For a long time we stopped in the middle of nowhere, looking out over a scrubby fishing lake, but it didn't matter, because we had nowhere special to go. "We've probably stopped to fill up with water," explained our waiter. "Still or sparkling?" I cracked.Only when it came to the main course - roast duck with cherry sauce - did the standard of the food falter. The five- course menu offers no choices, though people with special requirements, such as vegetarians, can advise them when booking The canapes gave a good signal of the kind of meal to come. They tasted and looked as though some care had gone into their assembly, but they weren't very exciting, being made up of the kind of fashionable, but not over-fashionable combinations - gravadlax and dill sauce, brie and cranberry - that would be familiar to any patron of a Marks & Spencer's foodhall.The best thing about the first course, a butternut squash and apple soup, was that it was served individually from a big silver tureen.
There's something very delicious about chugging through Clapham eating soup spooned from a big silver tureen. The fact that it was obviously freshly prepared, and served with two sorts of bread - onion and Parmesan - was a bonus. The fish course was even better, a thick slab of hot-smoked salmon, served cold with a lobster mayonnaise.As we steamed through a succession of suburbs, the lady at the next table was carefully noting down the name of each town, a euphonious list that included Purley, Dorking and Staines ("Gateway to Thorpe Park"). London unfolded under a bright winter sun, and we sipped Champagne as we crossed the Thames.The nostalgia theme isn't pursued when it comes to the food, which is partly prepared on-board, in steamy, cramped kitchen carriages.
But as soon as the train pulled away in a puff of white steam, there was a palpable sense of relaxation, as everyone gave themselves up to the luxury of pointless travel, in which there is nothing to do but to talk, eat, and be waited on hand and foot. Charles and I were seated in "Ione", an open-plan compartment of eight tables. The original period decor of each carriage has been meticulously recreated, and ours was a cosy, glowing nest of marquetry panels, gleaming brasswork and art nouveau fabrics. A vase of fresh flowers stood on our crisp linen tablecloth, the window was framed by red curtains, and we sat in comfortable armchairs, complete with lacy antimacassars.Across the aisle from us, a couple from Oxford were celebrating their golden wedding, in common with several of our neighbours.
None of our Orient-Express carriage-mates looked capable of murder, though the chances of someone being found dead by the end of the journey seemed relatively high. Conscious of the proximity of the other passengers, we all began by whispering self-consciously. "He can't believe his luck!"There's no class-distinction between the carriages - we're all first-class in Tony's Britain - but the most desirable tables are isolated in romantic little private compartments at the end of the main carriages. "`He thinks you're a fellow train-spotter!" whispered Charles. Before finding our carriage, we strolled up to the end of the platform, where a gang of enthusiasts had gathered to admire the engine and breathe in the distinctive smell of the steam. As I stood jotting down notes in my pad, a man came over and started chatting to me in a rather over-friendly fashion.
If this had been a Thomas the Tank Engine story, the 12.05 to Ramsgate standing at the next platform would have hurled itself onto the buffers in shame. Looking authentically time-worn in its umber and cream livery, it sighed to a halt, and the staff, in frock coats and gold piping, proudly swung open its gleaming doors. Mainly made up of elderly couples, or elderly couples with their even more elderly parents, it included a party of confused-looking Japanese tourists, who were probably expecting Hercule Poirot and raffish European glamour, rather than an army of car coats and floral two-pieces.When the train pulled in, however, its shiny beauty silenced all doubts. "I didn't know how to tie the thing up, and I've spent the morning looking for instructions on the Internet."Our fellow passengers had also largely obeyed the Orient-Express company's instructions to come in "smart daywear - no jeans", and there was a real Sunday-best feel about the crowd that was milling around the platform. But I was still excited about the journey, as was my fellow voyager, Charles, a vintage railway enthusiast. To demonstrate his allegiance to a more elegant age, he arrived at our midday rendezvous at Victoria sporting a cravat "It's been a nightmare!" he moaned.
