Oh Maggie I Wished I’d Never
POYP, and foodie contributor SALLY BEERWORTH, have at least one thing in common. They know where their bread is buttered when it comes to their first true love.
We’ll leave you to decide what that is. “Oh Maggie I wished I’d never, seen your face……” Rod Stewart, (Maggie May)
When someone asks me (somewhat skeptically) what I love about living in London, I normally mention the quality of restaurants. Even I am unconvinced that this justifies the bad weather and the customer service (or lack there of.)
It occurred to me last night that despite the thousands of places I could choose to have dinner; my favorite place to eat is a small hole in the wall that is often over looked by the city’s food snobs.
I first went to Maggie Jones’ in Kensington two years ago with a friend who spoke with a passion for the place, that would normally be reserved for a lover. I will leave you to decide whether this is a good thing or not. When we walked in, I knew instantly why she had fallen for the place.
MAGGIE JONES
Maggie Jones looks like a French farmer has gone out and borrowed some furniture from the surrounding farmhouses. His wife has then gone and put a pot of roses and a candle on every table, as well as scattering her kitchen dishes around the walls. The place has a shabby chic look that some places spend years trying to attain.
The menu of course has also come straight off the farm – steaks, saddle of lamb, and loin of pork. Like most French restaurants it operates under the assumption that vegetarianism is some kind of practical joke that the French are not yet in on. If you are careful you can ensure that even any vegetables you order has a dose of French excess…I recommend the cauliflower with cheese for this purpose.
The staff all appears to be suntanned male French farm hands, which are too toned and fit to have ever actually eaten anything from the menu. I cannot decide what is prettier – the décor or the wait staff. Actually I have just decided.
Bread and salad are served on arrival and they taste so good, that despite being full you can’t help but order 2 courses…to begin with that is.
I find myself compelled to order the pate – a recent addition to my list of preferred dishes, I am unsure how I managed to go without it for 33 years. I wash it down with a bottle of New Zealand wine, which is a little bit out of place but I assume that the farming couple had a spare case out in the shed. It is the only way to explain why they deviate from their French theme.
When my lamb arrives I could almost weep, I don’t because I don’t my make up to run in front of the waiter of above average attractiveness. I pinch my thigh to stop myself from crying. Something I cannot sustain when the chocolate pot arrives for dessert.
Maggie Jones has ruined me for other restaurants. I cannot imagine eating anywhere else if I have a choice. I guess that is a sign of true love.
Sally’s website can be found HERE.
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