This is a belated review of my nearly two-week stay at 51 Buckingham Gate in London back in October. Let’s get the blog-stuff out of the way. I paid for this stay myself, but lest you vastly overestimate my personal worth, through a right conspiracy of forces in my personal life, I was able to stay here at a very, very good “discount” that was completely, totally and utterly unrelated to my blog. I never would have stayed here otherwise. (And no, work didn’t pay for this either.) I am being deliberately mysterious here because I am just trying to figure out if what I did for the discount was worth it and that evaluation is still in progress. I don’t want to mislead you until that evaluation is complete. More to come around April.
Anyhow, even at just one bedroom, the flat I occupied at 51 Buckingham Gate — just a stone’s throw from Buckingham Palace — was bigger than both of the flats I lived in while I was in London. The bedroom in my suite was huge. The living room/lounge was huge. The master bath/en-suite was HUGE. Heated towel racks galore — and Molton Brown products — for just me. Plus an extra half-bath just in case.
That being said…it kills me to say this…SIZE IS NOT EVERYTHING. The Dean Street Townhouse and its lovely small rooms completely outshone 51 Buckingham Gate. So too did the room at my first stay at a Firmdale Hotel — The Covent Garden Hotel. Both Dean Street and The Covent Garden go luxury in small spaces over large spaces with, um, a half-hearted attempt at luxury. Another hotel also very good: The Zetter. All of these hotels had such a better mix of furnishings, service, and on-site beverage programs.
Because let’s face it…I got kicked out of the bar each evening at 9 p.m. 9 p.m.! I wasn’t there every evening, I promise. But I was there for a few. And around 8:45 pm each time, the staff would tell it was time to go — I was welcome to stay and avail myself of butler service — but the staff was going home.
Bah. Thinking back to what I liked about the place…I liked the Molton Brown products, and I liked the Whole Foods gift basket they gave me because I was staying more than six days. (That being said, I would like to speak to the person who assembled the gift basket because I think they could have put together a more useful combination of stuff. I have a liter of olive oil I’d like to get rid of now.) I liked the twice-daily room servicing, and I liked the library/cafe area.
I didn’t like the carpets in my room (they’d seen better days), nor did I like the windows (they let in the chill). The master bath, while HUGE, was old and in dire need of a refurb. I did not like the location most of all — the area south of Buckingham Palace is a wasteland of government buildings and is just very, very boring.
In short, even should the fates again conspire to put me here, I’d only say yes because I miss London so desperately that I am open to selling any part of my soul. (Seriously.) Otherwise, you can find me arbitraging on Hotwire.
The Background: The week before I left London, my team and I went out to lunch. For ages, we’d been talking about going out for Sri Lankan food because Dilshad is Sri Lankan and none of us know anything about the cuisine. We left it up to Dil to pick the place, and so it was that we saw ourselves heading over to Victoria for lunch one Friday afternoon.
Sekara is old school. Family run. Old paintings. Old carpet. Old bathroom. I like these places more and more because there’s an honesty to them that’s refreshingly lovely in this age of “We’re going to add 12.5% service to your bill even though the service is crap and the staff never see the money.” Check out the gilt chairs. It’s like we’re at a wedding.
As none of us know anything about Sri Lankan food, we put Dil in charge. He orders all this…
You know how when I write dim sum posts, I have no idea what I’m talking about. Let me put it this way…with Sri Lankan food, multiply that by 10. 100 maybe even. I really have no clue. Thank God for Dil.
Let me start with what I liked. I really liked the vegetable kotthu roti and the mutton kotthu roti. Dil called it “drunk food,” and I can totally understand why. Even though there was no meat in the vegetable version, it was dense and filling and I could easily understand its power as a stomach-liner. It sort of reminded me of a more fun pad se eu. These dishes arrived last, which was really a shame. I think if they had arrived first, I would have had a much more positive view of the entire experience.
After the kotthu roti, I probably liked the vegetable patties the best. Like an empanada, but not. Again, hearty and stomach-filling.
Less successful were the mutton rolls, which seemed like they’d come straight from the deep freezer. And possibly even straight from a deep freezer that resided on a boat and had transported the mutton rolls from Sri Lanka to London during a monsoon. Really, just not very good. (And lest you think this is because of my unfamiliarity with the cuisine, Dil said they were pretty bad too.) Also bad? The squid. It was like eating rubber bands coated in tomato sauce. No thank you, really.
The Verdict: I didn’t DISLIKE Sekara. I liked trying something new, and doing it with someone who grew up with the food. I’m just not dying to go back. I would like to try some more kotthu roti though, and in general, I’d like to try another Sri Lankan restaurant just to compare the quality of the food. Shame–I’ve already researched Sri Lankan restaurants in Chicago and there aren’t any.
Bar Boulud Mandarin Oriental 66 Knightsbridge SW1X 7LA
Date of Last Visit: 23 June 2010
The Victims: Many, and sadly, I only remember the names of Cara and Heather and Laissez Fare. I am a terrible person, even though my mother raised me right.
The Background: I met Heather from Heather on Her Travels a few months back at a Lastminute.com party. I don’t know what I said or what I did, but fast-forward to June and Heather dropped me an e-mail to invite me to dinner at Bar Boulud at the Mandarin Oriental. Paid for by the Mandarin Oriental. (Yes, yes. I know. I know.)
As a native New Yorker, I would love to say I know all about Daniel Boulud and his eponymous restaurants in New York. (And Las Vegas. And Palm Beach! And Beijing!) But I don’t. Much like I don’t know anything about Bruno Loubet. Yes, I know nothing.
I’m also not going to go on and on (and on) about the history and the background of Daniel Boulud or Bruno Loubet, along with their trials and/or tribulations. That’s what Wikipedia is for. (Here. And…um…okay, Bruno Loubet doesn’t have a Wikipedia page. Now what does that mean?)
But I will tell you that the Thai sausages were pretty delicious. And if you get the charcuterie, don’t faff about…go large. LARGE. It’s pretty awesome.
There is the burger. The Yankee. It’s very competent. But the bun, alas, remains untoasted. (Or if it was toasted, it was only the lightest of toastings.) Why now, really? Who doesn’t like their bun toasted?
Bar Boulud, are you reading this? The blogosphere is abuzz. Apparently, you’ve removed the Chop Chop salad (with lobster for a supplement) from your menu. This is a mistake. A big mistake. (Unless you show me your Thursday lunch sales numbers and can prove you weren’t selling a one.) Bring it back! Bring it back!
The sea bass…now this…I’d like the recipe. This was pretty fantastic. I liked that it was crispy. (I think, in general and after much contemplation, I like crispy things.)
The ladies loos are very white and very clean. The lighting, however, is perhaps a little too clinical. Turn it down a notch so we all feel more beautiful.
The kitchen was fascinating and fun to watch. I like moving parts. I also like how you can sit at the bar right here and stare straight into the kitchen. That would be pretty cool for a solo diner.
The Sommelier: I must give a special shout out to our wonderful sommelier. He was clever and funny and knew what we wanted and what we didn’t know we wanted. We shared our love of Vermentino (the house white when I visited) and I fell just a little bit in love with Bar Boulud.
Celebrity Sighting: The Iron Lady. Seriously. She looked good.
The Verdict: I liked it here. OK, it was a freebie. Of course I should like it. But between the sommelier and the great potential for solo dining, I think they’re on to a winner here. (As if they didn’t know…being, as they are, in the Mandarin Oriental.)
Harrods Sushi Bar 87 – 135 Brompton Road, SW1X 7XL
Date of Last Visit: Sunday, May 2, 2010
The Damage: £15ish
Sushi two days in a row. Do you think I like sushi? My birthday was a few days prior to this, and as a birthday treat, I had booked myself into the Mandarin Oriental Spa. (Which is highly lovely, by the way. I very highly recommend it.) I had some time to kill before my appointment, so I popped into Harrods for some retail therapy and some sushi.
And I was very disappointed. It was the rice. There was something wrong with the rice. It ruined everything. Dry. Lumpy. Overly sticky. Sigh. Is it really so hard?
Veuve Clicquot Champagne Bar Harrods 87-135 Brompton Road London SW1X 7XL
Date of Last Visit: Thursday, July 9th, 2009
The Victims: Jen, Feathers
The Damage: About £15 each. But the snacks were free!
The Background: We dropped into Harrods for the sales the other night. Crazy sales. Really unbelievable. If only I were rich. And thin. I'd be wearing half-off Valentino right now.
We needed a little break at one point, so we dropped into the Veuve Clicquot bar and ordered a glass of champagne each. Pricey at £14.50 for the gold, and £15 something for the rose. But when our complimentary snacks arrived, we felt a lot better. Some nice crispy cracker bread, studded with sesame seeds and poppy seeds. And some delicious tangy yogurty cream to scoop it all up with. A nice surprise. And just enough to tide us over for the rest of our shopping.
The Verdict: A nice little London oasis, but pricey for the champers. Next time, I'll see if I can snag the snacks by just purchasing a £9 glass of wine.
The Question: Where are your favorite complimentary bar snacks?
Veuve Clicquot Champagne Bar Harrods 87-135 Brompton Road London SW1X 7XL
Date of Last Visit: Thursday, July 9th, 2009
The Victims: Jen, Feathers
The Damage: About £15 each. But the snacks were free!
The Background: We dropped into Harrods for the sales the other night. Crazy sales. Really unbelievable. If only I were rich. And thin. I'd be wearing half-off Valentino right now.
We needed a little break at one point, so we dropped into the Veuve Clicquot bar and ordered a glass of champagne each. Pricey at £14.50 for the gold, and £15 something for the rose. But when our complimentary snacks arrived, we felt a lot better. Some nice crispy cracker bread, studded with sesame seeds and poppy seeds. And some delicious tangy yogurty cream to scoop it all up with. A nice surprise. And just enough to tide us over for the rest of our shopping.
The Verdict: A nice little London oasis, but pricey for the champers. Next time, I'll see if I can snag the snacks by just purchasing a £9 glass of wine.
The Question: Where are your favorite complimentary bar snacks?
The Background: I've had 1707 on my list since Fortnum & Mason refurbed in 2007. Yes, sometimes I take a while to get around to things. Unlike my London blogging colleagues Dos Hermanos, who continuously amaze me with how quickly they get to new places.
We kindly request that both sexes lean more towards elegance.
Let's just say that I am pretty sure I was wearing jeans that Saturday. And not the trendy kind. More of the "I'm going to do five loads of laundry and get some shopping done" variety.
The Entrance: I find 1707 in the basement of Fortnum and Mason. It's small but has a nice crowd in it for 3 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon. I am given the last seat at the end of the bar and eventually start chatting with two gentleman who have escaped from their wives who are upstairs shopping.
The Wine: I chose the Alsace flight because one of the random things I know about my maternal grandfather is that that side of the family comes from Germany, near Alsace. I am not disappointed in my selection although I would say that the wines were maybe a bit too dessert-wine-like for me on a Saturday afternoon. My flight was served in a fun metal glass holder–lest you think that I drank three 250 ml glasses, each glass was 125 ml. The things I do for you! And my blog.
Alsace Riesling, Domaine Bruno Sorg 2006 Alsace Gewürztraminer, Domaine Bruno Sorg 2006 Alsace Pinot Gris, Domaine Bruno Sorg 2006
The Bar Snack: Everyone is getting into the salted dried broad beans these days, aren't they?
The Background: Bryan and Stacey have invited me over for dinner. As the non-cook in the group, I've been assigned the cheese plate. I have to stop at Fortnum & Mason for some foodie gifts, so Paxton & Whitfield, famed London cheesemonger, it is. And I am glad.
The Entrance: Cheese, cheese, and more cheese! I like that at Paxton & Whitfield, the cheese is all out in front of you in nice big wheels. OK, it's like this at Neal's Yard too. But at Paxton & Whitfield, it all just seems so much closer.
The Selection: I put myself in the hands of the cheese monger. I ask for an all English plate. Something creamy, something blue, something different. £20, I've got three cheeses: a smoked cheddar (which ends upbeing my favorite), a stilton, and of course something that I've completely forgotten. Not because it was unmemorable, but because my memory is as holey as swiss cheese.
The Berkeley Hotel Wilton Place SW1X 7RL Tel: 0207 201 1619
Date of Last Visit: Wednesday, August 20, 2008
The Victim: Jen
The Damage: Unknown. Jen paid! (Well, actually, Uncle Bob paid. Thanks Uncle Bob!)
The Background: A few years ago, I took Julie, my Mom, and her friend Mary for tea at The Ritz and wrote about it on my blog. (My how my writing has improved over time.) With Jen in London for a bit, I thought it would be nice to take her for tea too…little did I know that we’d be upgraded to first class on our flight to Madrid and enjoy high tea somewhere over the Atlantic. So Jen got to have tea twice!
I’ve read about the Pret-a Portea at The Berkeley on a bunch of other London food and restaurant blogs…American-London-Blogger Life in a Nutshell perhaps captures it best because she includes photos of the cakes PLUS photos of the fashion behind the cakes. The idea is that the cakes look like the most recent fashion collections.
The Food: We start with one glass of champagne each. This turns into two. We switch to tea before we can say yes to glass number three. (Wisely so.) There are little sandwiches in quarters with their crusts cut off. Little savory canapes (none of which match what’s listed on the menu, but no bother). And lots of little pastries. Little is the very operative word here. But just like Taco Bell, they offered free refills.
I’m not quite sure how Jen has made it this far in life without having a traditional French macaroon. (As good Catholics, we grew up on the Jewish kind.) So right before heading to The Berkley, I took her to Harrods where we bought a six-pack at Laduree.
So it was nice that soon afterwords, we were treated to another macaroon, a little one…
The Verdict: I thought tea at The Berkeley was well-presented. I wasn’t so keen on the room though. We had tea in the bar, more or less. The guys next to us were having hamburgers. At The Ritz, everyone around us was having tea, which made things a bit more convivial.
Besides not having that many words, I don’t have all that much time, what with having a day job and all that. But I will endeavour, as best as I can, to tell you more about The Botanist than I have about other places I have been in the past.
The Entrance: The Botanist is full of Sloaney Ponies. I feel brunette. I feel short. I feel like I should be wearing something, anything, in gold lame. Just a little sparkle. I retire in navy blue to a corner table…an empty corner table with two chairs. There’s a gentleman sitting in an awkwardly positioned chair in front of my table, a chair with a foot stool. I ask him if it’s okay if I sit at this table…is it free? Yes, he tells me, yes.
Well then of course Rutton arrives and takes the other chair and all of a sudden the table ISN’T free because this gentleman’s friends have arrived and now they have nowhere to sit. I hear him tell his friends that he had saved this table and that he was here first and I think "THAT IS SO NOT WHAT YOU TOLD ME. YOU SAID IT WAS FINE."
I am not an idiot. I turn to him. I smile sweetly and I say, "Why don’t you and your friends take this table? You were here first." I can stand. And I have better things to do than to fight with a soon-to-be-out-of-work-investment-banker. (If he’s not out of work already.)
Arrgh. Can’t we all be brothers?
The Service: We were seven and now we’re five and we didn’t call ahead to tell them that and you can tell they are peeved. In a polite sort of way. They squeeze us all into a table for four. Three of us on the banquet. I sit in between Al and Rutton and we try not to elbow each other through the course of our meal.
But our server is lovely. Attentive and kind and friendly and professional. They have a good egg in that one.
The Food: I start with the chicken and foie gras terrine and they’ve managed to make it very summery, for a terrine of foie gras. It’s lovely, really. Darsh’s crab and avocado cocktail looks even more summery and light than mine. He says it is.
After polishing off two bottles of Spanish Abarino (not on my own), my halibut arrives. It’s nice, but a tad on the salty side. Really, it’s just okay. The duck looks great. As does the suckling pig.
The Loos: Neat and clean. As I leave the ladies, I run into a guy in blue spandex with a yellow cape. I’m not kidding.
The Dessert: One of the tangiest and best slices of lemon tart I’ve ever had. Served with a good scoop of raspberry sorbet.
The Ambiance: LOUD. Really really loud. Just a few cushions would help. Really. A happening bar. I would come here later in the evening just to hang out. But I would wear my four inch platforms and get blond highlights and lose 1015 kilos first. Just to fit in, you know.
Douglas is already in the bar when I arrive, sipping pink Moet and holding a present for me! It's a bottle of txacoli, my new favorite wine. The evening is off to a good start–I like a man who can quaff pink champagne–and we haven't even eaten anything. Except the bar snacks, which aren't as nice as those at Claridge's.
The Entrance: I can't forget I'm in a hotel restaurant. I have a fondness for hotel bars, but there's just something about the decor of hotel restaurants…all that beige. We are shown our table–by a window–with what would be a great view of the park at sunset if not for all the construction out back. The staff are sweet about the awful mess and apologise in a funny and good way and we settle in to watch the sun set over the work-in-progress.
The Food: I could walk you through everything we ate, word-by-word. But that would assume I had taken notes, which I didn't. (Douglas wisely asked for a copy of the menu before we left.) But I DID take photos of everything for a change, so perhaps a few photos will speak a thousand words. Douglas and I made quite the pair as we whipped out our blogging equipment as each course arrived, I with my Canon, he with his LG camera phone (5 Megapixels, no less!) It reminded me that I should really organize a London food bloggers meet-up at some point. Dining out with like-minded souls is a good thing. What the other diners thought of us with all our snapping, we don't know. I'll come back to the food in a sec, but let me talk about the service first.
The Service: When we were first shown to our table, they seemed to kinda forget about us. No menus, no "Hello," no nothing. And it's not like we could enjoy the view while we were sitting there. Very odd. They recovered splendidly after this, but it was a slip up, for sure.
Our main waiter was a young Spaniard, and he was very enthusiastic in his service. Part of me wanted to ask how old he was because he just looked so youthful and fresh-skinned. Well done to him, once he got us started. The sommelier (German? Austrian?) seemed quite personable, which I liked. No stuffiness. Poor guy though…I didn't really see any table take advantage of his services all night, and with a half-full room….I would have been bored to tears.
Back to The Food: I caught photos of everything except the little snacks that arrived once the staff remembered that we were sitting there. Hummous with lime and twisty little bread sticks. I am forgetting the other dip, but hopefully Douglas can shed some light.
Now, off we go…
Firstly, a lovely chilled melon soup. Douglas displayed his great manners by eating his soup away from him, which is very very proper. (You should also pass the salt and pepper together, you know.)
Then a trio of scallops…I wanted to lick the plate clean.
And two preparations of foie gras, one lovelier than the other…and I must apologize but the photos are going to get darker and darker in a bit. The sun was setting…
The ubiquitous sea bass. This was probably my least favorte dish. Hmmm.
A bit of steak done to a perfect medium rare…lovely…
The first dessert…and I completely forget what this tasted like so obviously forgettable…
But this was very American (which is a compliment, skeptics!) in its peanut-butteriness and chocolate…
And then some olive oil chocolates with balsamic vinegar, which I thought were really interesting and different and delicious.
And then, four hours later, it was all over.
The Verdict: I would love to eat this way every night. But that would mean running a marathon on a weekly basis, which ain't gonna happen. But yes, a nice treat.
Matsuri 15 Bury Street SW1Y 6AL Tel: 020 7839 1101
Date of Last Visit: June 6th, 2008
The Victims: Craig, Leanne, Mikaela
The Damage: Unknown. Craig paid!
The Background: Craig is back in the U.K.! Craig was my dining companion during the summer of 2004, when he was in London for work. He discovered Kurumaya for me back then, still once of the nicest little sushi places. We also checked out Sweeting’s together, which I’d really like to get back to one of these days. And just a few weeks ago, we explored Sakura and Abeno Too.
The Entrance: The staff is very happy to see me. There’s a lot of bowing and they take my coat and show me to the bar. I chat with the bartender and a businessman who is waiting for his Japanese guests. (Good sign, right?) The bartender tells us funny stories about people missing the entrance to Quaglino’s right up the street.
Craig has booked the sushi bar downstairs. Most of Matsuri seems to be made up of teppanyaki-style seating, with the exception of the sushi bar in the corner.
The Food: We proceed with the ordering. I know I only have to vaguely mention soft shell crab for Craig to say yes and they arrive and they are gorgeous. There are many rolls and some vegetable tempura and some sashimi–the scallops are particularly lovable. We are all very very happy. But we forget to take any pictures, so Craig takes a photo of the tuna roll the guy next to us is eating.
This is a belated review of my nearly two-week stay at 51 Buckingham Gate in London back in October. Let’s get the blog-stuff out of the way. I paid for this stay myself, but lest you vastly overestimate my personal worth, through a right conspiracy of forces in my personal life, I was able to stay here at a very, very good “discount” that was completely, totally and utterly unrelated to my blog. I never would have stayed here otherwise. (And no, work didn’t pay for this either.) I am being deliberately mysterious here because I am just trying to figure out if what I did for the discount was worth it and that evaluation is still in progress. I don’t want to mislead you until that evaluation is complete. More to come around April.
Anyhow, even at just one bedroom, the flat I occupied at 51 Buckingham Gate — just a stone’s throw from Buckingham Palace — was bigger than both of the flats I lived in while I was in London. The bedroom in my suite was huge. The living room/lounge was huge. The master bath/en-suite was HUGE. Heated towel racks galore — and Molton Brown products — for just me. Plus an extra half-bath just in case.
Because let’s face it…I got kicked out of the bar each evening at 9 p.m. 9 p.m.! I wasn’t there every evening, I promise. But I was there for a few. And around 8:45 pm each time, the staff would tell it was time to go — I was welcome to stay and avail myself of butler service — but the staff was going home.
Bah. Thinking back to what I liked about the place…I liked the Molton Brown products, and I liked the Whole Foods gift basket they gave me because I was staying more than six days. (That being said, I would like to speak to the person who assembled the gift basket because I think they could have put together a more useful combination of stuff. I have a liter of olive oil I’d like to get rid of now.) I liked the twice-daily room servicing, and I liked the library/cafe area.
I didn’t like the carpets in my room (they’d seen better days), nor did I like the windows (they let in the chill). The master bath, while HUGE, was old and in dire need of a refurb. I did not like the location most of all — the area south of Buckingham Palace is a wasteland of government buildings and is just very, very boring.
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