A Wong, London

The dim sum list at A Wong is an intimidating thing. So intimidating that half of the table that consists of me, Sophie, and her parents had printed the menu off weeks ago and worked out what we wanted to order to get a broad spectrum of it without over ordering. I’m sure you can guess which half. The other half whose name may or may not be Tony and Linda had opted to wing it a little more, taking advice from the server and also some unsolicited from the most amazing women on the table next door, clad in black and showcasing as many designers as possible like a roadside stall in Hong Kong. There’s the Gucci belt and the Dior belt bag, the Channel sun glasses (indoor, naturally), and oversized Mulberry handbag. She comes every month, she is keen to tell us, and we take heed of her six or so must orders that add a £150 to the bill. Later on we would discuss what she did for work; Tony thinks she’s a showbiz agent whilst I think she does very little other than lunch. She must be doing…