmental injustice, if only I could do the same for my gut.
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