Bar Américain, Among the Swankiest of Swanky London Bars

 

Bar Américain

Bar Américain, Among the Swankiest of Swanky London Bars

 

In London, I do most of my drinking in pubs, the pride of England’s social life.  Pubs are a social leveler where you see tattooed, scraggly construction workers idly chatting with coat and tie business men and clusters of women old and young passing the time of day over pints of brew and glasses of wine, and cider.

 

But, there is another side to London’s drinking habits, a classier side with women in elegant dresses, men in coats and ties and  delightful cocktails that cost nearly as much as…well, you get the picture.

 

On my last trip to the capital of English money and the scene of English fashion, I dropped a few £ at a very classy watering hole, Bar Américain, deep inside and downstairs in the Brasserie Zédel, which is not to be confused with the world famous American Bar in the landmark Savoy Hotel.  The American bar is world famously historical for a reason and I’d easily slip in for a sip or six, but right now let’s concentrate on Bar Américain.

What makes a good bar?  In my opinion you only need one word: gentility.  But since my three faithful readers no doubt need a wider explanation, I have one right here and ready.   A gentile bar requires comfortable seating, music at a level fit for the low tones of polite conversation, subdued lighting that speaks of luscious romance, with a wait staff that is not there to be your friend, but to serve you with care and consideration.  The staff wear classically smart uniforms of a quality meant to serve the queen.  Should you choose to sit at the bar, which I normally do at 45 Jermyn Street, the bar staff must be incredibly knowledgeable and ready to provide a depth of information about each and every bottle behind the bar. No doubt they have tasted each and at times wept over the wonderful flavors. Only mention tune of your taste buds, and they will offer samples of those drinks for which you are not familiar. And while you sip at the table or the bar, you will munch on an assortment that begs you to ask:  Where did you find these wonderful tidbits?

 

Need a list of such prominent places to sip and enjoy the evening?  Of course you do.  Although I’ve provided photos of Bar Américain, Here’s a list, but certainly not an all inclusive list, of other of London’s gentile places to sip and ponder and gaze into those beautiful eyes that….well, we shan’t go too far… and besides, I could barely afford the drinks let alone some frolicsome gazing.

 

American Bar at the Savoy Hotel

45 Jermyn Street (click on the link)

45 Jermyn Street

Duke’s Bar at the Dukes Hotel (click on the link)

Dukes Bar

Any of the bars at the Dorchester Hotel, but especially the Promenade Bar

Don’t you just love the way the English use past participles that we colonials has let drift away:  I shan’t do that, the flowers smelt nice, I hope you have learnt from your mistake.  (But if used as an adjective you still must used learned)  It was a lesson well learned.

 

Even the use of shall has faded into the past of American English.

 

Ah, well, on we go, back to the gentile Bar Américain.

 

The layout is vast and yet the placement of the tables, and the way the room is broken up and flushed with soft light, gives the feeling of intimacy.  The wait staff, dressed in livery, is both professional and polite.  In seconds you know they are well trained and their job is done with pride.  “What may I offer you, gentlemen?”

 

What about the drinks?  I sipped a Perfect Manhattan.  And what is a Perfect Manhattan?  Your favorite bourbon, with a dash of bitters, and a splash of both sweet and dry vermouth, with a sweet cheery.  Because I know you’re sitting on the edge of your seat to find out….I prefer Four Roses, but oddly enough the original, instead of the single barrel and others from the talented minds of merchandizers. My companion had the same, for a great reason.  Not only is our favorite cocktail, it was also our father’s favorite.

 

A Manhattan is best when served in a stemmed, chilled glass, bringing back the days of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck.  Ah, yes, the days when Hollywood stars weren’t just beautiful, they were glamorous, as is the Bar Américain!

So, the next time you’re in London…Well, here’s looking at you, kid!

London in Black & White

 Photographing London in black & white gives a different perspective of this beautiful and wondrous city, or at least that's the way if seems to me. Somehow it seems more personal and alive.

On this trip I concentrated on people living normal lives, chatting together, drinking in pubs, and walking the streets, yet sometimes the streets themselves offer their own personalities.

Theatres: Fun in London

Theatres: Fun In London

 

After reading my last post about negotiating the maze that led me in and out of London, you might well ask:  What the heck, Bro?  Did you have any fun?

 

You bet I did.  I was traveling with a relative and he and I think along the same lines, to wit, pubs and theater!  We also threw in a museum, some shopping and a few very classy bars!

 

Over the years, I’ve written a few times about pubs I’ve enjoyed and I found some more, but this time I’m writing about three plays we went to see, a comedy and two musicals.  You can probably see the direction this is going.

 

There is something you need to know about plays in the West End of London.  First of all, the imperative tube stop:  Leicester Square.  Why is it important?  Because that’s where the discount ticket offices are!  The Northern Line and the Piccadilly Line will get you there. The offices open at ten o’clock and the line grows lengthy, so be early.

 

Now, how about the plays?

We’d been waiting over a year to see Magic Goes Wrong, a comedy by Mischief (the name of the company) and the great magicians, Penn & Teller.  Mischief has written  some great comedy, such as The Play That Goes Wrong, and Peter Pan Goes Wrong.  When you see one of their productions, you know you’ll be entertained by buffoonery and side splitting goofball humor.  Magic Goes Wrong is no exception.   If I had to pick it apart, I’d say the first half was not as good as the second, but of course, for humor to work, you have to set it up and I hasten to add, I laughed a lot in the first half as well.  But, the second had me rolling.

The second play was The Drifters Girl.  If you’re my age you lived through the birth of Rock and Roll, The Drifters was one of the founders, a four man group with hits such as Under the Boardwalk, and Save the Last Dance for Me.  This musical tells their story, with an emphasis on the woman who made them stars and kept the group going in spite of personal crises and a revolving door of performers.  As the musical progresses, the whole repertoire of magnificent songs keeps the ball rolling and lively.  A unique story, well told and I guarantee you’ll come out of the theater tapping your toes, with lyrics on your tongue and thoughts of your misspent youth and the high school dances, and, oh yeah, of course the girlfriends.

The last musical we saw was Moulin Rouge and what a spectacular production it was!  The sets were wonderfully elaborate, and the songs and dancing spectacular.  Only a couple of things bothered this purist. 

 

Moulin Rouge was set in La Belle Époque, from the last of the 19^th century, until the First World War. It was the time of postimpressionism and racy dancehall music, of which The Can-Can is the most famous.   Toulouse Lautrec, as you might recall, was the artist who captured so many scenes of the Moulin Rouge dancers and the bordellos and the ladies of the night.

 

Instead, in this production, Toulouse Lautrec was portrayed as a down on his luck hobo, who miraculously came out of the gutter to bypass art and direct a play.  Meanwhile, except for the Can-Can, the music in this production depended on bits of rock and roll, as well as those of Lady Gaga and Madonna.  Not that I hate those songs, I just found them unconvincing, as I would if Les Miserables featured songs by the Beatles. Picture Jean Valjean singing “try to see it my way,” or The Phantom of the Opera, with songs by Elton John, backed up with choruses by the Shirelles, with a little Buddy Holly tossed in.

 

But I have to admit, the crowd loved it.  Gave the performers a standing O.  I kept my seat and didn’t mind that the enthusiastic crowd blocked my view.  I’d had had enough.

 

And I have to mention, before you leave Leicester Square, with your pockets full of discount tickets, or even if you’re not in the mood for theater, Leicester Square is also the gateway to so much culture. It’s a short walk to Trafalgar Square and on the way you’ll pass the National Portrait Gallery, which is only a very short walk to National Gallery, not to be missed if you’re an art fanatic, featuring centuries of art, including all my favorite impressionists, Monet, Manet, Renoir and so many others.

 

And while you’re in Trafalgar Square, walk diagonally across the street to The Admiralty Pub, the only pub in Trafalgar Square, and a glorious place, adored with flags and a large balcony in the shape of a ship’s upper deck.

 

Ernest Hemingway called Paris a moveable feast.  I call London a banquet!

Happy Thanksgiving

 

Thanksgiving

 

On redolence of pumpkin pies

Drift memories and dreams 

Spices sweet with days long gone

And starry eyes of children

Who wonder what it means 

Turkey roasted crisp and brown

Gravy thick and smooth 

And blessings young and old

For all that we’ve been given. 

And family ties renewed. 

Enter and Exit London In the Dark Days of Covid

 

Enter and Exit London In the Dark Days of Covid

 

Surely my three faithful readers noticed my absence, even though no emails came my way, bemoaning their loss, and begging for blog articles to lighten their loads and light up their lives.  Well, you see, I’ve been abroad, to the land of King Arthur, Robin Hood, Will Shakespeare and a long list of sovereigns.  

 

How do English school kids manage to remember all the names of kings and queens?  No idea, but I do know how they keep track of Henry VIII’s six wives. “Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.”

 

Cute jingle, but back to the topic…

 

Getting to the UK these days takes fortitude.  With the scourge of the world, the Chinese flu, upon us, doors have slammed and No Entry signs posted, but at last, things are beginning to brighten.  Good thing.  My thirst for Brit beer was becoming a problem.

 

So, what do you have to do to gain entry to (and exit from) the United Kingdom?  Here’s a list:

 

1.    Get your covid shots.

2.    Purchase your airline ticket. 

3.    Fill out the air carrier’s forms and follow the link to the UK forms

4.    Fill out the 4 page UK form about when you are arriving, leaving, where you are staying, and sign up for a covid test for when you get there.

5.    Just to be sure, I took a covid test within 72 hours of my flight, because if you get to the UK and test positive, you will be quarantined for 8 days. (the time period seems to change semi-secondly)

6.    Present proof of vaccination, passport and completed UK form when you check-in for your flight. Masks required for the entire flight, except when you’re eating and drinking.

7.    Take your UK covid test within 2 days of arriving in the UK and post the results to the company whose test you took.  This is tricky.  Only one test per email address, and once you use two people for one email address, good luck trying to get the second one EVER posted. I found that out after talking to the testing company off and on for three days trying to clear things up.  I also found that that no one EVER bothered to track me down.

8.    Time to enjoy yourself in London

BUT

9.    Within 72 hours of flying out of the UK, you must be tested for covid before boarding your flight home.  This is a U.S.A. requirement and all documents must be presented at check-in. Pharmacy across the street from my hotel handled this for about $65.

 

Next question:  How strict are the covid restrictions in London?

 

Everywhere you go there are signs that mandate that masks be worn.  This is largely ignored by one and all.  At Boroughs Market, people were so packed in that I could not get to a stall to buy anything.  Perhaps ten percent of the folks wore masks, although all the vendors did.

 

Tubes, the same way.  Stores, the same.  However, different story for pharmacies, other medical facilities, and theater performances.  At one play, not only were masks required, but the ushers checked our proof of vaccination.

 

Never saw a mask in a pub or a restaurant, or a bookstore.

 

In short, with few exceptions, in Britain, the strict mask rule is not very strictly enforced.

 

The day after I got back in the U.S.A. I started feeling bad, so I got tested one more time.  Positive for covid.  One terrible night and then things got better fast.  The doctor I saw suggested shots of Regeneron.  I took his advice and as advertised I felt much better within a day.  Four shots.  Two in each thigh.  Given all at once and with the caveat:  Don’t get the covid booster for a couple of months.

 

Now I have all the paperwork to prove I am both positive and negative!  Welcome to international travel! But, I did enjoy the beer!

John Le Carré’s Last Book, Silverview

 

John Le Carré’s Last Book, Silverview

 

I’ve been, for years, a great fan of John Le Carré.  His real name, in case that’s escaped your attention, was David John Moore Cornwell, but when he published his first book, Call for the Dead, Britain’s MI6, the Brit equivalent of the CIA, wouldn’t let him use his own name, hence the Carré version.

 

As you know, I have never published a bad review, but in this case I feel like I’m doing one of my favorite authors a big favor.  If you start with his latest and last book, you may give his first novels a pass and you shouldn’t deny yourself those pleasures.

 

Silverview reads as if T.S. Eliott (Thomas Stearns Eliot) and James Joyce combined to write a spy story and the rules of mahjong all in one, and had it edited by Sigmund Freud. 

 

Allow me to give it a go:

 

Right where the rubber meets the bra, Gertrude.  Six nickels to thirty cents.  Not a beast in the stable that hasn’t scared the butler, if you know what I mean.  And cancel the butter and send your Joe out in the world.  But, it was senseless to have a go at madness. He put his quivering face in his equally quivering hands.  What’s the matter?  Need a good fluff of the old pillow before you settle in on the couch?  It was like playing ping-pong with someone else’s balls and your head as a paddle.  We can’t go on this way on the road to the blowing sands of the Sahara, without a cup of swine flu and no way out of the tantrum tunnel.  I wouldn’t give a cloak of wolf-skin bulldogs to see his musty mallet beat the furry mammal.

Well, I did my best to copy the style!

 

My fingers clutched in vain at the raw bones of this laborious tale that was wrapped so tightly in an invisible cloak.  At last, about page 150 of this 208 page book, the door hiding the spy story cracked slightly.  Then angst took over again and you discovered the room was full of squirrels, arguing about which way to best cross the road, and who led them to the road in the first place.

 

John Le Carré was a wonderful writer, and my arrogant opinion is that over the years, he became an even better writer, with less and less to say.  But, in his defense, Silverview was only just completed before the autopsy.  May he rest in peace while you gently use your grubby fingers to grab copies of his earlier tomes, especially the George Smiley spy novels, unless of course, you have a yen to learn the obscure rules of the blindfold version of mahjong.

 

Start with Call for the Dead.

 

 

Thoughts of My Mother

 

Thoughts of My Mother

 

 

The moon and stars rise far too early now, 

The nighthawk’s call heard far too soon

That marks the darkness cloak unfolding

Far too soon. Far too soon.

 

Children bring the bright of day, 

Happy cherubs’ singsong voices,

Their hopeful hearts beat in rhyme

To every morning’s light.

 

Hopes abound like sunrays never fading,

Painted brightly, dreams forever rising, 

 

I see her now, my mother, her face alight

At the children’s pleasured voices, 

Beaming bright as day,

And in her mind, childhoods in the distance

Float like ghosts before her 

And the darkness of the coming night.

A Pot of Greens, Plus Cornbread from The Careless Cook

A Pot of Greens, Plus Cornbread from The Careless Cook

 

First off,  I have to put down my glass of wine, hold up my right hand and swear to tell the truth, something I don’t generally do because it complicates my already disordered life. 

 

This recipe is not all mine.  It’s my version of Eddie Hernandez’s recipe that he came up with decades ago, when one of his friends brought him a pile of fresh turnip greens.  Eddie is a happy, friendly restaurateur extraordinaire, who has owned several Mexican restaurants in the greater Atlanta area.  He’s really become acclimated to the southern style of cooking and his turnip greens are a good example, with Mexican flavors, but served in the southern fashion, the greens in their potlikker. 

 

Potlikker?  The broth you cooked the vegetables in.

 

But, you’re dying to know what The Careless Cook did differently.  The biggest difference is that I used cans of greens.  Now, Eddie runs a restaurant and when he cooks, he cooks massively and with great planning, so the time-to-cook (TTC) doesn’t matter.

 

I, on the other hand, had a significant other out for a 45 minute bike ride who would not show me a smile and be satisfied with a PBJ. (Pretty Bad Jumble)  Also, she’d mentioned cornbread on the way out the door.

 

First Cornbread Task:  Oven to 425ºF, oil an iron skillet and put it in the oven…..more to follow, but now let’s get back to the Greens.

In-Green-inents

 

3 cans of greens (refer to the photo to see what dusty cans I found in my pantry)

½ large tomato, seeded and diced

½ large onion, peeled and diced

2 garlic cloves, peeled and minced

1 jalapeño, seeded, the ribs cut out, and diced

½ stick of butter (about 4 ounces)

32 ounce carton of chicken broth

salt and red pepper flakes to taste

fresh herbs to sprinkle on top - I used cilantro

 

Puttin’ It Teegether

 

Dump all three cans of greens in a colander and drain.  Set aside.

 

Melt the butter in a large pot.  I let mine brown just a little.  Toss in all the vegetables except the greens, and cook until the onions are limp.

 

Add the greens, stir, then pour in the chicken broth and bring to a boil.  Reduce heat to low and let the greens simmer while you make the cornbread.

 

Cornbread

 

Lots of variations, as you know.  This is the simple version to use when your significant other is on a bike ride and has high expectations and hunger pangs when she returns.

 

1 cup all purpose flour

1 cup corn meal

1 teaspoon salt

¼ cup sugar

4 tablespoons baking powder

1 egg

1 cup milk (I used oat milk because that’s what I had!)

¼ cup vegetable oil

 

Put the dry ingredients in a bowl and whisk to mix.  Make a well in the center and add the egg, milk, and oil.  Whisk only until the ingredients are mixed.

 

Pull the iron skillet out of the oven.  While others may know this, I will add a further instruction for my friend Daphne.  Don’t grab the skillet barehanded!

 

Put the batter in the skillet and return it to the oven.  My cornbread browned in 20 minutes.

 

I served the greens with some chopped herbs on top, plus a cut of cornbread and a glass of Pinot Gris.

 

Significant other expressed satisfaction bordering on happiness.

I raised a glass to Eddie Hernandez....who, by the way, has a fabulously interesting

cookbook that tells his story, from Mexico to now, along with a collection of recipes you're going to want to try!