Young at Heart takes a trip........

I haven't actually had a hot flush yet but I'm told it's only a matter of time. I used to say it as a joke a few years back but as the reality got ever closer I stopped. The other day I thought I might be having one but a glance across the office at my 26 year old colleague, stripped to her bra and vest.....honestly, you have to be 26 to work this look......fanning herself violently, revealed the heating had got stuck on Bahrain. So, the removal of just one layer of cashmere quickly put an end to it. But, I have experienced getting more than a little hot under the pajama collar at night. This is apparently called 'night sweats'.....nice......and works well with the nocturnal anxiety attacks also (unknown to me) a symptom of 'the change'. Really, going to bed has taken a Hitchcockian turn for the worse. And, it's a bit like taking drugs. Why? Well, the thing is, the tingle of heat that sweeps through you from the tip of toes to top of head, reminds me, if memory serves, of 'coming up', as we called the first tingle of a drug-spiked evening of frivolity, back in the halcyon days of my misspent youth, so long ago now that even the psychedelic hallucinations were in black & white. So, just for a moment, I'm back on the grassy knoll of Knebworth, arms aloft, watching a tree turn into a helter skelter, while singing along to 'White Punks On Dope'. And then I'm back; kicking off the duvet while the wardrobe turns into a monster, spilling forth all the worries of my world, to terrorise my dreams and rattle my ever loosening grip on reality. Still..... just for a moment.....

But.....in lieu of the renewed use of mind-altering drugs, this week I drank Martinis. When I lived in New York a night out always seemed to involve drinking cocktails: Manhattans, Cosmopolitans, a Dirty Martini, and every barman new how to make them. Properly. Many's the night the three olives found floating in my drink actually constituted dinner. And drinking Martinis on an empty stomach in the fabulous Rainbow Room, atop the Rockefeller Centre, still ranks as one of the best evenings I ever spent with my parents. Anyway, I had reservations for Yotam Ottolenghi's soft opening of his new restaurant, Nopi......means north of Piccadilly, what can I say...... This meant 50% off everything. Yes, absolutely everything. Even the drinks. So this meant we couldn't get a table till 9.45pm but frankly, for the chance to eat Ottolenghi's food at half price I'd have sat down to diner at midnight. My friend, whose friendship I forged when we both lived in New York, decided we should meet at Dean Street Townhouse because a) we needed to pace ourselves therefore drink proper drinks ..... slowly, and b) they saucer-up an endless supply of quality nuts and delicious olives so we wouldn't go hungry. The plan worked and we arrived at Nopi in a relatively good condition. The restaurant is a long and narrow room of white, brick-work tiles, like a New York bathroom, with gold accessories, like a Bahrain shopping mall. The bathrooms are worth the trip alone, mirrored from floor to ceiling on every surface, for a moment it was touch and go as to whether I would ever actually find the door out. And the food. Designed to be shared...possibly one of my favourite ways to eat, no chance of plate envy.....we feasted on scallops with chili jam, grilled mackerel, juicy beef brickets and sweat Ossobuco on creamy polenta, braised winter greens, crunchy brussel sprouts, oyster mushrooms and quail eggs, vanilla ricotta, blackcurrants and my new favourite pudding, bite-size sultana financiers with brandy cream. We drank a bottle of 'how much?' and two glasses 'no really' dessert wine, because it was ALL half price and we could. And just as soon as I've saved up, I'm definitely going back.....

Top tip: Re-instate the Martini hour and fill every room with a rainbow.