If you are subscriber to the website of Robert Parker, the noted wine critic, you know about his Hedonist’s Gazette. It is a periodic column in which he talks about meals and wine tasting in great restaurants around the world. It is somewhat fun to read, even if it reviews restaurants that you will never be able to go to and describes wines that you will never afford. On Friday, I had a hedonistic day and what follows is my gazette. It was the 15th Annual Gentlemen’s Christmas. I was invited to join it by Paul Gee, the husband of a lawyer who Judie just hired at Bryan Cave and who came to our flat for Thanksgiving. One of the usual eight mates who normally participate had dropped out so there was an opening. One of the rules is that everyone has to wear a suit and tie.

The whole thing began at Hawksmoor Guildhall, one London’s finest steak houses. (This branch is located in the City  and there is another across from our flat in Shoreditch). In retrospect, I probably should have had the steak and eggs, but I thought I should pace myself, so I just got Eggs Royal (Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon instead of the bacon). I met John and two of his friends from Pleshy, the country town about an hour from London where they all live. The four of us split a bottle of English sparkling wine and each had a bloody mary. We were supposed to meet four other at the Seven Stars pub, so after finishing breakfast, we wandered across the City, stopping to check a roof view from next to St. Paul’s and making another stop for more coffee.

The Seven Stars pub is right behind the Royal Courts of Justice and is a hangout for lawyers after leaving the Old Bailey. The owner is the marvelously-named Roxy Beaujolais. We got there around 11:00 to discover that the other four had yet to arrive and, worse, that the Seven Stars was closed for a private party until noon. (Who would schedule a one-hour pub party before noon, one might wonder.) So after making some phone calls, Paul led us off to the Cheshire Cheese, an ancient London pub, dating back to the Great Fire. It was closed (and he received considerable grief for all of this), so we ended up at a ancient Portuguese wine bar called El Vino, on Fleet Street, where we had two bottles of sherry and the rest of the crew gradually found us. Then we went back to the Seven Stars, since that was a traditional part of this pub crawl, and had a pint of bitter.

From there, we walked over to the Quality Chop House (according to my iPhone, I walked over 19,000 steps that day). This is a restaurant that I actually first read about in a Parker Hedonist Gazette, so I was looking forward to it. We were led to a private room where we started with a magnum of Pol Roger champagne and proceeded to eat an incredible game menu over the next three or four hours. The Brits like to eat birds that most Americans would never touch. We began with a game tea, a very rich game broth, which we had with the rest of the champagne. That was followed by a pigeon leg that had been deboned, made into a pate, put back on the leg bone, fried and served with cranberry. This was accompanied by a game terrine with brioche and a jam made of damson fruit. By this point we were switching over to a Fleurie. We then had a course of teal breast (a kind of duck) with beetroot and horseradish. Then it was on to woodcock (a smallish ground bird), with a chicken liver pate and a fruit called greengage. Somewhere around here we switched over to a Dao wine that was fuller bodied than the Fleurie. By now, we reached the main course, pheasant and wigeon (another sort of duck). These were accompanied by amazing sides, including an incredible roast cauliflower with black truffle. Then it was on to truffled Tunworth (a kind of cheese) and then a meringue-based dessert. Somewhere in here, one of the gents pulled out a liqueur called Kummel, which is made from caraway seeds, much to the groans of much of the rest of the group (it seemed to be a running gag). I tried it and it was very sweet and had an interesting flavor, but I have to say it was hard to drink too much of it. We concluded with armagnac and other digestifs.

Some of us then staggered over to the Scotch Malt Whiskey Society, where one of the guys was a member. It has a huge number of single cask whiskeys which you can try. We each had two or three. This was the real killer for me, pushing me over the edge from pleasantly wasted to completely drunk. But it was fun trying the different flavors. I really needed to take a taxi home at this point, but it was rush hour so it was impossible. Fortunately, I was next to the Farringdon tube stop, so I somehow managed to get home.

A few things I learned: (1) You don’t toast the Queen until dessert. (2) One of the gents was going out shooting the next day and told me that it is shooting etiquette that you cannot shoot the pigeons that the beaters scare up into the air until you have shot a larger bird. (3) They are completely mystified by the US approach to guns, although I explained to them that the Second Amendment is all their fault, as it resulted from the British taking the guns away from colonial militias. (4) The Donald would probably be happy to know that he was a conversation subject. Horror mixed with bemusement seemed to be the prevailing attitude. (5) The British (or at least some portion of British society) really do like to eat various odd small birds and animals.

I slept very well that night.