Tonight Clare promised me she was taking me to Tel and Andie's. I assumed this was a tapas bar run by a lovely old couple from Essex with skin like leather and the colour of mahogany. This sounded marvellous and I was already salivating over the prospect of ice cold pints of Carlsberg and bacon double cheeseburgers.
It transpired, however that I had been cruelly misled and Tel and Andie's was in fact Teyandei's Japanese "pub".
It wasn't exactly easy to find. But when we did the staff were very welcoming. We sat (sans-shoe) at a little low table surrounding 3 sides of the kitchen, where two chefs worked tirelessly and in perfect synchronicity to prepare food over an open fire. In fact, they were so effieicient that the poor girl sitting next to us spent her night grasping a bag full of ice cubes having burned her hand rather badly on a skillet of delicious (but a bit too warm) meat.
Young androgynous males and their indecently clad dates sit at what appear to be impossibly high stalls - until we sit down and nearly smash our knees into our chins.
As every guest enters or leaves the restaurant, or places an order or receives an order, or seemingly as much as moves, they are met with a chorus that ripples through the restaurant and sounds something like "ay go go" from the staff.
As the evening goes on the shouts get more animated. This shouldn't come as any surprise as the staff all stop every so often to do shots behind the bar together. The chef, Bob, is looking rather worried as each shot goes down.
Our eel starter turns up, a speciality apparently.
A delicious dip arrives not long after and we remark what a great accompaniment to our eel it is. That is - until one young couple (including androgynous silk scarf-adorned, handbag carrying, male) sits down next to us and neatly demonstrates that the dip is, in fact, a refreshing cold beverage.
We have just committed a cardinal culinary sin, the equivalent to rocking up to Tel and Andie's bar and dipping our cheese burger in our sherry. We think they have detected that we are from not from around here.
We push on regardless and bumble and blunder our way through dish after delicious dish. Spicy soups, dumplings, corn skewers, croquettes, liver mouse, Japanese pickles, omelettes and of course the obligatory noodles.
Our neighbour attempts to eat a burger with boiled egg, using only his chopsticks. His date watches on in curious silence, bowing occasionally as he offers her views on the meaning of life.
Like a desperate kingfisher, the androgynous male's date, (who has thus far abstained whilst he has consumed five courses and lectured her incessantly throughout) eyes a remaining piece of burger and swoops, chopsticks extended before her like a jousting knight. Her beak finds its target and heads for the nest that is her mouth, her glee self evident. The androgynous male is left only with the egg. He is angered. He attacks the egg with a passion not usually exhibited by the reserved Japanese. His disgust as it becomes apparent that the heat of the burger has rendered it soft-boiled but not runny is clear for all to see. The female, having safely returned some food to her nest avoids his gaze, reverting back to her natural camouflage - eyes down, facing straight ahead and bowing occasionally.
A splendid looking desert arrives. By now chef Bob is still graciously accepting shots of sake from guests. But he looks increasingly wild-eyed and desperate as he does so. He spills more than he drinks and sereptitiously leaves half a shot on the bar.
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