We all experience those days when rain drips down the window and the office is so chilly that you have to sit in a scarf and coat; when you stub your toe for the second time or stand on a upturned plug; when you’re unhappy for no palpable reason except that a woman glared at you on the tube and stole your seat. Grey days when a miserable feeling lingers over your head like a persistent cloud.
I find, generally, those particular days are a write-off. All day I mope about, avoiding conversation with anyone until I can leave work, headphones firmly in place to blot out the dreariness of the outside world.
Yet, although the day is a write-off, there are half-way remedies that help soothe and alleviate the unhappiness that the earlier day caused. My favourite thing to do is visit my Mum’s house to sit in front of the fire stroking lazy cats, watching trash TV, being fed steaming plates of comfort food, and drinking cup after cup of tea (or glass or three of wine).
So let me let you into a little, recently discovered, secret of mine. After a day like the one just described – when everything is rubbish and things don’t seem to go the way they were planned – I suggest you visit the Little Bay restaurant in Farringdon.
Little Bay is a cuddle in restaurant form. From its intimate surroundings – think dimly lit and flickering candles, dark red walls and small tables – to its small but crafted menu of comfort foods galore, there is no better place to escape to when you’ve had a crappy day.
Seated at a table by a friendly but not overbearing waiter, who takes our coats and pulls out our chairs – the earlier heated phonecall from my boss is all but forgotten – I begin to thaw out slowly, wiggling my toes to regain feeling.
Glass of wine ordered and the evil seat-stealing witch on the train pales into insignificance. I start to think about having a conversation with my long-suffering partner, who’s used to sitting quietly and shutting up when I’m in a grey mood. He’s also busy looking at the menu, commenting positively on the idea that he might indulge in two steaks in two days.
Starters ordered and served quickly and painlessly. Mopping up the thick, white wine and shallot sauce that pools in the bottom of my bowl, the only thing I am commiserating about is the fact that I devoured the fat, juicy mussels too quickly. I forget about the irritation of my shoes letting in water (hence the freezing feet) and my toes warm up.
The main courses come and I’m glad I have a boyfriend who doesn’t mind sharing food as I hack off a piece of his perfectly cooked, medium rib-eye steak, juice running down my face (but I don’t care). The memories of the early morning misery have died. What was I even sad about?
Contented, with puffed out stomach and a Cheshire cat style grin, I sit back in my chair. Terrible travel, ratty bosses and rainy pavements fade completely from my mind as I think of more pressing matters, such as what to have for pudding. It’s a choice between the white chocolate cheesecake and the banana cream filled profiteroles. And when decisions are as hard as that, the only option is to pick both.
The Little Bay restaurant is the perfect tonic for ‘one of those days’: the plaster to my bloodied and bleeding morning; the perfect antidote to a dismal day. So next time you feel like giving up and going back to bed with the covers firmly over your head, take a little trip down Farringdon Road – and dine your woes away.
Review written for Fluid London.
Live. Love. London. 