In a city where the restaurant scene moves as fast as the gossip cycle, few guides are as sharp‑eyed or sharply worded as Grace Dent. In this week’s column for the London Evening Standard, Dent weaves together an unlikely but utterly London tapestry: a buzzy meal at Lilibet’s, the low‑level art form that is capital‑city gossip, and the surprisingly intimate ritual of being properly measured for a bra at Marks & Spencer. What emerges is not just a review or a diary entry, but a portrait of how Londoners really live now-eating, talking, shopping, and seeking small, secret comforts in a city that rarely stops to draw breath.
Exploring Lilibet’s and the new rules of London neighbourhood dining
At Lilibet’s, the booking feels less like securing a table and more like being granted entry into a tiny, tastefully lit conspiracy. This is the new neighbourhood model: a room that could pass for someone’s imaginatively decorated front room, with a playlist curated for eavesdropping and plating that photographs beautifully but is meant to be demolished with intent. Diners no longer want hushed reverence and starched linen; they want somewhere they can arrive with a slogan tote, order a glass of orange wine that costs more than their Tuesday lunch, and feast on food that feels both comfortingly familiar and quietly chef-y. In this world, the power move isn’t a blowout tasting menu but knowing the exact time to walk in without a booking and where to sit for the best line of sight to the pass.
- Small but savvy menus that change with the chef’s mood and the fishmonger’s haul.
- Bar counter dining where solo guests and couples are treated as prime clientele, not afterthoughts.
- Soft-focus interiors designed for gossip, soft-launches and discreet tears after bad Hinge dates.
- Neighbourhood-first pricing on snacks and wines by the glass, with the blowout options tucked in for festivity nights.
| Neighbourhood Rule | Old London | Now at Lilibet’s |
|---|---|---|
| Best table | Corner banquette | Stool at the bar |
| Dress code | Smart-casual anxiety | Good jumper, great attitude |
| Must-order | Signature main | Three snacks and the bread |
| Social currency | Knowing the sommelier | Knowing the chef’s day off |
How gossip over cocktails shapes the city’s social heartbeat
In a city that pretends it’s powered by venture capital and cold brew, the real current runs through the clink of coupe glasses at 7.45pm. This is where careers are casually anointed, reputations rehung like winter coats, and last week’s “blind item” becomes tomorrow’s viral thread. London’s cocktail bars – from hotel lounges where the ice is cut by hand to neon-lit dens off the Strand – function as informal newsrooms with better lighting. Here, a raised eyebrow counts as punctuation, and a half-whispered anecdote about a West End producer, an MP’s mysteriously vacant seat, or a socialite’s sudden “wellness break” moves faster, and often more accurately, than any press release. The murmur at the bar becomes the first draft of social history, edited in real time with every top‑up of Picpoul or martini.
- Who’s in: the restaurateur of the moment,the podcaster with a book deal,the junior publicist who knows too much.
- What’s traded: soft-launch relationships, impending closures, hush‑hush rebrands.
- Where it lands: WhatsApp groups, Substack essays, morning media briefings.
| Bar Vibe | Typical Gossip |
|---|---|
| Hotel lobby bar | Discreet divorces and new donors |
| Soho speakeasy | Casting coups and cancelled shows |
| City rooftop | Bonuses,mergers and stealth exits |
What sounds like frivolity is,in practice,a form of urban due diligence.The same breath that relays a celebrity chef’s tantrum can flag a landlord hiking rents on an entire parade of small businesses.Over negronis, people compare notes on which hospitals are buckling, which headteachers are quitting, which neighbourhoods are quietly gentrifying by way of “artisan” dog bakeries. A single cocktail hour can stitch together a portrait of the city that no data dashboard can match, capturing the intangible stuff – anxiety, anticipation, mischief – that determines whether London feels exhilarating or fatigued. In this way, every after‑work round is a civic audit, and every bit of bar‑side chatter is a tiny, fizzing pulse in the capital’s restless, noisy heart.
Why the M and S bra fitting has become a quiet feminist ritual
Somewhere between the escalators and the school-uniform section, women are quietly reclaiming their bodies in a curtained-off corner of Marks & Spencer. In a city that monetises every insecurity, the measuring tape at M&S remains stubbornly analogue, wielded by women who don’t flinch at back fat, breast surgery scars or postnatal deflation. The ritual is disarmingly simple: you undress, you’re measured, you’re listened to. No algorithm, no pushy “shaping technology”, just a stranger calmly explaining that the fault lies with the bra, not the body. For many Londoners, this is the first time anyone has told them their comfort matters more than a plunging neckline.
What looks like a mundane retail service functions as a small act of resistance against the pressure to be permanently “snatched” and Instagram-ready. In that fluorescent-lit cubicle, women learn to prioritise support over spectacle, posture over prettiness.The fitting often comes bundled with an unspoken syllabus of body neutrality:
- Comfort is treated as a right, not a luxury.
- Practicality trumps male-gaze “sexiness”.
- Ageing is normalised, not disguised.
- Diverse shapes are assumed, not apologised for.
| Old Rule | New Understanding |
|---|---|
| “Squeeze into it.” | “It should fit you, not punish you.” |
| “Hide the flaws.” | “Nothing about you is a flaw.” |
| “Beauty first.” | “Health and ease first.” |
Insider tips for eating, drinking and dressing well in Grace Dents London
Start with breakfast where gossip is a legitimate food group. Slide into a corner banquette at Lilibet’s and order something that sounds faintly ridiculous – truffled eggs, perhaps, or a croissant so laminated it has its own postcode – then eavesdrop with professional focus. The trick is to look like you’re scrutinising your phone while actually tracking every raised eyebrow at the next table. At lunch, dodge the Insta-stamped hotspots and follow the critics rather: the places with unforgiving lighting, laminated menus and a resident dog usually feed you best.And if you must queue, do it for a reason: hand-pulled noodles, a sourdough slice that singes your fingertips, or a martini so cold it forgives the rent.
- Eat where the staff look fed – if the team is actually eating the food, you should too.
- Drink where the ice is clear – cloudy cubes usually mean cloudy thinking behind the bar.
- Shop where the lighting is kind – fluorescent changing rooms are the enemy of good judgement.
- Trust the bra fitters at M&S – they know more about your life than your therapist, and charge less.
| Need | Where to Go | Insider Move |
|---|---|---|
| Late gossip & snacks | Lilibet’s back tables | Order “just sides” and stay for hours |
| Quiet martini | Hotel bar, midweek | Sit at the bar, watch the shaker not the crowd |
| Bra fitting | M&S lingerie floor | Go early, weekdays; say yes to a new size |
| Walkable heels | Mid-range department store | Test on stairs, not just carpet |
Key Takeaways
In a city that never quite stops to catch its breath, Grace Dent’s London is a reminder that the capital isn’t just defined by skyscrapers, scandals or the next big opening. It lives in the low-lit corners of a new restaurant where the staff know your order by heart,in the whispered asides traded over cocktails,and even in the unexpected comfort of a well-fitted bra in the middle of a high-street store.
Lilibet’s may come and go from the “must-book-now” lists. Today’s gossip will be replaced by tomorrow’s scandal. But the rituals Dent zeroes in on – eating well, talking freely, finding small pockets of ease in a hectic city – are what really endure. Peel back the headlines and London, as she sketches it, is still a place where pleasure is found in the details: a perfect plate, a sharp aside, a quietly triumphant moment in a changing room mirror.
Keep an eye on those details, and the city suddenly feels less overwhelming and more like what it really is: a patchwork of intimate scenes, each of us starring in our own version of London, one meal, one rumour, one M&S fitting at a time.
