Les Agaves

Sadly Les Agaves has piped music. They also have photos of stars who ve been there. Kevin Costner, Gabriel Byrne (a regular), me (star of stars) and Clint Eastwood. He s never been near the place. Danke said, I put his photo up anyway. Good for her.
First we got tomatoes from a little farmer just outside Nice , with mozzarella from Naples. Then cold terrine of crab, eggs, celery, carrots, cabbage and japanese seaweed salad curry cream. The chef, Jacky Lelou, was pulling out all the stops, even though I told him I only wanted three simple courses.
Up came lobster salad with mango, chickpea flower and raspberries. Then a copper pot of sweetbreads served with bean sauce, garlic and thai chicken salad separate veggies.
I asked Danke where she was before Les Agaves. I was a rose in my husband s lapel. I never work a day in my life, she explained. Her friend Jacky bought the place 14 years ago and Danke went from dilettante to slave. Now she works like crazy and clearly enjoys it.
I have a minority share in the restaurant, she explained, but I have a majority personality. She s right.
Jacky came from the kitchen bringing enough dessert for 23 people. Soft chocolate cake, tarte tatin of figs, baccarat cake with vanilla, roasted peaches, fruit salad and various ice creams. Danke pointed out their Brittany lobster sells for 40 ( 34.60), versus 58 for a club sandwich at La R serve. They re both worth it.
I was telling Michael Caine about the horrific north London woman seated next to me at theWolseleywho imposed herself on me endlessly, interrupted my conversations with Geraldine and layered salad with friends who came over, and ended up swearing at me, using the f-word every two seconds. Why she isn t banned I don t know. I ve been banned from restaurants for far less. Like giving a bad review.
Wait till Mrs (I know her name) starts harassing Lucian Freud or Fiona Shackleton, two other Wolseley regulars. I bet she gets the boot then. Perhaps the usually wise Wolseley owners, Chris Corbin and Jeremy King, have a tryst with the north London mafia. Maybe, aged six, they were frightened by a rabbi.
Enough rumination. Back to Sir Michael. Hearing my lament he recalled, What about me? I was walking up Shaftesbury Avenue with a girl just after Alfie came out. A cockney said, Michael Caine, I don t believe it! You re my hero. Alfie. I m really seeing you. I m your greatest fan . Michael smiled and walked on.
The fan continued, Can I come to dinner with you?
Michael said, No, I m taking this lady out.
The fan said, I ll just sit there. I d love dinner with Michael Caine.
Sorry, said Michael, not possible. At that point the fan got nasty. Using the f-word endlessly he screamed, You stuck-up bastard. Then shouted to passers-by, See him, Alfie, he s a real . And more of the same. I wonder if it was the son of the nonlady who accosted me.
I ve had a full-time stalker for years. She threatened to kill my staff. Was sectioned. Came out. Still around. At least she doesn t sit next to me in restaurants and hit on me while I eat lunch.
Every time I go to the Wolseley now I say, Is Mrs X here? If she is I m off to the Caprice.
One of my most famous banishments was by Antony Worrall Thompson. He even put my face on lavatory seats in one of his restaurants. Now we ve made up. I must visit his place. I can sit on myself while having a you-know-what.
My favourite insult came from the lovely Piers Morgan. When he was editing the Daily Mirror, Piers published a photo of meOJ Simpson in my Rolls-Royce. The caption was: The most reviled man in England with his friend OJ Simpson. Brilliant. Loved it.

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