Ronel Lehmann

When Karin Stark, wife of the late Dave Allen, described how life was without her comedian husband, she movingly said: “It’s like being a very long way from home.” Those words always struck a chord with me. To an avid restaurant goer, it felt the same, only this time on a happier occasion to be greeted by Jeremy King in his new abode, Arlington in St James’s.

I had to research whether there had ever been a battle of Arlington. Indeed, there had, at the time of the American Civil War. The Arlington National Cemetery is also the final resting place for many of the United States’ greatest heroes, including more than 300,000 veterans of every American conflict, from the Revolutionary War to Iraq and Afghanistan.

The reason for my own sudden conflict was learning that my own Editor had wanted to visit Arlington and write a review, and I had unintentionally usurped him.

My marketing director guest had arrived just before me, although I wasn’t late, and she was by then well tucked into a small table facing other diners. I had the window outside view, although I was totally focussed on the dazzling finish of the interior, with its new tablecloths, black furniture, polished steel, mirrors, lighting and framed prints.

The menus arrived and felt immediately comforting. It was a Monday lunch, the start of a new week and we both decided to decline wine. For our starters, we ordered Plum Tomato and Basil Galette and the Spinach and Ricotta Tortelloni. I felt the infusion of wild garlic in the tortelloni which was served warm.

The main courses of Risotto Nero and Chicken Milanese, Rocket, Parmesan followed suit. My own chicken was beautifully flavoursome. If I am honest, I struggled to finish the huge portion. It was at that moment that I noticed the teeth of my guest opposite. Her mouth had turned completely black. I felt that I needed to do the honourable thing and gently alert her. She was shocked and her white serviette also began to turn black as she delicately wiped her mouth to try and remove traces of the squid ink. At moments like these, we could only laugh together, as I thought that Dracula had arrived.

After the drama of the risotto, we decided to pass on the puddings but enjoy an expresso coffee with some chocolate truffles. Readers will know that I have a sweet tooth and my big eyes noted the temptations of Cappuccino Crème Brûlée, Mousse aux Deux Chocolats, Hokey Pokey Coupe, Treacle Tart with Cornish Clotted Cream, Scandinavian Iced Berries with White Chocolate Sauce, Tarte Tatin with Cinnamon Ice Cream and Rhubarb Crumble with Custard.

Leaving the restaurant was a bit like old times. You feel valued and don’t receive such a personal and caring gratitude expressed like it anywhere else. Jeremy and I reminisced about what happened to him before. I told him that he was inspirational overcoming adversity and making such a grand return. His long-standing commitment and service to his diners is legendary.

As I walked away, I remembered Dave Allen again. He once said “You wake to the clock, you go to work to the clock, you clock-in to the clock, you clock out to the clock, you come home to the clock, you eat to the clock, you drink to the clock, you go to bed to the clock, you get up to the clock, you go back to work to the clock… You do that for forty years of your life and you retire — what do they fucking give you? A clock!”

I hope the King of Arlington continues to reign over us and never retires.