The art of the political lunch

We had been discussing Ukraine, Gaza, Iran, the possibility of a nuclear exchange across the Punjab and other trifling matters. It was decided to change the subject. A youngster was planning to write a piece on lunching and suggested I might know something about that. I did not disagree.

In the old days, lunching was a vital part of the political process. It was a good way of getting to know politicians, so that contacts would ripen into friendships. That said, it was not an efficient method of discussing complex matters. Lunch was forgossip and general political impressions. If detailed rumination was necessary, the place for that was in the minister’s office, equipped with a notebook. The 1980s were particularly fruitful. I lunched my way around the higher ranks of the Tory party with the assistance of Neville and Sonia Blech of the Mijanou restaurant.

Sonia’s cooking was excellent, although she never received as many rosettes as she deserved. I especially remember a ravioli aux truffes, which sounds like a dish devised by Anatole, Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Tom’s much coveted chef, from various adventures of Wooster and Jeeves.

Neville organised a superb and reasonably priced wine list. I even remember drinking some Le Pin there. Neville would say that there was only one disadvantage about feeding some grandees. Various cabinet ministers – defence, foreign secretary, Northern Ireland – were obliged to have a detective in tow. That meant a solitary table, and Mijanou was not a large establishment. Moreover, the detective would eat the set menu and drink only water. But it was worth it for the prestige.

That was an era of generous journalists’ expenses. One of my employers required claims to include the name of the guest, and that sometimes necessitated an adjustment.