Table talk

This Soho restaurant is noisy enough to ensure that royals on a blind date go unnoticed

Michael Deacon at Dean Street Townhouse

TELL YOU THE thing that really gets me about Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. They met on a blind date. An actual blind date. Think about that. Imagine the conversation beforehand between Meghan and the mate who arranged it.

‘So who’s this mystery guy you’re setting me up with? You haven’t told me a thing about him.’

‘Oh, he’s just an old friend. Name’s Henry, but everyone calls him Harry.’ ‘Harry what?’

‘Er… good question.’

‘He’s an old friend, and you don’t know his last name?’

‘Er… Wales. I think that’s it.’ ‘Harry Wales. OK. Unusual. And what does he do?’

‘He used to be in the Army. Doesn’t really have a job at the moment. But he does a lot of charity work. He kind of went a little bit off the rails when he was younger, but he’s a lot more chilled now.’

So off Meghan trots on her date, possibly without the highest of hopes. Come on, the man’s unemployed in his 30s – while she’s a successful TV actress. Talk about a mismatch. What if the poor guy’s starstruck?

Then she arrives at the restaurant, a voice says, ‘Hi, are you Meghan?’... and DEAR LORD ABOVE IT’S THE ACTUAL FIFTH IN LINE TO THE THRONE. (At the time. He’s only sixth in line now. Never mind. I don’t suppose it bothers her.)

So there she is, on a date with a potential future monarch, racking her brains

anxiously for small talk. Can’t have been easy. A lot of the usual icebreakers are straight out of the window. ‘So, uh, what does your dad do? No, hang on, I know that one already… You got any brothers or sisters? Sorry, and that one…’

Then again, maybe it wasn’t quite like that. Maybe Meghan knew in advance who her blind date was going to be. Still must have been pretty nervous, though. Debrett’s explains how to address a member of the Royal family, but not, unfortunately, how to flirt with one. Pity. Would love to read a guide to official footsie protocol. (‘It is acceptable to caress the ankle of a prince under a restaurant table using the big toe of the right foot for a maximum of four seconds shortly before the arrival of coffee, provided that approval has been granted in writing by Her Majesty no less than 14 days in advance.’)

Anyway, however unusual the circumstances of their first date, it clearly went very well. The venue was Dean Street Townhouse, an upmarket restaurant and hotel in Soho. I went along to find out what it was like. The answer: busy. Busy, and noisy. Not in an unpleasant or aggressive way; it was just stuffed to the gunwales with people yakking and braying and hooting, at the top of their posh, confident voices. The music was fairly loud too, and blandly upbeat. The atmosphere was less restaurant, more drinks party.

And immediately, I could see why Harry and Meghan went there. With everyone else blaring away merrily at each other, oblivious to anyone but their own group, it felt like somewhere a famous person might have at least some chance of going unnoticed. And, even if they were noticed, no one could secretly tape their conversation and flog it to a tabloid, because the ceaseless surrounding chatter would have made the recording unintelligible. Harry and Meghan’s best hope of privacy was to go somewhere busy, and Dean Street Townhouse fitted the bill perfectly. Victoria Beckham could have ridden in naked on a unicycle and no one would have batted an eyelid. (The bottom of the menu, incidentally, carries a note stipulating ‘No flash photography’. On the offchance, I suppose, that Victoria Beckham does ride in naked on a unicycle.)

The food is British. My starter was the twice-baked smoked-haddock soufflé, which was very good, plump and fluffy with a mustardy bite. My friend had the house-cured salmon, served with super-tangy pickled cucumber.

My main was the Herdwick rack of lamb, with confit potatoes and peas. The lamb had a delicious, gritty little coating of parsley, mint and flour, which added texture and zing. My friend had the halibut with asparagus, morels and razor-clam vinaigrette. Light and velvety, with a good balance of greenery. For pudding I had the roast pineapple meringue, which I wasn’t so keen on. Nothing wrong with the pineapple, sweet and sharp, but the base of the meringue was too thick and sticky and tough to break into; I wanted it to crunch, like powdered snow. On the other hand, I liked the banana and pecan treacle sponge: lavishly rich and pillowy.

Overall, the food was good, but not spectacular. Also, my friend felt it wasn’t ‘very Meghan’. She imagined that Meghan would have preferred somewhere trendier, a bit more left field, a bit more ‘artisan bistro’ or ‘Hackney microbrewery’: before meeting Harry, after all, Meghan used to write a food blog, where she shared her recipes for such hipster-friendly fancies as Aegean-inspired kale salad, baked eggs in avocado and coconut-chai smoothie. Dean Street Townhouse, in comparison, is pretty mainstream.

Still, she can’t have minded too much, because here she is, less than two years later, marrying the man she met there. So if you too are looking for somewhere to take a member of the Royal family on a first date, it’s well worth considering. Victoria Beckham could have ridden in naked on a unicycle: no one would have batted an eyelid

Above Herdwick rack of lamb with confit potatoes and peas. Below Roast pineapple meringue