J Sheekey Oyster Bar
33-34 St Martin’s Court
Date of Last Visit: Sunday, January 25 2009
The Victim: Mary Kate!
The Damage: £25 or so
The Background: I haven't seen Mary Kate in 10 years. And hey, I gotta say, neither of us have aged a bit! She's passing through town, working her way through some sort of environmental case. We make plans to meet up in Spitalfields at 1:30, but at 1:45, she's still nowhere to be seen.
Oddly, she turns up in Queensway and many texts and many many minutes later–something about a yoga class, a Blackberry, a yoga mat, a nap and a fire–I scrap the Spitalfields plans and we meet up in central London. I'm cold. And I'm wet. So I take her to Fernandez & Wells to warm up.
Well, after eating, what else is there to do but eat some more? I take Mary Kate to J Sheekey, which we have a little trouble finding because although Google Maps is good, it's not St. Martin's Court good. We are left wandering the streets for quite some time. Sorry, MK.
The Entrance: The oyster bar at J. Sheekey is empty at 3 p.m. on a Sunday. This isn't a bad thing for us. I feel like I've met our server before–I really should have asked where he used to work. And we settle in for some champagne and some oysters.
Only problem is that they're out of the special. (A half dozen Strangford Lough rock oysters, I believe, and a glass of champagne.) So we go with the Fines de Claires. Apologies.
The Food: All this and Mary Kate has never had oysters before! Now I feel doubly awful. Wandering around in the rain, all for some oysters that she might not actually eat. She tries one. Maybe two. She says politely that she likes them. "They taste like the sea." But it's me who finishes everything. Sigh.
The Verdict: I like it here. I'd come back. Particularly with my dad. I think he'd dig it.