Rich and Poor Collide «

Rich and Poor Collide

Monday 10th October 2011

Last week, Laura Malcolm and I were the Multis’ plus ones (free of charge) at the gala 10-canapés-a-minute plus never-before-drunk exclusive Lanson blend to celebrate 20 years of La Pont de la Tour. La Pont, hard by London’s landmark Tower Bridge, is the Multis’ ‘local’. Under escort of high-ranking Pont staff, who adore the Multis for their outrage, boldness, cufflinks, complaints and frequent attendance, we are taken briefly next door to Cantina, a less-market mass restaurant, but also Conran-owned and also celebrating – but with fake snow, a nude boy and girl, save for fur coats and swimming trunks, and slappy, rough ‘bites’, possibly even frankfurters. The atmosphere was of a Montana cowboy dive. I can’t be sure but there might have been gingham.

We were enchanted but couldn’t stay, of course. Our path back to the carpets, foie gras, jus and rare venison of La Pont was already carved, somehow.

The Multis are so intimate at La Pont but as with all that is deeply loved there is much fault. Captain Blond Multi almost always gives notes whenever I have accompanied him there. Sometimes the bill is adjusted. This time, dining in the restaurant after the gala, he persuaded them to let him have chateaubriand for one not two as the menu dictated, then sent it back as over-cooked, which it was. I suppose the kitchen had a second go with the lopped off other half.

Some say: ‘Surely the Multis’ food is spat in behind the scenes.’ But no, they are wrong. Captain Blond is always the pure essence of diplomacy. He has shaped and improved restaurants and hotels here and throughout the world.

In Romania the week before last we took a 3-hour pony and cart ride through the Transylvanian forests. In Prada and other accessories, we encountered charcoal burners of direst poverty. ‘Look at their kitchen-diner!’ I mocked. See graph below. Mrs Charcoal-Burner was preparing food in a handleless shovel. On a slate over a camp fire was roasting an aubergine. We took many graphs and finally Mr Charcoal-Burner raged out of the old bus or railway carriage that seemed to be their bedroom and demanded money. We gave him £3.50. ‘I’m going to put them in a magazine,’ Angus said. Later he remarked: ‘I wonder what she was going to do with that aubergine. Maybe it was something new. I wish we could have stayed to see.’