As harvested fields and farms whipped by, the dining car manager and the maître d’ rapped at the door to offer a choice of two sittings for lunch (noon or 2.30 p.m.), and opting for the former I picked my way down the carriages towards the first of three dining cars, following the smell of cooking and the growing buzz of voices. During the journey, passengers are rotated around for meal times to make sure they experience the different décor and artistry of the three dining cars: L’Oriental, Côte d’Azur, and Etoile du Nord; but I soon discovered this system is also a great way to eavesdrop on multiple conversations, make new friends—and slink away from others if needed.
Bar car on The Venice Simplon-Orient ExpressLudovic Balay
Taking a seat in what felt like the 1920s, I was delighted to find all wine and Champagne included—a much-welcome and significant change since my previous visit when drinks were signed for in an awkward move at the end of the meal, many guests unaware of the add-ons. As the train shot in and out of tunnels, the rosy light of table lamps glowed sweetly in the sudden darkness. Waiters stepped around carrying plates of blue tuna tartare decorated like tiny Jackson Pollocks, rosettes of smoked salmon, and medallions of devil roasted chicken with “ratt puree”, which turned out to be a dish of smooth mash, topped with a buttery parsley crunch so good that I asked for another. Strawberry tiramisu soaked with sweet espresso as thick as treacle finished the meal as we rolled into Verona for an unexpectedly long stop. Two hours later, it transpired that the train had a technical fault and that we were waiting on a part to be driven up from Venice. Bothersome, but as far as breakdowns go, it was an ideal spot: no snowy mountain passes or tunnels which would have impacted our arrival time into Calais. Instead, the delay was made up through the night.
