The tables were on wooden floors overlooking the sea. Waiters were bustling between the tables, carrying large rosé and silver plates of oysters.
The cocktail menu listed something called Tiki Punch, with a good splash of rum and a few dashes of bitters. The establishment had a DJ, and at a certain point in the afternoon people would stand up to dance and twirl their napkins over their heads.
Where do you think this lively lunch spot was located? Mykonos or Ibiza maybe? Or another glamorous Mediterranean spot where people gather in their swimsuits to eat shellfish and drink watery pink wine?
You probably wouldn’t guess that there is a small inlet just opposite Lymington on the Isle of Wight. I mean no disrespect to the candidate; normally not included in the list of hot summer destinations places like the Balearic Islands or the Aeolian islands.
It’s called The Hut, although it’s not very hut-like. Located next to a strip of brightly colored beach huts on Colwell Bay, it looks more like a minimalist venue you’d find on a Greek island: white umbrellas and rattan shades hanging over tables overlooking the Solent.
I’d never heard of it, but when three old school friends suggested a weekend trip to the New Forest a few months ago, their boss said we should go there for lunch. “We’ll get a rib across, that’s best,” Sarah insisted.
A. rib? I thought we were going to have a peaceful weekend walking and taking pictures of wandering ponies.
I wasn’t expecting the kind of high-octane fun that tech billionaires are looking for, but I was turned down and we joined the waiting list for a table. It looks like a waiting list will start to form in February when reservations open for the summer. Sarah told us you could take a bus to the restaurant from Yarmouth, but ribs were more fun.
I have since learned that more than 80 percent of the restaurant’s punters arrive by boat, anchor in the bay and are picked up by one of the restaurant’s boats. Who needs Capri anyway?
If you don’t like a boat, you can also come by helicopter because they have an agreement with a big house and helipad nearby and they will pick you up from the helicopter in a Defender.
We had been on this waiting list for three months and we got lucky because there was a cancellation at 3.30pm last Saturday. “Isn’t it too late for lunch?” I texted the other three the day before our time, worried it would be a long time after breakfast.
How much time is that for lunch? We are no longer part of Europe. “Ideally,” Sarah replied, ignoring me, “we can buy you ice cream on the way.”
Duly, he found a local man named Tony, who had a cruiser, not a rib, and although none of us knew what a cruiser was, he was booked for a 20-minute ride from the mainland. “I’ll keep the Prosecco waiting,” he texted Sarah, and I felt a sense of disaster again. What was this place: restaurant or nightclub?
Having spent a few hours there last weekend, I can say it’s a combination of both. When we arrived for tea time, the Marquess and Marquess of Milford Haven were finishing their meal at a long table with their daughter-in-law, Cressida Bonas, and we passed others in the restaurant’s embroidered sun hats. , twirling napkins in the air like cowboys throwing lassoes.
The DJ, a young man named Gilo, was busy in a corner booth. The rain, fortunately, had stopped, and as the first bottle of rose appeared on our table and the sun hit the waves in front of us, I thought: yeah, okay, that’s not bad.
A few years ago my sister, stepmother and I were on vacation near Naples. One morning we risked our lives driving along the Amalfi coast in second gear and chanced upon a small seaside restaurant.
Bougainvilleas hung over the terrace, there was a faint smell of grilled shrimp and a phalanx of extremely attentive Italian waiters who addressed us all as “Signorina.” I also seem to vaguely remember children running around barefoot, but I might be confusing this idyllic scene with a Fellini movie.
We smugly congratulated ourselves on finding such a perfect secret until a superyacht appeared in the bay and a huge flower arrangement was ceremonially placed on the table next to us. Minutes later, Sir Elton John and David Furnish stepped ashore for lunch with Sir Michael Caine and his wife Shakira. Ah, this wasn’t such an uncharted place after all.
The Hut felt a bit like that, too. A not-so-hidden gem. We ordered oysters and sea bass and fries to share, and as the music got louder and some people climbed into their seats to dance, my wine glass became increasingly stained with garlicky fingerprints. It may seem like hell to you.
It would have been that way before, too, but as I sat down with my three oldest friends one sunny afternoon, we discussed a wide variety of topics, including but not limited to: marriage, in vitro fertilization, our parents, our jobs, my new dog and my puppy. The importance of using dental floss.
This isn’t supposed to be an ad. Just a celebration of an unhurried summer lunch at a sunny table with good friends. Another great thing about long lunches in June is that you can still be in bed before dark. See how fun I can be when I relax?
We ate and drank like we were feasting on the Tudors before joining in with a commentary. It’s raining guysNext to a table with other people who were there for 60 minuteshe birthday. The British may be in trouble for their behavior abroad, but I’m not sure some of them are much better off at home. Even quite flashy ones.
We brought out a bottle of rose for the return journey and sang along the way back to Lymington. Poor Tony. You know, you don’t have to go all the way to Magaluf. There’s enough noise in Hampshire.