Food: The End of Cows

Wolfgang Puck, who is a globally famous chef, has opened Cut on Park Lane. Beef is Cut’s thing and who doesn’t like beef? Except I am convinced that if cows, like women, discovered their own strength, there would be a cow coup, like in Planet of the Apes. (This is a very personal fantasy.) How I can see them, stampeding down Whitehall and into the Treasury, taking George Osborne hostage. Anyway, I secure a 10.30 p.m. slot on a Monday, which is too late for hunger, but not for celebrities and lighting designed to make everyone look like the Gold Blend couple (‘How was Milan?’). You enter Cut through an art deco, Miami-esque entrance. The restaurant is essentially a corridor except, due to mirrors, it is a very long corridor, with the cars of Park Lane beyond. The men are old, with a hint of Vlad Tepes, and the women are tight-eyed and thin. I can see Geri Halliwell shouting thank-you at a table of men, with hate in her eyes. It is very Ferrero Rocher.

 The beef is sold, rather chillingly, in 6, 10, 14 or 16oz bits, so it feels like an organ farm. This is all gist to Planet of the Cows, which is forming in my mind as a screenplay. (The poster would say Scary Moo-vie). Because this is a cataclysm, an annihilation, the Very End of Cows.

Which is just what I like, because they do taste wonderful — so rich, dense and wet — and are here tonight from Kansas, the south-west, Australia and Chile, from £29 to £85 a lump (Madam). The service is modern submissive: beautiful girls in black, with a Marion Cotillard look — both warm and cold, in one face.