Something I’ve not remarked upon (at all or enough) is how Brussels Grill give you COMPLIMENTARY bread & butter while waiting for your steak. Massively appreciated, and makes a massive difference in my choice of where to eat after a day of customarily “cultural” activities. Who knows when I will be back in Brussels Grill again. In Fifth Avenue today I had NO DESIRE for sex. At all. Just thinking about food. I get food at home, so why travel? A troubling question, which comes into greater focus now than it has ever done. Five nights in Brussels—no sex at all. Scarcely any desire for it either. I have started asking for my steak “medium” rather than “well done”, only to get it delivered to me faster. 1815.
No, I will not go to Belvedere this time. My holidays have been reduced to the bestial instincts: drink, sex & food. If I didn’t fancy those two girls enough on the second night then that must mean I didn’t fancy them enough to do anything with them. It is rare I find a floozie I really want to do something with. My bar is set pretty high, believe it or not. It’s got to be someone who blows my mind—an Adelina, a Lucy, a Julia, etc. I’ve not met anyone who quite reaches that status on this trip. Nuremberg, I think, had a few of them. And that is where I return tomorrow, Sunday.
The barmaid in the Plaza bar is very good; we’ve reached the eyebrow stage. I just need to catch her eye and raise an eyebrow and she nods OK, and readies my next beer. And I’ve reached the stage where I cannot read my own handwriting even after just writing it. Yes the Plaza bar has gone down the “fancy food” route—individual lumps of food presented artistically all on their own on the vast white expanse of the plate; rather than the fill the plate with gorgeous food so you cannot see the plate-route of places like my beloved Café Westend in Vienna, or the Munich Rechthaler Hof BEFORE new management took over and ruined it, and my old beloved Munich Lamm’s (shut down in 2010). I’ve lost confidence in the Berlin Plaza food I’m afraid.
Of course I do regret I did not bother to go see David Bowie’s apartment & café next door; next time! If I’m going to make pilgrimage anywhere it should be to the house where they filmed La Grande Bouffe, because increasingly that is how I live my life. Dedicated to the pleasures of sex, food & drink, like a connoisseur, with no care for the consequences. I did get a proper erection in Sissi Bar and Monte Carlo last night, so maybe worth a return tonight, and at least suffer a h—job to be performed on me. [Alas, my friend Mr Google tells me the La Grande Bouffe mansion was at 68, rue Boileau in the 16th arrondissement of Paris but is now gone, its place taken by the Vietnamese Embassy].