Retro Sybaritic Adventurer - London

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Monday, June 27
South Kensington, London

Please note that this is a vintage article. Hotels and restaurants may still exist but may have changed hands. The Rembrandt Hotel has since been renovated and upgraded and Garnier and Brasserie St. Quentin are rumored to have closed, or maybe not, depending on the source. Always call ahead to avoid outrage and disappointment. Also although the exchange rate between the Pound and the Dollar may be the same over time, the prices listed here are decades old. But hopefully you will enjoy the writing style as it was intended, a journal entry of its time.

The Michelin Guide rates The Rembrandt Hotel as “comfortable”. Somehow I assumed that even being listed in the Michelin Guide connoted standards. Perhaps the fact that renovations are taking place each day outside my window with a view of a courtyard that seems it has not been tidied up since the World War II bombings. Perhaps it’s the fact that the window units, instead of being replaced with modern frames, have old frames freshly painted (including the locks freshly painted shut). No air conditioning, no vents (one could always try to open that window at the risk of not being able to close it again).

To its credit, The Rembrandt has nice sitting areas in the lobby, chandeliers and elaborate wainscoting. The rooms are fairly clean and modern in cool beige tones. But single rooms are just that – a single celibate cot; the bathroom not really small (for Europe) but with one face towel and bath towel. There is a little too much austerity for a superior tourist or first class hotel for my taste. The hot water is plentiful, the water pressure strong, but I was dismayed to learn I must plug in my hair dryer behind the television set using a Frangus converter kit. England has a unique wall outlet all its own, 3 prongs and one such socket in the room is hardly enough. The bathrooms have these silly 2-prong outlets labeled: “for electric shavers only” (they certainly are and I don’t know any plug to fit these peculiar outlets.

Air conditioning? Open a window. No vents either.

Rembrandt, 11 Thurloe Place SW7 2RS Tel: [phone] AE, DC, Visa

A form must be filled out at the Rembrandt in lieu of turning in your passports to the hotel. Other forms need to be filled out. I find my first evening in London mired in bookwork. In accordance with the Immigration Act of 1971, all visitors to the UK must fill out a “landing card”. These must be presented to immigration officials at the airport who ask: “How long will you be staying in England?” “What is the purpose of your visit?” Are you with a tour? “Which tour?” He has a big book to look this up to confirm, so don’t lie.

Passports must also be presented to cash traveler’s checks. Cash them only at the hotel if your traveler’s checks are in pounds. If they are in dollars, head to the nearest bank for a bank rate.

Day one in London is a bungle of errors. Drivers drive on “the wrong side” of the road (the left side), so as a pedestrian be forewarned: look in the opposite direction you would normally look when crossing the street.

What luck! Harrod’s Department Store is just a few blocks away (on Brompton). Still weary with jet lag, we enter with hopes of shopping for gifts. Harrod’s is not the place for a bargain. Its striking bronze exterior with royal warrant endorsement is a clue to the prices inside.
Not unlike Bloomingdales, here is one stop shopping for all the little things you didn’t know you couldn’t live without. We strolled through cosmetics, Waterford crystal, the record department and the food hall (also undergoing revisions at this writing). What in London isn’t undergoing renovations? Big Ben isn’t exempt in its scaffold prison. Ditto the Victoria & Albert Museum (directly across from our hotel) and sundry churches.

After Harrods, an afternoon nap is called for. But Eileen, our tour manager, has called an orientation meeting for that evening . That means one and a half-hour sleep-the most I’ve gotten in days. I couldn’t take more of our hotel for dinner, so out we go into the streets. We pass up the Brasserie San Quentin (French food in England is wanton), a pretty place, through its windows one can see an elegant, linen tablecloth bistro. The menu is entirely in French, unsubtitled of course. A place two blocks up is less expensive, but seems to be a grungy hangout. We decide to compromise – dinner at Garnier (Brompton Road). The staff is foreign (and a lot friendlier than at our hotel restaurant). There is a cover change (40 pence per person) and a 10% service change (you are expected to leave an additional 5% on the table, 15% total for service). Prices for main courses were 3.75 pounds to 5 pounds. Salad is 1 pound extra and so are vegetables. The dessert cart was pretty, laden with fresh pastries and cakes, but chances are you will be satiated by then. We ordered Chicken Kiev (a peculiar variation of garlic and parsley-laden chicken breast-very thick, heavily perfumed with garlic (3.75 pounds). Another in our party ordered Shrimp Scampi Frites, with rice provencal (another peculiar variation on a classic – shrimp fried into little packets, no sauce or juice in evidence at all (4.75 pounds.) The house salad arrived with the house dressing (a shockingly tart vinaigrette). Add coffee (85 pence), a pot of tea (1.20 pounds) and iced tea and our bill for three totaled out at over 20 pounds ($32.30 US). Just a little steep for a casual bistro.

Tuesday, June 28

An early morning wake up call was due at 7:30am. I wait. At 8am, still no wake up call. I go down to the hotel dining room for the included continental breakfast (juice, coffee, cream, croissants (I had three) with strawberry preserves, pure honey, dairy butter and orange marmalade, all put our on the table. All standard hotel food, but surprisingly filling. I finish with just enough time to grab my camera.

Our tour manager has arranged for a local guide and motor coach driver to show us London in four hours. At first, a cursory tour of the streets in our area: the poshness of the Hyde Park Hotel in Knightsbridge, the shocking bronze rococo of Harrod’s Dept. Store, the overpriced stores in Mayfair and Knightsbridge, the old austerity of Fortnum & Mason’s provisions shop. Then on to London’s financial district, Buckingham Place (barbed wire has been added to the walls surrounding the Palace to prevent another Michael Fagen from entering the Queen’s bedroom), Trafalgar Square (less the pigeons and fountains this time of morning), then onto the Tower of London, Tower Bridge (both with their signature spindly turrets and a Beefeater who posed for more pictures than he cared to do). We move on to Cleopatra’s needle, the Thames River and a stop at the Houses of Parliament-the monumentality of these buildings with their intricate detail work was enough to bring a lump to one’s throat. Awe inspiring. Even more so than the Clock Tower (Big Ben is actually just the bell-the whole structure including that famous clock face is actually called the Clock Tower). Not too impressive at this time as Big Ben and the Clock Tower are undergoing refurbishing and cleaning, looking quite helpless in its scaffolding straitjacket. We stop, quite illegally I am told, for a quick picture.

Next the interior tour of Westminster Abbey, now a Protestant church (all stained glass has been removed and replaced with plain clear glass). No pictures are allowed to be taken once inside. Gentlemen must remove their hats. Tombs galore abound: the daughters of Henry VIII, Geoffrey Chaucer, tombs of Kings too numerous to mention, as well as the body of a poor Unknown Soldier. The ceilings give new meaning to the term “cathedral ceilings”-ivory, white masses of ornate and sumptuous ornamentation, perpendicular architectural spindles reach down from the ceiling, many of these spiked and highlighted with giant gold rosettes. At 12 noon, a voice comes over the public address system. All motion ceases. We pray for world peace. This ritual has been done everyday since 1600 AD. We exit, awed, humbled, amazed yet solemn at the same time.

Back at the hotel, we need a change of pace. Take me to lunch at Harrod’s first floor. There is a long line. One picks from such unusual items as chicken and turkey in bread pastry, mushroom quiche (served cold), plebian salad with sterile tomatoes. The 7UP & Pepsi, imported on tap and equally sterile, totally unrecognizable. But at 90 pence for quiche, who’s complaining? Off to the crystal department for a purchase of Waterford crystal (one small vase 23.50 pounds), and an additional dose of the beautiful and helpful British sales girls (the young ones seem sincere and friendly, an old one in the crystal department so crabby and sour with a definite aversion to motley tourists asking for conversion of pounds to US dollars.) On to the perfumery and then an obligatory visit to the venerable food hall (gourmet and produce shops): asparagus $9.00 US dollars per bunch-you get the idea. Out in the streets again and we stop at Books, Etc. Ltd. (120 Charing Cross and other branches about town) for post cards at a remarkable 6 pence each-the lowest price we spotted yet.

After a morning of shopping and sightseeing and then more afternoon shopping at Harrod’s, we are ready for afternoon tea. At the Rembrandt Hotel in South Kensington, we order traditional English afternoon tea: 3 finger sandwiches, crust cut off, little triangles of butter and tomato, cheese with butter, cucumber with cream cheese, all very proper but all very bland; 2 scones, studded with raisins, served with clotted cream (similar to butter) and strawberry preserve. A choice from the pastry cart brings baklava with its layers of puff pastry and whipped cream. All portions too large for good taste. The cost of this wanton excess: 2.75 pounds. I retire to my room. Now I know why they invented afternoon naps, and I realize why dinner is served very late. I will not be hungry by 6pm or 8pm. But I awake two hours later and try to stuff dinner down as well. We checked out the Carving Room at the Rembrandt (7.95 pounds per person, prix fixe). One has a choice of appetizers (honeydew melon that arrives like a dessert, soup of the day, lentil, a fiery mix of lentils, red and green peppers. It’s spicy, daring. Who says British food is bland? For the main course, we choose from a buffet of roasts: roast beef, roast lamb, roast turkey or ham – all monumental sides of meat sliced to order by the chef. Also choose at will from roesti potatoes, green beans, cauliflower, zucchini with tomatoes and Yorkshire pudding, of course. The salad bar only serves leaf lettuce (similar to American limestone lettuce) with such unique items as rice salad. The salad dressing in London seems to be vinaigrette. Dessert (included in the prix fixe) is trundled out on a trolley: apple pie, fresh cut fruit with homemade whipped cream, chocolate cake, and our choice, cheesecake with strawberry topping, spiked with a liqueur of indeterminate origin. Chocolate mints arrive with the check. This was a successful meal thanks to the British knack of breeding and cooking lamb, succulent in its own juices. After bidding the staff “adieu”, we try to walk off dinner in South Kensington, the crowds gone, but the streets safe.

Wednesday, June 29

On edge with anticipation, I telephone Le Gavroche, brazenly the night before I want to reserve a table. It takes about 10 minutes to figure out how to use a British phones. I request a table for dinner. The receptionist puts me on hold then returns to tell me they are completely booked. But wait, there is hope. “We have an opening at lunch if you really want to visit” she says. I do. I reserve for 1pm.

The day of the visit I try to fast, long before lunch, priming myself, saving myself, for the gastronomic epiphany to follow, fantasizing about the much-publicized viands. Le Gavroche is the only Michelin 3-star restaurant in the British Isles. Half an hour before, we hail a cab and ask the driver to take us to 43 Upper Brook Street in the incredibly fashionable Mayfair district. We pass the Hilton, Dorcester, and even Buckingham Palace. We arrive and pay the 3-pound carfare (we were stuck in London’s chronically heavy traffic driving the bill to double its usual cost) (1.80 pounds). We enter the elegant town house at 43 Upper Brook Street. A lovely woman takes us through the upstairs bar from the reception desk. We descend to the restaurant itself, down an angular staircase into the posh clubbiness that is Le Gavroche. Unique olive walls, highly lacquered dark bamboo moldings, olive, semi circular banquettes, white linen tablecloths and a centerpiece of freshly cut flowers in a formal arrangement that hugs close to the table all characterize the atmosphere that is Le Gavroche. The townhouse windows have hung Austrian style drapes, pulled high. In the window alcove lies a giant floral arrangement that would make a statement at any funeral. In one corner there are velvet couches, table and table lamp, all adding to the clubby ambiance.

About dress. I chose a Harris Tweed sport coat with a tie, which was not formal enough for Le Gavroche. All gentlemen, even at lunch, were attired in a dark suit and tie. Lunch is listed as being served from 12pm to 2pm. Most people arrive about 2pm for lunch. A wine list was brought to the table, but we shooed the wine steward away, preferring to leave our taste buds unaltered by alcohol. One member of our party couldn’t resist a Scotch & Soda (Schweppes) brought to your table separately (3 pounds). The menu is drastically limited at lunch. One must choose from the prix fixe menu (19.85 pounds each, service and VAT included). Attempts to order a la carte are quickly stifled. No provisions are made for small appetites. One must order appetizer or soup, entrée and dessert, coffee and petit fours without the slightest correlation as to whether one can consume that quantity of food. We chose the homard pate terrine as appetizer and for the sake of research, one of us chose the soup du jour, a fine soup of julienne vegetables. The homard terrine was unique and helped by the addition of lobster sauce. Toast is provided to spread the terrine on the bread.

The entrees: just three are available. Filet de St. Pierre. Escalopes de Foie and agneau (lamb). The liver was a masterwork. I hate liver, but these scallops of liver were so special in a clear sauce heady with lime. Vegetable flan is served along side. The filets St. Pierre arrived as little boats of fish (the filets made up the sides of the boat) filled with a lobster filet and set sail in a green ocean with a drizzle of black julienne vegetables flecked in the green sea, very much like the Miro painting on the wall. All so nouvelle yet haute, this was probably the most creative dish I have encountered to date, sort of like consuming a modern art print. Salad is brought with your entrée, a mix of mache and radicchio (a craze on the continent at the time) with vinaigrette dressing so perfectly balanced, I have yet to come across another restaurant that could refine vinaigrette to this degree.

Desserts were a mixture of the predictable (chocolate mousse) and the unexpected (sorbets so full of fresh flavor, it’s like fresh fruit detonating in your mouth). They give you three flavors: cantaloupe, pineapple and red current. All about as good as you are apt to find in your lifetime. Coffee is also included-café filtre and it is served in demitasse cups. The waiter will ask if you want cream. Petit fours are brought to the table-all very sweet but they complement the bitterness of the espresso. A play on contrasts. Service is good – too good. Do we really need four people to wait on us? A captain, waiter and 2 bus girls. Do they all have to be attentive to every move we make? The bill came to 58.50 pounds for lunch for three, plus 3 pounds for the drink for a grand total of 61.50 VAT and service included. You are warned that service is just very basically included and we are expected to leave more. We left 5 pounds in addition, causing the bill to soar to 66.50 pounds ($109.75 US). It was recently awarded a third Michelin star after moving to the Mayfair part of town, making it the only 3 star restaurant in the British Isles at this time and one of ten Michelin 3-star restaurants in Europe’s major cities. (3 Michelin stars connote exceptional food worth a special detour.)

Le Gavroche, 43 Upper Brook Street, London, England W1
Tel: [phone]
01-408-0881
AE, DC, V
Lunch 12 PM - 2 PM
Dinner: 6pm – 10:30pm





Back at the hotel, the tour members are in an uproar over Eileen’s nonchalance and disappearance on days when she is needed. She posted a notice that all tours that were optional have been canceled due to overbooking, leaving tour members to fend for themselves. Personally, I have no desire to be led around by the nose every day, but it seems what most people want, so perhaps my vision of what a tour should be is unique.

Dinner by necessity is very light after the wanton indulgence at Le Gavroche. How about spaghetti Bolognese at Dino’s Restaurant? Plain and simply with a motley clientelle.

I must say goodbye to London today at twelve noon, a parting I do not do willingly-I could stay much longer, possibly even live here.

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Photos

Clock Tower
"Big Ben"
(in its scaffolding prison at the time).

Comments

[Roseanna]

Can you imagine what a dinner at Le Gavroche costs today? Another great article!!!