We wander down Portobello Road on Saturday and I see the cranky old woman stallholder who years ago exclaimed "Pound a squeeze!" every time I picked up an avocado to test its ripeness. We look upwards at the facades on Westbourne Grove and admire the pretty little street with its eclectic, expensive shops. We walk through Kensington Gardens and go to the Porchester Spa - the oldest spa in London which is just around the corner from 45e but which we never visited when we lived here.
We take up every invitation to meet for drinks and meals and linger too long, overindulging in wine on Sundays, not wanting anything to be the last but treating everything as if it might be.
Yesterday we went to Petersham Nurseries with friends. I've been talking about going for years after reading about the ex-heroin addict Australian chef Skye Gyngell, who runs the greenhouse restaurant favoured by fashion people and featured in every high-end magazine from Vogue to Cartier.
Like tantalising breadcrumbs, my path to Petersham has been laid over many years, my intrigue growing as: I read about the Boglione family, who bought and restored Petersham House and invited Skye to open the restaurant... I read Skye's first book, My Favourite Ingredients, a wonderful collection of simple and exquisitely photographed dishes... I see Boglione Murano glass for sale at Selfridges... I read about Petersham Properties, luxury holiday properties that reflect the Boglione family aesthetic... my mum gives me Greg Malouf's book Saha and then I read that he is giving a talk at Petersham... and I read countless rave reviews of the restaurant.
Recently, the restaurant was awarded its first Michelin star, which, along with our limited remaining time, spurred me to book a table and make the pilgrimage down to Richmond on a rainy Saturday afternoon.
I was a little worried that after such a lengthy build-up my expectations might be disappointed, but Petersham was exactly as I'd hoped.
We entered a vast, dirt-floored glass house, draped with bamboo blinds and filled with tasteful garden and home wares, some practical, some whimsical, but all beautiful and meticulously displayed.
We followed the waitress through the restaurant area - framed pictures of Hindu gods and Indian batik throws hang from the walls and planters filled with fragrant white narcissi and vases of tulips sit atop vintage sideboards - to a weathered wooden table laid simply with linen napkins and polished cutlery.
There is a basket of blankets to keep diners cosy and several outdoor heaters keep the room temperate. We started with a glass of rose syrup and petal spiked Prosecco and considered the menu.
I opted for the burrata with blood orange, tardivo and toasted hazelnuts as I had never heard of burrata before I read My Favourite Ingredients, and suspect this decadent creamy mozzarella will be impossible to find in New Zealand. In the cookbook it is served with Sicilian-style roasted pumpkin.
The presentation was impeccable - I think the defining characteristic of Skye's food is the integrity of the ingredients, which are treated with immense care and respect. Every item was perfection, from the crunch of the radicchio and sweet piquancy of the blood orange to the richly perfumed lemon zest scattered across the oozing, creamy burrata.
Next up, I had the halibut. As a rule I don't eat halibut in the UK. We don't have it in New Zealand so I first came across it on an extended family holiday in Canada when I was six. My dad decided to top up our travel funds by joining some commercial fishermen friends on a halibut run. He brought back photographs of the huge fish, which looked like a gargantuan version of the flounder we'd spear by moonlight in the mud-bottomed estuaries of Northland.
A few years ago, while visiting family in British Colombia, I ordered halibut in a restaurant and loved it, but back in London found it was never as good so have since avoided it. But it is such a wonderful, delicately flavoured fish that I thought it was worth taking the punt at Petersham. Baked in slightly lemony yogurt and dill, with toasted, herbed breadcrumbs and walnuts and wilted spinach, it did not disappoint.
I finished with buttermilk gelato and poached quince, which was light but creamy with the sweetness of the ice-cream and fruit syrup nicely countered by the tang of the buttermilk and the tartness of the quince. By this point, my camera had been forgotten and so there are no photos of dessert.
The nurseries would be a great spot to visit on a spring or summer day. From London, during the warmer months you can catch a ferry from Westminster, then wonder through the town to Richmond Park where fallow deer graze, have a leisurely lunch at the restaurant, explore the nurseries and grounds, take the path through Petersham Meadows back to the river, have a Pimms or a pint in one of the Thames-side pubs, then catch the train back into the city. Sublime!
Petersham Nurseries
Church Lane
Off Petersham Road
Richmond
Surrey
TW10 7AG
020 8605 3627
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