Thirty – Hawksmoor – Steak – Sadness
It’s the evening after the morning and night before; after a lovely night and morning I am feeling slightly glum…
The night before: It was MW#1’s thirtieth birthday and to mark the event I decided to take him out for dinner in Lahndahn tahn to a place that specialised in a foodstuff that is very important to him- meat. Well, more specifically steak, and plenty of it. I kept where we were going a secret; after a short wander along a disturbingly be-chain restauranted Commercial Road we arrived at the very non-descript Hawksmoor, supposedly the purveyor of the best steak in London.
I had wanted to go there for a while, fancying the thick gorgeous steaks if not the prices; I had cut back on my spending throughout the month so I could take him there and it was a damn good job I had done so… Two appetiser drinks, two starters, one bottle of Californian syrah, two steaks with associated chips, two desserts and two glasses of dessert wine came to a mind bending total of nearly £200. I had thought we might spend around £150 but was fairly mortified when the bill was presented… at least it included the service charge :)
The food: I had scallops with asparagus and samphire to start whilst he had potted beef with gherkins; I had a 600g bone-in sirloin whilst he had an enormous porterhouse that clocked in at 850g. Crazy prices, crazy steaks… and what steaks they were… large, juicy, well-seasoned i.e. with nothing much added; the fat on my steak was melt-in-the-mouth, which is something I had never encountered before.
I enjoyed watching MW#1 excitedly dissecting his lump of cow like it was some sort of project to complete; I let the side down by managing to eat around half of mine before having to give up and donate the remaining portion across the table to the barbarian sat opposite me. I really needed someone to bring out a chaise longue for me to recline upon for a half hour or so (very Roman) but alas none appeared, so I resorted to holding my steak overwrought stomach and giving it a gentle rub.
Once the steak was devoured it was on to dessert (there’s always room for dessert). I had lemon posset whilst he had chocolate mousse; I became rather over excited upon the eating of my posset, marvelling aloud at the deliciously sharp explosions going on on my tongue and generally being excitable at this new experience. Eeee…
Our conversation covered items such as not touching pregnant bellies, abortion rights, Mormonism, being a leader, people = sheep, religion as crutch for the weak, my problems of over analysis and ranting at the world, Michael Jackson, high horsing and the languages of Iran. After dinner as we wandered towards the neon-insanity of Brick Lane I was quiet and happy; he took my non-talking (I talk a lot!) as a sign that he had offended me on one of our conversation topics. I found this amusing in that he always seems to apologise for offence he has caused when he hasn’t actually upset me but never apologises when he has offended me. His offence standards are all out of whack when it comes to me.
Out of whack:
Being completely impersonal to me at the beginning of the evening and the morning hug goodbye. Falling asleep and waking up in his arms. Walking next to him feeling distant. Wrapping me up in a hug so I can sleep on the train home. Gingerly putting an arm around my waist. Time spent in my company apparently making him feel happy. Seeing me infrequently and on his terms for periods of no more than twenty-four hours. Enjoying seeing me get excited over things, be in my own world. Being “booked up” for a whole two months. Delighting in my overhang and my “smallness”. Barely being kissed.
Sometimes I wish I did not think so much, as maybe then I wouldn’t be so bothered about these contradictions. I feel dissatisfied and in countless ways; I also feel a little like I am being “kept on” for entertainment and comfort purposes. I am clearly not a leader but a complete sheep when it comes to love…
The steaks were glorious, and he appeared happy on his birthday outing. This should be a result.