I hate orange juice

I was taken to breakfast at the Dean Street Townhouse this morning. In an abrupt, and hypocritical volte-face, I have recently decided that I simply love going out for breakfast. ‘Shall we meet for a breakfast or lunch?’ A nice lady emailed me last week. ‘Breakfast sounds great,’ I emailed back quickly. She chose the restaurant, and put herself firmly in my good books by setting our breakfast for 9.30am. I cycled there, so arrived nicely sweaty. I’ve never been to the Dean Street Townhouse before, but it’s glorious.

I was early (what with the cycling and all), so I quickly sat down in one of their armchairs and ordered a vat of water. ‘Would you like any juice?’ The waiter asked. ‘I hate orange juice,’ I replied firmly. ‘Um,’ The waiter stammered politely in utter confusion.

‘That’s OK. You don’t have to have orange juice.’ ‘Did you know that orange juice is the world’s most popular juice?’ I asked him fiercely. ‘No,’ He replied. ‘That’s very interesting.’ ‘Some people hate coriander,’ I continued. ‘But I hate orange juice.’ The waiter, to give him his due, had stopped frantically trying to make eye contact with his colleagues, and was quietly looking at me with pleading eyes. ‘We have apple juice and fresh grapefruit juice,’ He whispered. ‘Ooh,’ I replied. ‘I’ll have both. Thanks very much.’

It was unfortunate that my apple juice arrived first, so that I had to drink my grapefruit juice in front of my host, who handily had arrived after my little contretemps with the waiter, and was fairly puzzled when it took us a little while to track him down to order again.

Often, restaurants tell you they serve fresh juice, when what they mean by ‘fresh’ is ‘recently poured out of a carton’. The Dean Street Townhouse is not one of those places. My grapefruit juice was delicious, and so fresh that I found the occasional pip floating in it- which I politely spat onto my napkin. ‘It’s very good,’ My host said. ‘But there are pips. Why not try the orange juice?’

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