But Le Garrick is a restaurant I remember most from my early twenties, from my first days in London, when friends and I would come in, drink champagne and then the house wine — classy, eh? — and everyone would order beef bourguignon, including the part-time vegetarian. The only restaurants we knew about were places we couldn’t afford, and so instead we came here before tottering off to the Cork & Bottle in Leicester Square, a wine bar we loved but preferred to go into only with heavy colds, on account of the smell. A kind of graduation came after stumbling out of the Coach & Horses and into Cafe Boheme. We went so often one waiter snuck us a card granting half price on everything, and so we ordered two Rob Roys per person per round instead of just the one. Same bill, just twice as pissed. That education wasn’t for nothing, we’d say, before falling over. Silly buggers.
Le Garrick, Covent Garden restaurant review: It started with a kiss of French onion soup…
