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On Thursday last week it was a stunning 25°C. It lasted all of a sad 24 hours and on Friday, winter decided to rear its ugly head, pummelling London with big fat freezing raindrops and dropping the temperature to a positively chilly 13°C. 13 degrees man, and for those who have no idea how Celsius works, that’s a meagre 55° Fahrenheit, which in my opinion is simply Not Warm Enough for September. .
Rumour has it that Bob invested two thirds into the business, and Ricard invested one third, and so it should only be fair that the business be called Bob Bob Ricard, right? I think so. And I sure hope that rumour is true because seriously, how much cooler can a name get? Well, as cool as the restaurant it represents, and believe me, Bob Bob Ricard is the epitome of cool. .
Gift-aways! We all like us a little gift-away, don’t we? And it will come, I promise. But first I have a bone to pick about Christmas. I mean, there’s something to be said about Christmas, isn’t there? Well, that is aside from the fact that… is it weird that shops are pushing out their Christmas stuff before September? Yeah, it’s crazy isn’t it that two seconds after promoting sun-drenched summer vacations, they’re blowing out faux snow and dangling baubles. But I digress. The thing to be said about Christmas is that it’s only fun if you get to eat good food and receive awesome presents. Period. .
It’s been a busy summer (and it is super sad that I’m writing about it in past tense). We’ve had friends come and go, and come and go again, and with this holiday and that, I really have been neglecting my London friends. So with Panu going away last weekend, I took the opportunity to catch up with my beloved peepz, starting with Euwen who I haven’t even seen since he started his new job like seriously months and months ago. Bad bad me .
I don’t actually really want to write anything else in this blog post except I MADE MACARONS! I MADE MACARONS! I MADE MACARONS! I MADE MACARONS! And ain’t they just the most adorable things you’ve ever seen?? .
I’m buddies with a guy from work called Luc. He works in our office in Belgium, and when I told him that I was going to dinner at a Belgian restaurant called Cafe Luc, he said quite seriously, “everything good from Belgium is called Luc.” And so it was armed with this knowledge that I scooted down Marylebone High Street last Friday evening, rugged up in my grey jersey dress, tights and boots (because yes, the dreaded chill has begun), ready to experience what the “only Belgian owned restaurant in London” had to offer. .
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We decided to have lunch to catch up with all the gossip, and since we were going to do it in a long and leisurely way, we thought we’d do it in style. 
