Duck & Waffle

Every year we go through the same rigmarole. 

My birthday arrives, same date (6th), same month (May) each year  and around Christmas time the conversations begin as to what the celebration might be. It's fair to say that Nick has a difficult decision on his hands. Of a morning I might say, 'You know, I'm totally chilled; it would be really lovely to just be you and me'. Come the evening my tune has changed, 'It's just I'd really like to do something big, let's go all out.'

This year was always going to be a little more tricky; the added pressure of a waving an old decade away and welcoming a new one in, was difficult to ignore. 

Feeling confident Nick decided to leave the evening location a suprise. I sensed the nerves. Seven o'clock came around, as it so often does, and we caught a train to London Bridge. 

Duck & Waffle was to be our destination. An elevator glided up to the 40th floor, ears popping, tummy's jumping, eyes wide. 

The cocktail bar was a triumph. A truffle infused whiskey sour arrived and then began Nick's victory dance; the boy had done good. 

Smoked cow ricotta, spicy ox cheek doughnut and roasted octopus made up the first half. Adverts were a phenominal glass of Sauvignon blanc and the second half began with gusto. A siganture duck & waffle to share was like an American sitcom on the plate; not super complicated and a touch on the sweet side but you couldn't help going in for another bite. Coffee, green tea, apple, caramel and the bill brought everything to a delicious close. 

We left, tummy's sinking and eyes closing but with a fuzzy warm feeling inside. Nick was whooping all the way home, and the next morning and then next day and the next day... 

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