My son was taking me back from the clinic when he first told me about Foxley. He told me that it would remind me of my time both fighting in south east Asia as well as when we stormed the beaches of France fighting the Germans. I usually don't go in for ethnic food, not because I don't like the taste, but rather because I'm always afraid that the servers or kitchen staff could be one of my own from those embarrassing days in the war when men would do what men need to do. Nevertheless, I ventured into Foxley one cool fall evening, was a bit disappointed that my Burberry Frockcoat was not taken from me, but ventured to my seat at the bar despite this rude insult to myself and Britain's finest gentlemenswear company.
I must say that I was a bit confused by the method of ordering; many plates of varying price and size to share. the problem is that no one will eat out with me anymore: my girlfriend Harriet because of my complaints and my wife Hortense because of my girlfriend. I decided to order six dishes and to hell with the waste.
Did you hear about this 'pork belly' name they are using for bacon now? Well, I ordered both and I must say that my healthy English appetite for pork was sated that night. Also, some sort of aquatic avocado with crab meat in it, and a slightly overcooked duck breast. Reminded me of my time in Viet Nam where the locals knew how to cook a duck like the french!
Well done sirs! Bravo! i will return for more bacon!