Shock split for society beauty... for the second time. Plus the incredibly entitled comment TV star made when given a £5k Hermes blanket and a bishop's bitchy comment to his clergy: RICHARD EDEN'S DIARY
Camilla Rutherford was devastated when she and her husband, publicist Rufus Abbott, separated just three months before she was due to give birth to their second child.
Now, the Gosford Park star is nursing a broken heart again after splitting up with Dominic Burns, the father of her two younger children.
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One Club Row review — ‘Nowhere on earth could possibly be more fun'
The other day I received a message: 'I beg you not to review One Club Row.' Already, barely a week into service, my friend — who follows restaurant trends the way most men follow their football club —could tell this was going to be the most fashionable place in town. 'I know I'll get sick of hearing about it,' he explained. So I immediately booked a table. What a place. Enjoy this review now because in, ooh, about two weeks' time you really will be sick of hearing about it. What a joy to walk into a little restaurant above a pub, at 6pm on a Wednesday, and instantly feel there's nowhere on earth that could possibly be more fun at this precise moment. Oh, and they have a taxi light outside to show if there are tables available for walk-ins. I love it. I shouldn't have been surprised. James Dye, one of the proprietors, also co-owns the Camberwell Arms — among the best restaurants in south London and the social hub of all those young parents who move to that postcode for a bigger house and a better life, because once you're in Camberwell it's impossible to get out again. The other owner, Benji Liebowitz, used to be the maître d' at NoMad, one of New York's most glamorous cocktail bars. It's the type of pedigree that would have you betting the house on a racehorse. Inside One Club Row We're in east London, of course. But there's something here that feels a little New York. Perhaps it's the seats at the bar kept for walk-ins, or the martinis. There's something of the Jeremy King grand café too: white tablecloths, schnitzel on the menu. But then there's also something new, captured by the stonewashed walls, original fireplaces and ceiling roses back from when this was just a boozer, and the bright, blocky modern art on the walls. It's a glorious mix of classic and modern. I feel a bit giddy — although maybe that's the martinis too. Because obviously we have a martini each. Our waitress makes it clear this is kind of the point. Josh has one with olive oil; I have the house: gin, with the tiniest, delightful hint of sweetness from a dash of Italicus liqueur and a sultry maraschino cherry lounging at the bottom of the glass. We snack on a lobster and ham croquette — perfectly decent. But then come pickled jalapeño cheesy gougères. I gasp as I bite into one. There's mustard in there, lemon too. A sharp sweetness to the chillies. Next, the starters: fat, flavoursome tomatoes on a thin film of stracciatella. Barbecued asparagus on labneh with hazelnut and lemon, the best thing we eat. Oh go on, let's get the tuna crudo. It looks so good on the next table and there's something about this place that urges you to empty your bank account. For mains, pork schnitzel with mustard sauce and — this is inspired — blobs of tangy, salty gorgonzola. Then roasted cod on a thick, decadent buckwheat polenta. Less to write home about but still functional. Again, we start staring lasciviously at the next table. The two women there have a bowl of mussels, accompanied by a plate of something quite majestic-looking. 'Please can we have just one of whatever that is?' we ask. Lobster and ham croquettes JUSTIN DE SOUZA The longed-for item arrives. The industrial term would be 'reconstructed potato', but don't think of it like that. Think of it instead as an incredibly delicate hash brown, formed into a long, thin, crispy chip. Josh takes a bite and his eyes light up. 'I didn't think there was anything new to experience from the potato, but here I am.' Finally, though we definitely don't need it, a Dutch baby pancake — basically a sweet Yorkshire pudding with blueberries, Chantilly cream and smoked maple bacon. American indulgence, European chic. A Dutch baby pancake JUSTIN DE SOUZA It's not cheap. That said, you could pay a lot less than we did, if you don't order a nice bottle of wine in a fit of excitement-induced profligacy, and don't try to eat the whole menu. The problem is, I suspect you will. There's something ineffable about this place that just lends itself to abandon. It makes you want to flirt with strangers, stay for five hours, throw your life up in the air and move to New York. As I head home, I consider each of these options. Instead I book another table for next week, before everyone else does. ★★★★★ 1 Club Row, London E1 6JX;
