TABLE-HOPPING USED to be a thing, something you read about in Tom Wolfe novels. Park Avenue people rubbing power shoulders at Le Cirque or Lutece, a merger here, a movie deal there, in between who was skiing in Aspen or summering on Nantucket. It always sounded so glamorous, in an Eighties kind of way, but I’d never seen it done until I lunched at Dorian.
Opened last year on Notting Hill’s Talbot Road, the restaurant aspired to be “a bistro for locals” so given its location
