Around The World

London
—The Journey Begins

“Gentlemen, I’m on my way.”

– Phileas Fogg to his Reform Club friends

WHEN PHILEAS MADE THAT SOMEWHAT obvious statement at Charing Cross Station, his fellow club members took it with a grain of pessimism, since Fogg, they agreed, was clearly doomed to lose his bet. Had they really heard Phileas correctly, earlier at the club, when he assured them that he would go around the world in only 80 days? Indeed. It must have been something that Fogg had eaten for dinner that caused this dyspeptic fantasy. They might have been on to something since the menu at the Reform Club, in the 1800s, was filled with choices that could hardly pass for spa cuisine. Not to mention that most of the food was overcooked, over sauced and overrated. More to the point, in London, a gentleman’s club depended on its stodgy British classics, albeit done with a French accent, to keep the membership happily renewing their memberships.

Courtesy of the Reform Club

DINNER WITH FOGG

Jules Verne doesn’t name the actual dishes that Fogg tucked into on that auspicious late-afternoon but since we have a club menu of the era, courtesy of The Reform Club itself, it’s not too difficult to imagine what Fogg, one of the world’s least adventurous eaters, would have chosen.

He might have started with Consommé de Volaille a la Royale (chicken broth). He probably wouldn’t have gone with the Potage Crécy (puree of carrots, chicken stock and cream) because Phileas might have thought it too rich right before a lively game of cards.

His fish course would depend on what he ate earlier (late morning) at the club. Verne did note it was broiled in a [Worcestershire-like] Reading sauce but doesn’t name the fish. If I had a vote, I would have ordered the Blanchailles (small whitebait, a fish found in the Thames, usually sautéed or fried and served with a mustard sauce). True, fried foods are as indigestible as cream soups but knowing Phileas as well as I do by now, you can bet that he had the trout that afternoon.

Now, for the meat or game entrée, Fogg might have felt that even he would forgo the beef trolley for a plate of Cotelettes de Mouton à la Reforme, (lamb chops), a specialty of the club, accompanied by artichokes done in the English fashion (which meant steamed to a dreary beige). Finally, for dessert, De La Pryme Pudding, an extravagant citrus confection that added several pounds, or in this case stones, by just its mention. The pudding could very well have been the cause of Phileas’ delusion, as his friends must have characterized his travel plans. To end his dinner, Fogg would have ordered a savory, as was usual. In this case, he might have chosen the Parmesan Toasts, just to add an Italian note to his meal.

After such a grand repast what can anyone say except Bon Appetit!

London’s reputation for food at the time that Phileas Fogg lived his intriguingly eccentric, not to mention precise, life was even worse than its reputation for child labor. Roast beef was not only served with Yorkshire pudding but with its own social security card. Since the days that Fogg dined with such relish at the Reform Club even he would have to agree that the level of cuisine in his beloved city has been upgraded.

Today, instead of fish and chips, you’re likely to find poached eggs in puff pastry, or baked avocado over vanilla cream. Nouvelle Cuisine replaced boiled cabbage and kidney pudding faster than a speeding crumpet. Restaurant openings produce more buzz than the Royal Family. Of course, by now we know that the venerable lady with all the diamond hair ornaments is happiest with clear consommé and orange juice in front of the “telly.” She is no longer a culinary reflection of her subjects. There’s no doubt about it, London has gone from barely edible cooking in the 19^th century to one of the more renowned, adventurous culinary capitals in the 21^st.

Courtesy of The Reform Club

Reform Club Menu from 1870

Visiting London today means never having to say you’re hungry. Because of its dynamic and ever changing food scene, Londoners collect restaurants the way that Camilla collects princes. Chefs-in-waiting from all over Europe and Asia vie for a chance to simmer in some of London’s most coveted kitchens. There is even a shiny new name for the ever evolving traditional English menu to give it a nationalistic spin: “Modern British Cuisine.”

In the past, the British may have been accused of having under performing taste buds, but the folks who have brought us Shakespeare, Mick Jagger and David Beckham were also among the first to discover that Auguste Escoffier could wield a mean sauté pan. More than a century before Marco Pierre White tasted his first snail and Gordon Ramsey humiliated his first sous-chef, and even before Jamie Oliver did his first striptease, Escoffier was the toast of London. The new French cuisine he introduced made the British forget all that nonsense with Napoleon. Escoffier is credited with originating the very first hotel dining room in London. Before that, well-brought up people regarded eating in public as something that only the great unwashed indulged in. No one with any breeding would be caught dead chewing a chop in full view. Escoffier, with his sumptuous menu and opulent setting in the Savoy Hotel, made dining out not only acceptable but the height of fashion.

My own restaurant recollections in London have been slightly more eclectic then Escoffier might have approved of, and through the years they’ve run the gamut from a battered truck serving take-out at a flea market to some of the more captivating restaurants in the city.

A FOOD VAN NAMED “DESIRE” – #1

The van that I speak of was devoted to fast food at the Bermondsey Antiques Market (also called the New Caledonian Market) in London. Even though Bermondsey was once in jeopardy of being replaced by a housing development, for the moment the threat has passed. I can only hope that it and that remarkable food van will be just where I left them the last time I was in London. If not, they will survive just as vividly, in my memory.

The scuffed, almost-white food van (that I fondly call “Desire”) was the only place at Bermondsey to get something to keep the bitter chill of the dawn hours from hastening the onset of osteoarthritis. Of course, that was a known risk for the flea market junkies who regularly showed up there at a very frigid 6 a.m. The only beacon of hope at that hour was the lorry’s carte du jour, which was limited to fried bacon sandwiches on slabs of white bread accompanied by thick mugs of dangerously hot tea, the memory of which still brings tears to my eyes. The drill was always the same. People lined up as soon as they arrived so that they could fortify themselves for the cold, damp treasure hunt that lay ahead. The van’s “chef” could be counted on to look out on his crowd of shivering devotees with a benevolent smile, no matter the weather and no matter how many burn scars from the hot bacon fat he exhibited like badges of honor.

The available choices at the lorry might strike you as one step away from prison food. However the excellence of the bacon or the sausages served almost anywhere in England, even at a flea market, elevates a British breakfast, no matter how humble, to a near religious experience.

Without a doubt, if Phileas Fogg had a proper English breakfast today his meal would include a perfectly brewed pot of Earl Grey, thick slices of fried Irish Bacon, several small, fat, crisply browned sausages known as bangers, a mound of fried potatoes, toast made from perfectly-buttered, crustless white bread (orange marmalade and honey on the side, of course) and a small broiled tomato half just for the hell of it.

As for me, I could eat breakfast three times a day in London, and look forward to each comforting feast. But, back at Bermondsey, by no stretch of the imagination could you have referred to the bacon sandwiches and scalding tea as a proper British breakfast. Still, at 6 a.m. in the freezing dawn, they fed an incredibly pleasurable addiction. Those bacon sandwiches are, to this day, one of the best meals I’ve ever had in London.

THE SAVOY GRILL – #2

Ivan (my husband and writing partner) and I had saved for months just for the privilege of dining at the Savoy Grill on our first trip to London. Aside from its reputation as the embodiment of all that was elegantly upper class in hotel dining, it was also the restaurant on whose rug Winston Churchill had flicked so many of his cigar ashes.

Unfortunately, the first sign of trouble arose when the waiter brought the menu and we found, to our horror, it was entirely in French. The only French that we were familiar with at the time was French toast and French fries, neither of which happened to be on the menu. We decided to tough it out and make low mumbling noises that sounded faintly foreign and, if all else failed, point randomly but with some authority to listed suggestions. The waiter, who quite possibly had served crowned heads of state and members of parliament, was not in the mood to be charmed by the obvious discomfort of two upstarts from the New World. In a voice that would have frozen liquid nitrogen he asked, “Does Madam know that she has ordered, as an hors d’oeuvre to accompany her martini, a veal chop?”

Joint of Beef on a Pewter Dish by George Smith

In the years that followed our first, but far from last, social disgrace we began to realize that dining out in a renowned restaurant didn’t have to be preceded by obtaining a prescription for Valium. And it was not an opportunity to examine one’s self worth. The truth is, if you really get down to the basics, no matter the restaurant, you are only renting space at a table for a short duration, and buying the food that the restaurant happens to be pushing that day. So the next time that you feel as if you’re attending a job interview, conducted by the waiter, you can be certain that you’re in the wrong restaurant.

Courtesy of The Savoy

The original chef at the Savoy was a really hard act to follow. Auguste Escoffier opened the room in 1899 and from the very first was considered no mere flash in the pan. If he were around today, one can only imagine his shock at the new streamlined choices added to the Savoy’s menu. It’s been gently nudged into the present with a lighter, British Modern touch. To everyone’s great relief, no coronets have been bent out of shape in the process.

The Savoy Grill had one foot in the 1890s and another in the 1920s when it was the darling of London’s jazzy flapper set. Remarkably, The Grill still displays its stylish versatility in its ability to deal with 21^st century culinary modes.

In the past, most of The Grill’s specialties leaned heavily toward a perfect dinner menu for Mary Poppins. There was an impressive roast beef trolley manned by an expert carver, Steak and Kidney Pudding, Oysters with Cumberland Sausage, Boiled Bacon, Braised Turbot and everyone’s old favorite, Pease Pudding (a thick mass of split peas cooked down to the consistency of industrial glue).

However, the Savoy waiters always made a festive ceremony at tableside when they served their famous Sherry Trifle. Sir Winston, who was usually no one to be trifled with, was so impressed that he returned, time after time, to table number four after a hard day in parliament.

Today, as I write about the Savoy, I know that what I remember with such fondness is almost sure to change, and for the better. The hotel has been closed for more than a year, Grill and all, undergoing a major renovation. My spies tell me that when the Hotel re-opens it will surely be as glamourous and historic as ever. Great pains have been taken to restore the Savoy to its original opulence in even the smallest detail. The new Grill Room will be overseen by The Gordon Ramsey Group and so the menu may have a few of Gordon’s brilliant additions but old favorites will be in residence, roast beef trolley and all.

THE SAVOY GRILL/THE STRAND/
TEL: 0207-836-4343

Expensive

RULES – #3

Years before, when Gordon Ramsey was just a gleam in Michelin’s eye, there I was, sitting on a velvet banquet, sipping a glass of champagne and wondering if it was gastronomically, as well as socially, correct to spoon paté directly into my mouth, without help from its accompanying toast points. It was the beginning of my love affair with Rules.

Sad to say, the Rules of today has become a restaurant for rather lukewarm consideration, not only by the food critics but also by theatergoers who need a convenient Covent Garden address for dining. Over the years Rules has been almost forgotten by London’s smart set as well as by most guidebooks. It’s regarded as little more than a footnote or worse, a safe place to find “Continental cuisine”—the culinary kiss of death. Few people still think of Rules as a genuine Dickens-era treasure, where Thackeray dined and Charles himself would show up for a plate of kippers in the best of times. Rules is a Maiden Lane institution that has stubbornly hung on for over 200 years. Long may it sauté!

The plush, ruby red banquets were the first things that I noticed as I was led to my table. They seemed to glow against the cream colored walls. Soft light filtered into the room through a stained glass ceiling and illuminated the tables. My first visit to Rules was in the ‘60s when members of parliament used to show up regularly. I might have been just a bit late as a pacesetter, since Rules first opened its door in 1798. Through the years, the color of the walls has melted into a mellow Victorian sepia like a faded photograph. Rules was and is its own time warp, with a menu to match.

As for some of their dishes of yesteryear, you can always count on Steak and Kidney Pie; Spotted Dick (stop snickering), a spongy custard made with suet and dried fruit; and the ever popular, Treacle Pudding. When game is in season, Rules can play it as well as the best of them to produce a rare venison steak.

The most fun for me is throwing my latest cholesterol report to the winds and ordering the extravagant cheese course after dessert, of course. Usually, a whole round of Stilton the size of Pittsburgh is rolled to the table so that you may cut yourself an extravagant wedge. Add a glass of Port, and Dickens would really be proud.

RULES/35 MAIDEN LANE/ TEL: 020-7379-0258

Moderate

RULES’ MILIEU

Since you’re just a scone’s throw from Covent Garden and London’s theater district, Rules has a handy, secret exit that will make getting there a snap. If you ask someone from the restaurant, he’ll show you the tiny tunnel, opposite its front door. Even though the tunnel looks like the kind of place Jack the Ripper loved to ply his trade, the courageous will find it opens up opposite the Savoy Hotel, right on the Strand. If you continue on the Strand it’s a short walk to Covent Garden. The area around Eliza Doolittle’s old haunts has been transformed from a vegetable market into a trendy delight filled with shops of every description and enough casual dining choices to keep even Henry Higgins quiet. The Garden is at its most colorful on the weekend when there are street performers and a small crafts market.

THE IVY – #4

If ever a restaurant had the theater to thank for its glowing reputation, it would be The Ivy. A beloved haven for thirsty Ophelias and hungry Hamlets, The Ivy has been the Sardi’s of London ever since it hung out its sign in 1911. The mise en scene that plays out on a daily basis makes it the perfect hangout for the star-struck as well as the stars. There are more neck-craners at The Ivy than you’ll find in a flamingo park.

“Who’s that in the corner?”

“Who just left to change before the curtain?”

Careful, the answers might ruin The Ivy’s favorite guessing games. Adding even more drama to the surroundings is the steady hum of the latest backstage gossip. Some say that the ghost of Noel Coward haunts the place but if that’s true, I’ll bet even he has trouble getting a table; the room is always SRO.

As for the ambiance, what becomes a legend most? In this case a clubby room, more steak house than theater joint, with butter-soft, green leather banquettes and harlequin colored stained glass. There’s a great collection of contemporary art on the walls to ogle, that is if you get tired of ogling the famous faces in the crowd. All of this can be done while tucking into The Ivy’s heaping platters of British soul food such as bangers (sausages) and mash (mashed potatoes drizzled with onion gravy), Bubble and Squeak (a mound of mashed potatoes and cabbage) and a classic Shepherd’s Pie that would bring a tear to the eye of any self respecting sheep. I advise you to go for the gold when it comes to desserts. They’re pure nursery, the kind that would make any nanny’s heart beat faster. But beware, they’re definitely off limits for those who failed their last stress test. Among the most dangerous are Custard Bread Pudding and the Butterscotch Tart.

Courtesy of The Ivy

THE IVY/ 1-5 WEST STREET/ TEL: 020-7836-4751

Moderate

THE IVY’S MILIEU

As I’ve said, The Ivy is just a short walk to Covent Garden, which explains why the theater crowd finds it so appealing. But if you can bear to leave “Theatreland,” as the Brits call the streets that surround The Ivy, take a turn along Charing Cross Road, and you’ll be well rewarded. There you’ll find an irresistible browse in Foyles, one of the world’s most exciting book stores. The sheer enormity of its collection as well as the wonderfully rumpled look of the place will instantly turn any butterfly back into a bookworm. It was opened in 1903 by the Foyle brothers and in this age of the dreaded mega book chain, is still family owned. Eat your heart out, Barnes & Noble. Amongst the nearly seven miles of books, you can find all the latest page-turners, but if you happen to be wearing your overalls you can dig way back into the stacks and probably come up with a first edition of the Dead Sea Scrolls. At Foyles, anything is possible.

FOYLES/ 113-119 CHARING CROSS ROAD/ TEL: 020-7434-1574

Courtesy of The Ivy

The Ivy’s Shepherd’s Pie

• 2⅔ pounds good-quality minced [chopped] lamb and beef (mixed, and not too fatty)

• Salt and pepper

• Vegetable oil for frying

• 2 cups onions, peeled and finely chopped

• 2 cups sliced button mushrooms

• 2 cloves garlic, crushed

• 3 tablespoons thyme, chopped finely

• ½ (scant) cup flour

• ¼ cup tomato purée

• 33 ounces dark meat stock

• ¼ cup Worcestershire sauce

• ¾ cup red wine

For the mashed potato

• 8 large potatoes

• Salted butter

• Heavy cream

• Salt and pepper

SERVES 6

Season [with salt and pepper] the meat mixture. Heat some vegetable oil in a frying pan until it is very hot and cook the meat in small quantities for a few minutes, then drain in a colander to remove all the fat. In a heavy pan, heat some more vegetable oil and gently fry the onion, garlic and thyme until they are very soft. Add the meat, dust it with flour and add the tomato purée. Cook for a few minutes, stirring constantly. Slowly add the red wine, Worcestershire sauce and dark meat stock, bring it to the boil and simmer for 30–40 minutes. Strain off about 1 cup of the sauce to serve with the pie. Continue to simmer the meat until the liquid has almost evaporated. Take it off the heat, check the seasoning and allow it to cool. Preheat the oven to 400° F.

Peel and cut the potatoes into even-sized pieces. Cook them in boiling, salted water, drain them and then return to the pan over the heat to remove any excess moisture. Using an old-fashioned hand masher or a mixing machine or a potato ricer, purée the potatoes and mix them with plenty of good butter, a little cream and season with salt and pepper to taste.

To make the pie, put the meat into a large serving dish or individual dishes and top with mashed potato. Bake for 35–40 minutes.

Brindisa in the Borough Market

BOROUGH MARKET – #5

For a fascinating look at a gastronomic bazaar, I always head to Borough Market, the ultimate experience in open air noshing.

The original Borough Market started out in medieval London as a place for farmers and merchants to eat, meet and make deals. It was located atop London Bridge, that is, before it fell down (the bridge, now a supersized souvenir, resides in Arizona). The market was so popular that it grew and grew, spilling out onto the streets around the bridge. As a nod to progress, in 1276 it was moved to a larger outdoor site. It wasn’t until five centuries later, in 1754 that a new market was opened on Southwark Street, a short walk from the Thames.

Photo by Ewan Munro

Brindisa’s Chorizo Iberico

Today, Borough Market sprawls over more than four acres, all of them choc-a-bloc with enticing edibles. The panorama of meats, fish, picture-perfect fruits and veggies, not to mention other gourmet goodies, is enough to make a grown chef weep. In fact, you can see them at Borough all the time, perhaps not crying but definitely buying. The best restaurant kitchens in London have crates from Borough Market filled with everything from olives to ostrich.

With its aromatic sausage shops, its arrays of cheeses from around the planet, its wine merchants, its fragrant pastry shops and tapas stands, Borough Market is Graze Central. Londoners stroll among the stalls picking up a salmon croquette here, and a glass of mulled wine there, loving every minute of it, as I do. My personal favorite requires standing on the line that forms in front of Brindisa’s chorizo stall at noon for one of its spicy sandwiches. The cooks char the sausage over glowing coals and the resulting aroma accounts for the long queue, not to mention my ongoing dedication. The rules for chorizo chomping at Brindisa’s state that its fabulous sandwiches are only available until 2 p.m. sharp—but not to worry. If you arrive, God forbid, at 2:01 you can be sure of an almost limitless display of other yummies to sample as you browse the endless aisles at the Borough.

Photo by Rob Queensland

BOROUGH MARKET’S MILIEU

Since you’ll be in Bridget Jones territory (the film was shot nearby) you might want to roam some of the old streets around the market. Of course, the whole area is changing, and a distressing attack from “The Boutique People” is all too imminent. Until then, for a taste of Elizabethan London you’ve only to walk over to the awe inspiring reproduction of Shakespeare’s Globe Theater, and spend some quality time in the House of William.

Although the Globe is only open on a limited basis (May through October) for the Bard’s biggest hits, it’s open year round for tours of the museum. I was so moved by the dedication that went into the meticulous restoration, I was actually teary. It is truly miraculous in its authenticity. Since the new Globe was built even more information has been uncovered (literally) about Mr. S.

Archeologists believe they have found the ruins of yet another theater that Will both acted in and wrote for. The Globe museum will have more up to date information if you care to visit.

Another intriguing relic of London’s past is to be found on Clink Street, famous for its jail, now a mini museum. It goes without saying that the phrase, “thrown into the clink” has something to do with all of this. The jail has become a favorite tourist attraction. You can have the dubious pleasure of being thrown into the clink yourself since short visits for tourists can be arranged.

GLOBE THEATER/ 21 NEW GLOBE WALK/ BANKSIDE, SOUTHWARK/ TEL: 020-7902-1400

CLINK PRISON/ 1 CLINK STREET.

BOROUGH MARKET/8 SOUTHWARK STREET/
SOUTHBANK/ TEL: 020-7407-1002

THE RIVER CAFÉ – #6

Despite the fact that its name seduces you into believing that your reservation will produce a table with a stunning view of the Thames, the inside of The River Café is, without a doubt, landlocked, at least from any of its floor-to-ceiling windows. But take heart, come spring and summer, when the café’s tables overflow out into its idyllic garden, you can actually catch a glimpse of its namesake. It’s comforting to know that there is still some truth in advertising. However, location, location, location, as it applies to The River Café, that darling of London’s smart set, is not a dream come true. Its address, as it has been for over 20 years, is a block from the ends of the earth, or to be more specific, it’s in the Borough of Hammersmith.

Courtesy of The River Café

Housed in an old olive oil warehouse since 1987, The River Café was designed by Britain’s most distinguished architect Richard Rogers (not the one who wrote South Pacific). Rogers counts among his other monumental achievements The Pompidou Centre in Paris and London’s Millennium Dome. What made this giant from the world of architecture decide to design an Italian restaurant way out in the boonies? That’s a no-brainer—he’s married to the chef and co-founder of The River Café, Ruth Rogers. The other founder Rose Gray, who sadly died in February of 2010, was usually right beside her overseeing operations as Ruth stirred up one of her voluptuous marinara sauces.

Courtesy of The River Café

From the day they opened The River Cafe, Ruth and Rose agreed on a menu that was focused on the freshest food of the season, no matter that it often translated into prices that resembled sums on Warren Buffet’s annual report.

Assuming that you’ve made a reservation at least a month in advance and can find The River Café, you will be rewarded by experiencing the highly personal style of an extraordinary restaurant. The proof of the panna cotta is written in its Michelin stars, actually one star that it has held since 1989. Despite the fact that the café is often filled with notables and knights of the realm, mere mortals are as well taken care of as Prince Harry’s girlfriends. When I leave after a visit, and trudge back to the tube stop, there’s always a broad smile on my face, as well as a smear of sauce Bolognese on my cuff.

THE RIVER CAFÉ’S MILIEU

For the most part, the London Borough of Hammersmith is off the beaten track when it comes to major tourism. Not many travelers take time to explore this gritty part of the city. Not to worry, the Hammersmith tube stop makes getting there from central London, an absolute cinch. The problem is, if you’ve arrived a bit early for your reservation at The River Café, what to do? Nearby is The Dove, a teeny, tiny pub, dating back to the 17^th century. It’s rumored that Nell Gwynne and Charles II were regulars. Even more fun is the fact the Guinness Book of Records lists The Dove as the smallest bar in Britain. Claustrophobics take note. Neuroses aside, The Dove, with its cozy fireplace and intimate atmosphere is perfect for an aperitif or some after dinner lingering.

THE DOVE/19 UPPER MALL/
HAMMERSMITH/ TEL: 020-8748-9474

Courtesy of The River Café

River Café’s Focaccia col Formaggio

• 2¾ cups bread flour

• 1-plus tablespoons sea salt

• 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil (Ligurian is ideal)

• 1 cup grated or thinly-sliced Stracchino cheese [see NOTE]

Note: Stracchino is a slightly acidic, cream cheese native to Lombardy. If you cannot find, you might substitute Mascarpone.

SERVES 12

Place a large mixing bowl in a warm place and sift the flour into it. Add 1 tablespoon of sea salt and 3 tablespoons of olive oil. Stir in ¾ cup of warm water with a wooden spoon and mix together until you have a sticky dough, then cover with a cloth and leave in a warm place for 30 minutes.

Tip the dough onto a generously floured work surface. Coat your hands with flour and knead it for several minutes until it becomes smooth and elastic. Divide the dough into two, place in separate bowls, cover both with cling-film and leave for 15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 425° F. Flour the surface again and roll out the first ball as thinly as possible into a 16-inch diameter disc. Lightly oil a flat baking tray or pizza pan and lay the dough down on it carefully. Grate or thinly slice the cheese over the dough so that it covers the surface within ⅓ inch of the edge. Scatter with sea salt.

Roll out the second ball of dough to the same size. Place it on top of the first one to cover the cheese, and press it down lightly at the edges. Drizzle the surface with olive oil, scatter with sea salt and place in the oven for 25 minutes, or until the crust is light brown. Cut the flatbread into wedges while still warm.

Since my last visit, The River Café has gone through a major trauma that led to the extensive renovation of its haute moderne interior. In the spring of 2008 the café suffered a horrific fire. Its open grill (a familiar part of the restaurant’s décor) exploded and sent flames shooting up to the ceiling. The River Café closed to lick its wounds and redesign its grill. To insure that the catastrophe would be turned into a positive omen, the owners and their chefs made a pilgrimage to Italy to stoke their own fires and renew their menu. The River Café, somewhat remodeled, but not at the expense of its original clean, bright, elegant design, rose from its ashes and reopened the following fall. I’m told that the only really new element is a dramatic white wood-burning oven that is the restaurant’s flaming centerpiece.

My favorite table at the café is the one closest to its extravagantly long bar. It stretches out, as if it were a stage, to present platters of irresistible hor d’oeuvres and sinful desserts. As I obsess over the glories to come, I always relax with a glass of chilled Prosecco served over a fresh peach, the house drink.

But the real action at the River Café is centered around the oven that turns out chicken and duck, as crisp as parchment, glazed roasted veggies and perfectly moist fish. The rest of the menu, since it changes not only seasonally but weekly and sometimes twice daily, makes recommending specialties a bit too risky. In truth, everything at The River Café is special. There’s also the fact that since the renovation, the café has added new triumphs to the menu that I can only imagine (a trip back, sooner rather than later, for research purposes of course, is definitely required). Whatever the changes, the one thing that is almost always on the dessert menu is Chocolate Nemesis. True to its forbidding name it’s as addictive as any narcotic on the market. Don’t hesitate!

THE RIVER CAFÉ/ THAMES WHARF STUDIOS/
RAINVILLE ROAD/ HAMMERSMITH/ TEL: 020-7386-4200

Soooo Expensive!

TEA AT BROWN’S HOTEL – #7

I’ve had tea all over London but I keep coming back to Brown’s. And I don’t mean for just a cup of tea, I mean Tea, with a capital Tantalizing.

Brown’s was born back in the 1800s, sparked by, as the song goes, an impossible dream. And that impossible dream belonged to Lord Byron’s valet, James Brown. Brown thought if he could make Lord Byron comfortable (no small task) then he could do the same for the rest of London. The hotel has had a few re-furbs along the way to spiff it up a bit, but essentially it’s the same Brown’s where Eleanor and Franklin (the Rs) spent their honeymoon, and where the writing desk that Rudyard Kipling used during his stays remains tucked into a corner of its library.

Whenever I’ve had a hard day picking Piccadilly clean, I know that I can park my shopping bags, sink down into one of Brown’s ultra soft sofas and have what seems to me one of the more extravagant teas in town, and I do mean the works: first, tiny delicate sandwiches filled with cucumber or smoked salmon or sardine paste, then warm scones, dripping with butter and clotted cream, and then to end this sensuous fantasy, Lilliputian fruit tarts glistening with caramelized jam. If there’s still room for just a bite of something, then perhaps a thick slice of raisin loaf topped off with freshly whipped cream. Best of all, though by my last sip of Tea, I’m in danger of a sudden attack of insulin shock, I can savor the memories of sugar plums dancing in my head.

Courtesy of Brown’s Hotel

BROWN’S HOTEL/30-34 ALBEMARIE STREET/
TEL: 20-7493-6020

Moderate

Brown’s Hotel’s Scones

For the scones

• 4½ cups plain flour

• 5 tablespoons baking powder

• ½ cup sugar

• ¼ teaspoon salt

• 7 tablespoons diced butter

• 1 cup milk

• ½ cup (heaping) sultanas (golden raisins)

For the eggs wash

• 2 egg yolks

• 2 teaspoons milk

• Pinch of sugar

For serving

• Clotted cream

• Strawberry jam

MAKES 20 SCONES

Sift flour, baking powder, sugar and salt into a bowl.

Using your fingertips, rub the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse cornmeal.

Add the sultanas and the milk and mix well. Once it starts to come together, turn out on to a lightly floured surface and knead gently until it forms a smooth, soft dough.

Encase it in plastic wrap and chill for one hour.

Roll the dough out on a lightly floured surface to about 1 inch thick and cut into rounds with a 2 inch cutter. Place on a baking tray lined with parchment paper.

For the egg wash, mix ingredients together in a small bowl and brush the tops of the scones twice.

Bake for 10 to 12 minutes until golden brown. Do not over-bake them or they will be dry.

Serve them warm with clotted cream and good strawberry jam.

– recipe by Fabien Ecuvillon, Head Pastry Chef

THE PROSPECT OF WHITBY – #8

What’s the very best thing about a visit to a pub in London? Aside from the gazillion choices of stout and draft beer, it would have to be a traditional pub lunch. Of course, if you really need a quick schooner for what “ales” you, you’re apt to be more interested in the liquid libations. Not that all pubs or public houses are historic. Many of the ones found on almost every street corner in London are just run-of-the-mill neighborhood taverns. But, there are others that can go head-to-head with the Tower of London in terms of longevity. In fact, The Prospect of Whitby, which dates back to 1543, makes Buckingham Palace (1702) seem like a new housing development.

Albeit somewhat of a tourist hangout, the Prospect of Whitby also attracts the locals, who admire it just because it’s still standing after almost six centuries. When it was first built it was known as “The Devil’s Tavern.” After it burned to the ground, it was rebuilt and renamed with the help of a good PR agency, The Prospect of Whitby. Today it’s billed as the oldest riverside pub in London.

THE PROSPECT OF WHITBY/57 WAPPING WALL,
TOWER HAMLETS/ TEL: 020-7481-1095

Moderate

London/
Front Burner

AMAYA

Amaya is a totally new concept in Indian restaurants—for London that is. In fact you could call it an Indian tapas bar. Small plates of food arrive, elegantly presented and without the usual starters or mains. Not only is it delightfully non-traditional, it’s a real budget saver. But on most nights Amaya is jammed with adoring trendies who don’t have to worry about the price of their curries. The specialty of the kitchen is grilling, be it meat, fish or fowl.

AMAYA/ 15 HALKIN ARCADE, MOTCOMB
STREET/ TEL: 020-7823-1166

JAMIE’S ITALIAN

He’s everywhere, this young British dynamo and everyone seems to adore him. This time Jamie Oliver is speaking with an Italian accent and his cucina italiana has stirred up quite a ragu. It’s always SRO with pasta hounds who have wallets that are a lot trimmer than their waistlines. Who knows where Jamie will strike next?

JAMIE’S ITALIAN/ 19-23 HIGH STREET/
KINGSTON-UPON-THAMES/ TEL: 020-8912-0110

Brighton/
A Detour

Yes, I know, I know. On his manic schedule, Phileas would never have had the time for a fun trip to another seaside resort as he hurried to Dover to catch the boat train that would carry him tout de suite from England to France. But if he had, he would surely have packed an extra carpetbag and headed for Brighton.

Imagine one of the most perfectly preserved Regency settings, with a dash of Coney Island on the side, and you have the very essence of Brighton. Its seafront promenade is bordered by tall, elegant colonnades. Wedged between them are tacky souvenir shops which act as very inelegant punctuation to the magnificent architecture that is synonymous with Brighton. Even the long piers that jut out like fingers into the Atlantic are elaborate; though timeworn. Once, the piers were crowded with amusement park rides and actual crowds strolling from food to game concessions amid a carnival-like atmosphere. Today the piers are rather rundown shadows of their former selves, but even so, the views are wonderful and the piers offer a compelling vision of the past.

Facing the entire length of its seaside, Brighton’s handsome parks, splendid crescents and dignified squares are still beautiful enough to have been chosen as the perfect Edwardian backdrop by Masterpiece Theatre. Thackeray must have had the same thought since he used Brighton as a setting for Vanity Fair.

Brighton became popular in the late 18^th century as a fashionable seaside resort, a place for Britain’s upper classes, to carefully immerse themselves, fully clothed into the ocean. But the tourists of today will soon find out that Brighton is no day at the beach. Instead of soft sand and the expectation of sun, going to the beach means wearing heavy shoes with thick soles to protect tender feet from its sharp stones (the Chamber of Commerce refers to them more charitably as “pebbles”). As for sun, don’t count on it. Sun worshippers have been turned into agnostics after a day of gray skies and chill air. Most of the time it’s wiser to bring your umbrella than your tanning lotion.

Of all the curlicues and doo-dads that ornament many of the structures in Brighton, nothing quite compares to the ornamentation of The Royal Pavilion. It was built between 1815 and 1852 by the architect John Nash using the vivid imagination of the then Prince Regent, who later became George IV, as his blueprint. The prince was more suited to the life of an interior decorator than that of a future monarch. He lavished all the king’s horses and all the king’s contractors to make the Royal Pavilion, some say with a bit of a sneer, the eighth wonder of the world.

The façade of the Pavilion is a recreation of an Indian potentate’s palace, complete with domes and minarets, while the inside is an opium dream in full flower. Bollywood at its wildest has yet to outdo the prince and his magnificent obsession. The Pavilion walls are covered with miles of hand-painted wallpaper, and the rooms are filled with, rare oriental antiques, countless carved dragons and boatloads of gold leaf. All of this gives real meaning to the phrase, “a king’s ransom.”

A surprise is that the permanent population in town has a show-biz profile. Since the late 1800s, Brighton has served as a haven for theater folk who, like the Oliviers, preferred to live far from the madding crowd of London. At present, Brighton is again a chic outpost of London, attracting a whole new, young group of weekenders and commuters.

ENGLISH’S SEAFOOD RESTAURANT & OYSTER BAR – #9

If you make an excursion to Brighton for a whiff of sea air, don’t leave town without tucking into a platter of Colchester Oysters, laid out in glistening majesty on English’s long white marble counter.

Step two is to wash them down with a glass of chilled champagne (English’s doesn’t require this, but I do).

This venerable Oyster House, a century and a half old, has been owned by the same family since 1945, so they’ve really gotten the hang of it by now. Yet these are not quite the glory days of yore for English’s—recent comments indicate that the management has become too casual. Still, the outstanding oysters as well as English’s history make a stop here appealing. Originally the site of three fisherman’s cottages built over 400 years ago and located in the oldest part of Brighton, English’s is as much a part of the landscape here as the sea.

The oysters may be from Colchester, a town in Essex County renowned for its bivalve beauties, but English’s clientele comes from all over the British Isles and beyond. Fish fanciers have included Dame Judy Dench, Jeremy Irons, Tony Blair and Ewan McGregor. Years ago Charlie Chaplin was a regular as was Sir Laurence and Joan Plowright, his wife. They’ve all enjoyed English’s denizens of the deep but, unfortunately, not at the same table.

When I visited, English’s took its Dover Sole so seriously that the waiter leaned forward and in hushed tones asked, “On the bone or off the bone, Madam?” When was the last time that anyone asked you that question except, perhaps, your orthopedic surgeon?

ENGLISH’S SEAFOOD RESTAURANT & OYSTER
BAR/ 29-31 EAST STREET/ TEL: 127-332-7980

Moderate