Bob Bob Ricard

Not even midway through Q2 of 2018 and here I am already posting. Kind of takes your breath away doesn’t it? I imagine you’ve spent much of 2018 pining for me: Well here I am. Take in a good long drink of Charlie. Get your nose right in there and snort away. There. That feels better doesn’t it? That feels right.

I’ll tell you what feels right (quality segue there): being constantly married to the same Mrs Del Monte for 5, count them, 5 years. Five years to the day after we got married all over each other, I begged Mrs Del Monte to accompany me for a slap-up grill for two in a glitzy locale and she generously conceded. Even though I shrewdly booked 2 months ahead, the best table I could get was for 6pm, which in retrospect was a blessing as our offspring is an energy-parasite and getting us to do anything meaningful after 8pm is a Sisyphean demand. Bob Bob Ricard, a restaurant so good they named the Bob part of it twice, is nestled in London’s SoHo district, which is in central London, which is the capital of the UK, which was the heart of the world’s greatest empire, now the playground of a few, surviving Russian oligarchs. I didn’t spot any oligarchs, but I was treated like one (another classic segue) by the impeccably turned out staff.

We kicked off with a tall, cool glass of Bollinger which really hit the spot and perused the menu.

So the “Russian” bit of Bob Bob is the caviar I guess (and the fact that it says its Russian on the website). I was going to get some caviar when I ordered the Salmon Tartare Imperial, but the waitress misheard me and so I was served the Salmon Tartare, without the “Imperial.” Being terrifically commanding and brave you just know that I pulled up the waiter (in my mind) and gave her a piece of my mind (in my mind). Once I had given them an earful (in my mind) I gave myself a mouthful of the tartare which actually was probably even nicer unsullied by caviar. Mrs Del Monte had the Pelmeni which were dumplings – hey! Russian dumplings!! – stuffed with lobster, shrimp and crab and garnished with salmon roe. I’ve only recently got into tarragon which can be overpowering and too rich, but in the small amounts really lifted the pelmeni up where it belonged (in my tummy).

Mrs Del Monte had posh fish fingers for the main and I had lobster mac ‘n’ cheese both of which were superb. There’s something enjoyably decadent about lobster man ‘n’ cheese; like farting in Business Class.

I won’t tell you how much it all cost, but let’s just say junior is definitely going to have to get a student loan.

I would go again … because I have in fact been again … in that this time was again … because I went to Bob Bob’s with Mrs Del Monte maybe 7 years ago. It was as ace as I remember. Here’s to another 5 years Mrs Del Monte!!

Росси́я!

Le menu.

Oh yeah, that looks real fancy in a restaurant. But when I wear a suit that colour to the office, everyone sniggers.

Real class. I spent a good portion of the meal trying to jimmy it off to re-attach just above my crotch, but those suckers are stuck down pretty tight.

What’s that look you get when a sip of champagne temporarily lets you forget about your terrible life decisions? Mrs Del Monte almost has that look here!

The Goujons. Always the most obnoxious couple at a BBQ.

Pelmeni, apparently. If they were in a kidney dish and you were just being rolled out of theatre, those wouldn’t look so appetizing.

Look, they’ve oriented my plate of salmon tartare such that the Bob Bob initials are at the top of the plate. All very classy, but the waiting staff are basically cheating. A real waiter would know where the top of the plate is.

That’s just shell on the top, not a dirty great lump of juicy lobster. That would have been nice.

Bob Bob Ricard
1 Upper James Street
Soho
W1F 9DF
Tel: 0203 145 1000
https://bobbobricard.com/

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