Waiter, Waiter...

...There's a fly in my soup.
And there was!
I didn't think it ever actually happened, but there it was: struggling for life in my watercress soup, a fly.
I was paralysed by the comic possibilities. But eventually I chose not to raise it with the waiter. I just moved the poor beast (now drowned) to the rim of my bowl. Had the place been anything less that brilliant in all other respects, I would have complained. But when the restaurant is so good, a mere fly in the soup seems trivial.
Unfortunately, this also means that I'm not going to tell you where I was. If I do, you might decide never to go there just because of the fly incident. This would be the wrong lesson to draw from my tale. However, I can't risk ruining the establishment's reputation, when that repuatation is so well deserved.
One thing I can tell you is that tonight I'm going for the meal of my life. I've been slavering in anticipation all day.
Tonight, folks, my girlfriend is taking me on a surprise* trip to Michel Roux's Waterside Inn**, which has three Michelin*** stars.
*yes, OK, I know about it now, so it's not a surprise, but it was until last night.
**I promise to tell you everything about it - all seven courses - when I get back.
***I know it's childish, but when I picture the place it has a pile of tyres outside. Three of them.