“What is Wiltons like?” asked Ella (12), “is it like TGI Friday’s?”

To describe Wiltons as being like tgi Friday’s is, of course, to describe driven grouse shooting as rather like shying at coconuts, or catching a fresh run salmon to buying a bag of fish and chips. I think her visit to Wiltons, with Jimmer, put her right.

Asking your correspondant to file a report from wiltons, that most traditional of establishments, haven to so many (albeit the better heeled) countrymen when in London, was no hardship, it having long been one of my favourite restaurants. I even held an account there in the height of my 1980’s, Gordon Gekko, red brace wearing pomposity.

My great friend, TFM, can keep an entire dinner party entertained with what he describes as my maxwellian excesses when we dined there nearly 20 years ago – vintage champagne which even then, was well over £100 a bottle to settle our nerves, a lecture for complaining that the avocado was a little hard and then: “what size is the woodcock?” TMF says I asked. “Woodcock size, Sir,” replied the long suffering waiter. “well then, I had better have two” I reportedly demanded.

I think it was at this point that Tim asked: “You do realise this dinner is on me?” Absolutely mortified, my showing off having been on the basis that I was the host, I demanded to pay. TFM refused and has steadfastly refused ever since, thereby multiplying my embarrassment one hundredfold, the embarrassment increasing, of course, over the years as I look back on that appallingly youthful display. Luckily, I was finally able to persuade him to have lunch with me at Wiltons a year or so ago, when his attention to the trolley of vintage Armagnacs repaired much of the previous damage to his wallet and my pride.

Wiltons has changed little, if at all, since then, in décor, menu or staff. The exception to the latter being Robin Gundry, the splendid manager, who sadly died a few years ago. Robin, in common with many of Wilton’s staff, had that wonderful ability to remember names, even greeting me in the street after my absence (early 1990s property crash etc) from the restaurant for several years, with: “Morning Mr Jimmer, we haven’t seen you for a little while.” Luciano, who looked after us so splendidly on Jimmer’s Dinners night told me he had been there for at least 20 years! Many of the other staff have been there at least as long, including the lovely waitresses all, rather excitingly, dressed as nannies.

Established in 1742, tradition abounds – the walls of the gentlemen’s latrines are hung with an eclectic mixture of royal warrants ‘Frank Wilton, Purveyor of Oysters to his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales’ – and to more than one each of Her and His Majesties – and assorted Jak cartoons. I fear, however, that Frank Wilton would turn in his grave at the menu offering fresh mint, camomile or peppermint tea, or, worse, berry fruit cordial! Luckily, the bread and butter pudding, apple and plum crumble, sherry trifle, welsh rarebit, anchovies on toast, Dover Sole, lambs’ kidneys and bacon and the mixed grill, have yet to be replaced with Hestor Blumenthal type fare.

It would be wrong to describe Wiltons as ‘cheap as chips’ and I should have known better [too right, by the look of your expenses – Ed] than to choose anything with ‘market price’ against it on the menu – my lobster cocktail, albeit absolutely delicious, was £35 and Mrs. B’s Lobster Newbury £50! Mrs B reported that delicious as was her terrine of duck, pork and foie gras ‘Michel Bourdin’ started, my cold, poached wild salmon was impossible to fault. Incidently I met a man from Greenpeace the other day who told me they cannot claim for the cost of fish on their entertainment expenses, on the grounds that both fish farming and commercial fishing are so ecologically damaging.

I digress; back to dinner. As I sink slowly into the welcoming embrace of senile dementia, I find myself more and more confused by wine lists. My policy, therefore, and one I commend to the reader – ask the sommelier! Set him a budget, tell him your proposed meal and let him surprise you. Invariably it will be something you would never have chosen yourself, but I have enjoyed wines from Austria, Lebanon and all over the New World from this policy and have yet to be disappointed. A Petrussa, Colli, Orientali del Friuli, Pinot Bianco 2005, from Friuli, Italy could not have complimented our meal any better.

And, finally, Blenheim water bringing back all those happy memories of the Game Fair – perhaps the CLA or GCT breakfast should be my next Jimmer’s Dinner? [In light of the £250 bill this seems an eminently good idea – Ed.]

wiltons.co.uk (off-site link)

 
 
 

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