A big bowl of Brussels in Richmond (Brouge) followed by English cricket

My neighbour had promised to save me from the hassles of public transport by driving me in her newly acquired car for lunch in Richmond – after a little light shopping of course. We set off at 11am and sailed along the A316 where there was surprisingly little traffic. Having parked up in the Old Deer Car Park we made our way across Richmond Green towards the shops.

We walked along the narrow passage that is like the jewellery quarter or the Lanes in Brighton. We browsed the sale in Dickins and Jones. We admired the sparkly, gorgeous things in the various High Street jewellers (we agreed that Azendi had the best selection and that the staff there were the most genuinely enthusiastic about their stock). And we even took a sneak peak at some of the clothes stores. For posterity’s sake we walked around the soon to close Habitat and my friend bought some gem like magnets. And then it was time for lunch. In Richmond, of course, we were spoilt for choice.

But we had moules in mind and, ignoring the pull of the riverside eateries and the rare sunshine, carefully took the steps into the dark depths of Brouge. We were their first customers of the day and therefore had our pick of tables. We choose a corner table in the lower area – where the sun tried to sneak through the blinds covering the sky light windows. We were being virtuous and so declined incredible selection of beers, wines and cocktails in favour of simple fruit juice blends.

We both ordered moules mariniere with cream. And fries of course. We devoured the plate of bread, dipping it regularly into the dish of oil and vinegar. The tall black moules pans arrived and as the lids were removed we caught our first scent of the finely chopped shallots, carrots and celery in thyme in the rich creamy sauce.

The mussels were large, plump orange delights. From Scotland, most likely. Our conversation quietened as we gorged on our special seafood. There’s something deeply satisfying about using your fingers, and spoons and dipping bread to eat – without a care for the sauce on your chin or splashed on your shirt – those mussel morsals.

Feeling thoroughly satisfied and with full bellies, we made our way back to the car. As we crossed the green we had to take a detour to avoid walking across the cricket pitch. After a Brussels lunch, an afternoon watching English cricket. What could be finer?

And we vowed to return soon on a Thursday evening when Brouge offers live jazz, blues and funk to accompany those moules.