It is a very rare occasion for me to feel
flush. I had just had a pay check come in and looking to my balance I saw I had
more than I had at first thought. I started to get very excited, culinary and
gastronomic possibilities opened up before me. There would be new recipes to
try, new restaurants to visit and fresh drinks to sample in order to keep both
my blog readers satisfied and material for my book-in-progress fresh.
I had a free evening last Thursday (something
that seems rarer and rarer as the weeks go by!) and so I decided to check out
the Garden Room at the Lanesborough. A number of websites and critics had sung
the praises of this establishment pointing out to the discerning, if
inexperienced cigar enthusiast that this was one of the only public places that
you could smoke underneath a semi-permanent roof with the same comfort of an
indoor bar. I was hooked, the reviews were dazzling – they talked of glamourous
‘Mad Men’ like women and suave men in sharp suits and dark glasses similar to
modern day Dean Martins all supping on Martinis and Manhattans! I made a call
to one of my close friends who was only too happy to join me on a journey to
see how the supposed ‘high society’ spent their evenings!
Meeting my chum outside Hyde Park Corner tube,
my wallet was bulging with notes. Having been to smart hotels before I am well
aware of the prices that their drinks command and so I had come prepared. A
Cohiba Siglo IV was pressed against my right breast by my perfect fit 1938
three-piece suit as we both entered in over the threshold. Ushered this way and
that by an attendant through carpeted corridors, marble staircases and brass
railing we finally made it to the Garden Room. We were greeted by a very
professional but jovial fellow who I surmised by the receipt was called
Pasquale who informed us that the room was fully booked and that we would have
to wait about 45 minutes to be seated. Seasoned men of the world, this did not
bother me or my mate who were lead by yet another attendant to the Library bar
so that we could pass the time in style (although I think their business acumen
presupposed that we would have at least two drinks in the upstairs, non-smoking
bar before decamping downstairs).
We were taken to a bar which was smart, but
which was decorated in a style which I think was more international than
national. I had the feeling that they were trying to create the feel of a
London Club but it lacked the eccentric characters that one associates with
such establishment. True it was full of glamorous individuals, but I
consistently got the feeling that we were the only Brits in the room. I joked
that I hoped that the other patrons were looking at us as if we were big
business (as we must have been the youngest people there by about 10 years)
dressed as we were in City suits and silk ties.
One glance at the drinks menu told us that we
weren’t in schoolboy territory. At first I stammered over the hundreds, even
thousands of pounds being asked for vintage Cognac, Scotch Whisky and Port.
Luckily a quick flip through six pages of currently unaffordable luxuries
revealed that they made a range of classic cocktails which were more in our
price range…
*
When I was at my very liberal boarding school,
I was asked – at the tender age of 16 – by one of my tutors what my favourite
alcoholic drink was? Of course, I had tried a few different liquors up to that
point but I had become a big fan of Campari and Orange. Duly informing my tutor
(for I was never one to mince my words) that I was partial to this particular
tipple I was met with incredulity and insult: ‘my god!’ he exclaimed, ‘you
might as well grow a pair of breasts whilst you’re about it!’. Typical oaf
behaviour! But not to be unexpected and I have gone on enjoying my Campari ever
since all the more certain in my cultural superiority to this tutor for it is
indeed a delicious drink to the discerning palette!
*
Dear reader… I apologise for my slight
digression. I hope that I haven’t lost your attention (as many of you will be
wondering why I have mentioned this little episode from my past)! I felt that I
had to justify my ordering of that classic cocktail, the Negroni. A potent
mixture of Gin, Campari and Red Vermouth this is a drink suited for those with
a good tolerance for the bitter. The rewards for disciples are great, a burst
of aromatics and a real alcoholic kick make this a cocktail for champions and
is a must for anyone looking to give themselves the airs and grace of the 1920s
and those halcyon days of cocktail drinking!
My friend ordered a Caipirinha which tasted
fantastic but I am not much of an expert so I cannot comment with any
authority. My Negroni was perfectly made and slipped down far too quickly for
the liking of my sobriety! After one more apiece we were informed that a table
had become free in the Garden room. Full of anticipation with my cigar, cutter
and matches metaphorically burning a hole in my pocket we made our way to what,
for the last few months, was one of my most hotly anticipated drinking spots.
As we sallied forth into this rarefied venue we
were once again greeted by Pasquale who gave my hand a warm if ultra-firm clasp
and said how glad he was to have ‘Mr Rubinstein’ as a guest – the once and only
time I feel that I will ever be assumed as a Russian Oligarch. Once seated in
this lively if a touch overheated room, a comprehensive menu was thrust into
our hands. The drinks here were even more expensive as if to challenge morons
with more money than sense to order a bottle of Croft’s 1900 port at £1200. On
first glance at the cigars I was thoroughly glad that I had taken my own. I saw
make, then date, then price and my eyes started to boggle! I had always thought
that Davidoff on St James was pricey but nothing had prepared me for this. Like
the booze we flicked over page after page of special smokes until we came upon
the affordable page (which still wasn’t cheap but not ruinous). I’m glad the
waiter didn’t hear the fluctuating sighs of horror and then relief that
emanated from our small area as we flicked page after page of ascending and
descending prices!
Luckily I had my own cigar so I was quite
content with arranging my own affairs and cut the smokable to tried and tested
methods with my NUB (another cigar make) cutter. My compadre ordered a Davidoff
Short Robusto which was skilfully cut and lit by one of the waiters and we
settled back with a fresh round of drinks to enjoy a lengthy smoke with two
very formidable cigars.
Politics was discussed at lengths and, as I’ve
made it a pledge to myself never to descend into such subjects in my blog, I
will leave you guessing as to the general gist and the outcome of the
discussion! There was food chat, banter about women we fancied from
acquaintance and celebrity (then realisation that they were well out of our
leagues!) and general outlandish statements that accompanies all serious
drinking. The cigars kept getting shorter and the drinks coming. Tiring of
Negroni and its formidable price I got a craving for a cool lager. This was the
first of a couple of stumbling blocks for the establishment, The lager
wasn’t chilled enough and didn’t have that refreshing bite that I like in
a good quality version of the product – but that is just me. I noticed the
couple across the room enjoying theirs so I feel that this is a bit pernickety.
Don’t get me wrong, I had a fantastic time at
The Lanesborough (and the two respective bars that I attended) but there was
one aspect that bothered me. I felt that my experience at The Lanesborough
would have been perfect if it was not frequented by obnoxious people. Of course
this is a pipe dream, if people are prepared to pay the money they are entitled
to the service, here lies the root of my complaint.
Both my friend and I were shocked at the appalling behaviour of the
fellow guests at both the Library Bar and the Garden Room. The majority were
rich foreign businessmen and I was disgusted by the way they treated the hotel
staff as if they were lesser people. I feel that many – and it goes for a
number of fellow countrymen as well – think that it is fair game to regard very
hard working staff (especially at somewhere like The Lanesborough) with
contempt. I was especially shocked to see two Italian men being incredibly,
verbally rude to the fellow Italian who was serving their drinks, then laughing
about their hilarious joke as the sullen waiter walked away. For a handful of the guests it was embarrassing,
others shrugged indifferently, some shared the joke. Treating staff badly is
not on! They have a hard job and as the customer – while it is our right to
demand good service – it is also our duty to treat those who serve us with
proper respect.
In spite of this minor setback I would urge you to go, especially if
you are a smoker. It is one of the last bastions where tobacco aficionados can
enjoy their favourite pastime and they make a damn fine Negroni!
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