Hotel food. Perhaps you've encountered its beastliness, pricey corporate slop served up as some kind of "treat." Huh. But I recall exceptions to the rule, the Berkley in Knightsbridge served up understated excellence and the Dorchester on Hyde Park wasn't shabby either.
Then there was the famous Connaught in Mayfair; go to Mass 'round the corner and fall back to the Connaught for a roast, cell phones not allowed. All famous in their day, justifiably, but let's not forget the Stafford, just off St. James.
Sitting cheek-by-jowl to palatial Spencer House, the Stafford was all about Gilded Age luxury and had wartime cachet to boot, being the WWII Officers' Mess of various allied nations, namely America and Canada. Hence the hotel's American Bar.
I used to love the American Bar, where you could order up a Club BLT and get perfection, but got to know the dining room menu too well, to the point of exhaustion, it was a work thing. Pan to one night seated at starched linen and gleaming glassware. A waiter approaches and asks in a disturbing French accent, "Sir?"
A moment's reflection, "I should like a cheese omelette and chips." The beastly Dagenhamite sneered at my off the menu order and replied in fakey French, "Would sir like ketchup on his chips?" Stunned by his dam impudence I sat silent while Viscount Furness thundered, beating the table, "He'll eat what he dam well wants!"
The waiter retreated, suitably chastened, and returned with a very decent omelette.
Go to the Stafford if you're in St. James and enjoy the American Bar, I think it remains unscathed from the ravages of the last three decades. Avoid the dining room though, they've ruined it, last I saw.
While you're in the area, gaze in wonder at White's Beau Window and Boodles' equivalent, frown at the forbidding Whiggish facade of Brook's and take solace in the Carlton Club, formerly Arthur's, where, apparently, you're not allowed to smoke anymore. Rubbish.
Cheers,
LSP
