Fois Gras Donuts?

I'm wearing my "new" 1940's swing dress in bottle green, and just read in TimeOut that the Green  Bar is serving Foie Gras in the shape of doughnuts. Being that I have two hours to kill before the theatre, I can't resist. Walking into the Green Bar, I'm overwhelmed by the importance that seems to ooze off the tiles walls. Oscar Wilde drank here, and the green carnations on the cocktail tables remind me of that. I order my Foie gras doughnuts, and the smartly dressed waiter recommends an apple cocktail to accompany. Don't mind if I do!

All drinks here are served with crisps, of which I'm not a fan, but means you could indulge in a drink or two without ordering food. But why wouldn't you, when it's meaty doughnuts?! Each cocktail is handcrafted, like a cake decorator would spend time piping the perfect rose, so does the bartender mix the specific amounts of potions to create magic in a chilled, sleek glass. It's a hot August day, the tube is on strike, and I have walked alL the way from Trafalgar Square. I'm relieved that the liquid in my glass is the temperature of an iceberg, since the room is not.

The music is a jazzy techno beat, with a relaxed groove undertone, so I'm relaxing nicely. There is a good mix of people in the bar, a business woman waiting for a client, a couple discussing their evening plans, two young twenty something tourists who seem to have stumbled in, and a couple of ladies having an early cocktail. The Green Bar would appear to be exclusive on the outside, but it's really a come-as-you-are place like most London establishments. Thankfully, it isn't full of itself to require a dress code.

I carefully watch the bartender pour Prosecco down the spine of a swizzle stick into a glass with dark berry coloured liquid waiting for it to top off. The foam disperses as the bubbles drop down. He perches a raspberry on the top edge of the glass and takes it away to be served. I overhear my waiter ask another waiter to fetch my doughnuts, as it's been 20 minutes. Crikey, it has. I was so relaxed, I hadn't noticed. (plus, I'm writing this!)

Eventually, my doughnuts arrive, with a comment from the waiter, "I had to fight for them." hmm, ok? He says they come with apple juice, and returns quickly with a glass. (could I have skipped the £13 apple martini?) no matter. The doughnuts arrive on a slate that looks like a small door. I feel I've tumbled into Alice in Wonderland. They are tiny, and all but missing a sign that reads "Eat Me!" there are four. I pick one up delicately, pop it onto my tongue, and close my mouth. The white chocolate shell cracks and out comes a salty brot- like liquid. I was expecting a more solid pate interior, but nevertheless, it's delicious. I feel like I have joined an exclusive club. I'm tasting something fine and rare. I go for number two. Then three. Then four. The last one paused on my tongue for an open mouth selfie, hey, I'm fun! 

The apple cocktail gone, I rely on the juice to continue the experience. 

My birthday is in who weeks, so I use the excuse of a "last hoorah at 38" coupled with "research" as comfort when I get the bill. Luckily, my theatre tickets were a comp. otherwise, this would be an expensive night out for one.