Fitzrovia – bohemian hub of the early 20th century, home to literary and artistic bon vivants who would frequent the area’s many watering holes…
The attention to detail is exceptional and intriguing; with napkins wrapped in riddles, sugar cubes contained within a whimsical ballerina musical jewellery box which plays “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”…
“As we settle into our seats with their fraying edges, and frail wooden armrests, we hear a commotion at the table behind us. Without proper warning a man suddenly falls backwards off his chair and rolls onto the floor. He’s ruddy and broken looking.”
The Docklands area is an unknown land for most of us; a mystery for those of us who don’t get to don a well-tailored suit and head off into its murky depths to worship at the slippery altar of high finance.
“It’s extremely rare that I find myself in Parson’s Green. I love London for all its multifarious gastronomic eccentricity; I love diving on a bus and eating Turkish feasts in Haringey, Indian food in Southall, but you’d have to work pretty hard to drag me down to Parson’s Green.”
“Café Boulud, humming quietly beneath The Surrey hotel, a hive of monochromatic luxury on the Upper East Side.”
I first read about The Connaught at an extremely impressionable age. I was too young –it left an indelible, immovable mark on my consciousness. I was fourteen years old, but I remember the sequence of events very clearly.
“If you visit the restrooms at the Goring Hotel you might be forgiven for thinking you’ve taken a step back in time to a Victorian gallery of smut. Adorning the walls are a selection of Reubenesque beauties leaving very little to the imagination…”
“Everywhere in the Capital, everyone is grabbing for their bit of the pie. Whether it’s mediocre no-hopers petulantly clinging to the armrest in the tube, or unjustifiably self-important fat cats creaming off bonuses in the City. It is universally acknowledged that no one wants to share.”
Theo Randall deals in rusticity. His cooking philosophy is simple: source the best ingredients to create authentic Italian dishes that would make mama weep for her homeland.
“You can see Copenhagen’s balls from here!”. Excuse me? “What on Earth are you talking about” I said to Mr P, who was stunt double for Lady Stirling this particular evening. “Copenhagen, his balls, you can see them quite clearly from here”. He was right.