After walking around South Kensington and Hyde Park this afternoon, I decided to start looking for dinner. Not far from the South Kensington Underground stop, I found a promising-looking Polish restaurant, Daquise: small, a little dark, the sort of place favored by emigres and travelers. It looked great.
There was only one problem. What to read?
I should say that I come from a family that, when I was a kid, read during dinner. And breakfast, lunch, and all other times. My wife and I keep telling ourselves that we have to stop reading during dinner, that it’s a bad example for the kids. We will one day. Of course.
I was standing there, pondering this issue, which for me is as important as the choice of wine is for others. Then, the answer came, and when it did, it was obvious: Alan Furst. Sophisticated, worldly, alienated– just the right flavor to go with the food. Besides, the menu at the restaurant read like the exactly the kinds of things his characters eat.
I hunted around the neighborhood until I found a bookstore, then hunted in it until I found Furst. My first choice would have been The World at Night (the first Furst I read, and still my favorite), but they had a nice-looking paperback of Dark Voyage, so I went with that instead.
And the food was pretty good, too.
