"An old, wrinkly man sat at the piano, and his wrinkles sat there with him. Happy notes were springing off the keys and hopped all over the place, gentle and soft. The lights were suddenly dimmed, to remind me of how much I currently lack any romantic interest in my life. Except cats. It was high time for some decadence in my life – and what other better person to drag me to perdition than Kai? The Gilbert Scott certainly has grandeur – mostly thanks to its positioning within the Renaissance Hotel near St Pancras (they even have an automatic piano. Or a hired poltergeist, the jury is still out on that). In rather sharp contrast to the Asian restaurants I typically frequent, the place had a lot of space and few diners, except the occasional stuffy looking banker. Marcus Wareing’s (chef at the restaurant with the same name in the Berkeley) take on the British brasserie didn’t disappoint. Sunday Roast Menu (27 pounds) let’s you pick from a few dishes from starters and desserts that are mar"
