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| Leftover Supper | Page 1 of 5 |
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 Simon
Running a restaurant is utterly exhausting. For us, every night at the Quill and Tassel is like climbing Everest. There's a summit to be scaled, the summit of culinary excellence. And there are people to look down on from a great height. People who enter with beards and children and are instantly asked to leave. People who talk throughout the meal. They wouldn't talk through a Lloyd Webber musical, would they? But that is a work of art, of course, whereas my life's work, to which I've given everything and beyond, is merely a stage on their journey to the lavatory. So. Come Sunday night, our one night off, all we want to do is relax. Minty, in particular, has sweated enough for a horse and his brothers! So what could be better than a simple supper? Supper is dinner with its shirt undone. It's relaxed, languid, louche. It's Sunday-ish. It's Sundayissimo. If 'dinner' is a middle manager from Leicester sucking up to Japanese clients, 'supper' is an Italian language student, sunning himself on a June Sunday evening in Hyde Park, stretched out on one of those picnic rugs, tossing his floppy mane like a Tuscan Hugh Grant. A simple supper of leftovers, then. But 'simple' shouldn't be confused with 'easy'. Any idiot can hum a simple tune like 'Crocodile Rock'. But it takes a genius to write it. Without naming names, we had supper with that genius ourselves, last July at the Duke Of Albany's villa. A lovely man who smiles easily. But not simply!
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