It’s 11:50 p.m. The restaurant dims the lights, and a DJ starts playing “Uptown Funk.” You and your partner are in a corner, trying to synchronise your watches. Spoiler: your partner’s watch is two minutes fast, and it’s already the future for them. The room erupts. You kiss, you hug a stranger who smells like expensive perfume and regret, and you shout “Happy New Year!” like you mean it.
The limoncello shot comes. You down it, and your face does that lemon-squeeze pucker that makes you look like a confused pug. It’s 12:05 a.m., and you already feel the hangover forming. But you don’t care. You paid for the set menu, and you’re committed.
A Final Word on the Set Menu Survival Kit
If you do this right, you’ll leave at 1 a.m., full, tipsy, and wearing a paper crown from a cracker. You’ll walk past the crowds in Leicester Square, dodging someone who’s already throwing up into a bin. “Not tonight, mate,” you whisper, clutching your leftover truffle mash in a doggy bag. The set menu in London isn’t just a meal—it’s a black-tie hug for your chaotic December brain.
So next time you’re tempted to “cook at home” or “host a party,” remember: you’re not a hero. You’re a human who wants to eat things named “velouté” without Googling how to make it. Book the set menu. Wear the velvet. Let someone else do the dishes. Happy New Year, you glorious, over-stuffed legend.
