Gentleman of Médoc

O Lord Palmerston quipped that dining is the soul of diplomacy. What then is lunching? Its conscience? Admittedly in the modern world, a world of jogging and gyms, of water and salads, where the scales are watched as closely as the clock — and the time is weighed very closely, lunching has become something of a lost art, like courtly dancing or sonnet writing. We are certainly conscientious about what we eat — and how long we spend eating it. But should we not have more of a care about the pleasure we get out of it? I think so. And VR GRHV P\ ROG IULHQG 'DYLG 5XIŴH\ 5XIIHUV LV DQ H[SHUW More than that, he is an artist.

For when it comes to lunching, he knows the right spot; he gathers the right guests; he conducts, lightly, the right conversation; he guides, gently, the right menu choices (he really should run a restaurant) and he suggests, meaningfully, the wine selection. Whether it be Brooks’s Club or Boisdale, Wiltons or the Wolseley, David 5XIŴH\ LV WKH lunchmeister.

And when lunch is over, most importantly, he has planned where to go on. For Ruffers, like the old school whip he is, knows where the bottles are buried. His IDYRXULWH ERWWOH EDQN LV +HUWIRUG 6WUHHW ŴDJVKLS RI WKH %LUOH\ ŴHHW DQG OLIHERDW WR /RQGRQōV PRVW VHOHFW ERXOHYDUGLHUV 5LFKO\ GHFRUDWHG E\ 5LIDW 2]EHN RYHU ƓYH