get­ting in the spirit

Aren’t these food pho­tographs lovely? They are the work of my friend Layla who has ambi­tions as a pho­tog­ra­pher, specif­i­cally of food, and the result of our col­lab­o­ra­tion the other evening. We had so much fun that we’re def­i­nitely up for another go, espe­cially in nat­ural light (although these days in Lon­don that gives us roughly 47 min­utes with which to work).

Which brings me to the press­ing topic of the day: I can scarcely believe that tomor­row is Decem­ber 1. That means 18 more days of school for Avery, two more classes for me (yesterday’s class was just won­der­ful, more on that later), 20 days until we leave for Con­necti­cut, and of course 25 until the day when all lit­tle girls must find the proper treats in their stock­ings and under the tree. I made a lit­tle dent in those respon­si­bil­i­ties today, at Fort­num and Mason!

Now I’ve never been par­tic­u­larly devoted to Fortnum’s, not being a tea or cof­fee drinker or bis­cuit lover or what­ever else would send my foot­steps in that direc­tion once a fort­night or what­ever. But I am always thrilled when out of town vis­i­tors want to go, or when some­one (yes, you, Becky!) sends me a ham­per full of good­ies at Christ­mas. Lovely! Clearly I just need a bit of a nudge for­ward. So today when our dear friends Anne and David in Con­necti­cut posed a del­i­cate request for the King’s Blend cof­fee when we go home for Christ­mas, it was but the work of a moment to don a jacket, put the scruffy fake fur scarf known in our fam­ily as “Fake Frouchy” around my neck, and head trip­ping off through May­fair in search of their gift.

And can I just encour­age you all to drop what­ever you’re doing (unless it’s a cat) and take the lit­tle jour­ney I took this morn­ing. Unless you spend a lot of money at Fortnum’s, the walk itself is com­pletely free and will def­i­nitely put you in the hol­i­day mood. First of all, com­ing from the Mar­ble Arch tube sta­tion, get your­self OFF Park Lane imme­di­ately and begin your jaunt through our posh neigh­bor­hood, which mostly we resent because of the unbe­liev­able rent prices, but if you’re just walk­ing through you can cer­tainly enjoy the gor­geous domes­tic archi­tec­ture and fancy shops. So head across on North Row until you hit North Aud­ley Street and make a right, and then keep walk­ing south. Ignore the Amer­i­can Embassy if you can and walk right through Grosvenor Square which is lovely. Then con­tinue on what’s now South Aud­ley Street and feast your eye on Purdeys, where you can buy a gun if you like, and all the glit­tery car­pet, china and glass­ware shops. Keep going until you get to Cur­zon Street and make a left, and then a right at Shep­herd Mar­ket. Here you begin to see all the Christ­mas dec­o­ra­tions in the beau­ti­ful choco­late shops, jew­elry stores, pubs and the like. Then you’ll find your­self on wind­ing lit­tle lanes headed to Pic­cadilly. If you take a moment and breathe deeply in these lit­tle lanes, a cold, damp aroma arises from the brick and wrought-iron build­ings on either side and you could swear Tiny Tim was about to jump out at you. It’s very atmospheric.

Once in Pic­cadilly, of course, turn left and you’ll see the glo­ri­ous Ritz! Aus­tere and yet lux­u­ri­ous, time­less and, well, Ritzy, the name in light bulbs always lifts my spir­its. I don’t think I’ve ever been even in the door, but I love it any­way. It’s Lon­don, full stop. Then you’ll come to the Wolse­ley, which I adore. Don’t stop to have tea, though, because you want to get to Fortnum’s. But peek in as you pass and see if there’s any­one famous in the win­dow. Ralph Fiennes was there when I went, which was worth the whole price of admis­sion for me.

Now look across the road at the glo­ri­ous Royal Acad­emy of Art, whose impos­ing sculp­ture by Baselitz is right now grac­ing its court­yard. What an insti­tu­tion. And some­how it always looks as though it’s dec­o­rated for Christ­mas. Now you’re at Fortnum’s so go in, do, and soak up the atmos­phere. I know, I know, some of you will carp at this and insist that the recent ren­o­va­tions to cel­e­brate its 300th birth­day have spoilt its charm. Well, I was not, as I said, a pas­sion­ate fan of the orig­i­nal decor, can’t say I even par­tic­u­larly noticed it, but I will go out on a limb and chuckle at those who claim the new look is “too mod­ern.” Noth­ing could be far­ther from the truth! The thick car­pet, the old-fashioned wooden dis­play cases, the piles of sig­na­ture boxes and bot­tles and of course ham­pers, the shop helpers in frock coats… and the peo­ple! I ven­ture to say that I was the only per­son in the shop who lives in Lon­don, but some­how it was a very Eng­lish atmos­phere nonethe­less. Lots of for­eign vis­i­tors, but all speak­ing in nice, respect­ful hushed tones (many Euro­peans with fab­u­lous furs and bags and makeup and lovely shoes).

I came away with the King’s Blend cof­fee for my friends, and then, dear read­ers, the gift-buying began. Nat­u­rally I can­not divulge these indul­gences since many recip­i­ents may well be read­ing these pages as I speak, but I can enu­mer­ate tan­ta­lis­ingly: gin­ger and chili bis­cuits, rosy apple sweets, laven­der sachets, French milled soaps, anchovy rel­ish! And a tin of cit­rusy bis­cuits that promises to play “O Lit­tle Town of Beth­le­men” when the bot­tom is wound up. What lux­ury! I didn’t by any means break the bank, but you could. The ham­pers are unbe­liev­able in their vari­ety and over-the-top gen­eros­ity. Makes you wish you were some Bank of Amer­ica sec­re­tary with a really affec­tion boss. Cham­pagne, caviar (I don’t even like cham­pagne and caviar, but still), lemon and orange curd, short­breads of every descrip­tion, teas, pome­gran­ates, crazy.

Well, once you’ve made your pur­chases, then you need to exit and head north through the Burling­ton Arcade. Who buys things here? Very wealthy vis­i­tors to Lon­don, I’m think­ing, and they cer­tainly lined the beau­ti­ful arched room, look­ing avidly at cash­mere sweaters with golf­ing scenes knit­ted in, end­less dis­plays of estate jew­elry, porce­lain mem­ory boxes, antique silver-backed brushes and mir­rors, cuf­flinks of every descrip­tion, hand­made shoes and bags! The whole of the arcade is hung with lights and flow­ers and green­ery, and it’s car­peted! With a very thin sort of “red car­pet” car­pet, but not red. Blue, I think, and punc­tu­ated by very cor­rect door­men in frock coats, dust­ing imag­i­nary dust motes from the shop windows.

From here you’ll emerge into Bond Street, and just ENJOY. Cartier’s! Aspreys, art gal­leries, more impos­si­bly opu­lent jew­elry. I wanted to take a pho­to­graph, but num­ber one I had no cam­era, and num­ber two, a large part of the charm is, I think, the accu­mu­lated sense of lux­ury one gets from see­ing it all together: lights hang­ing over the street, rich tourists with many bags over their arms, street sweep­ers gath­er­ing up the autumn leaves. Why? I would rather they were left to dec­o­rate the streets. When you come to Bru­ton Street, make a left and head for Berke­ley Square so you can see the enor­mous Christ­mas tree in the cen­tre of the square, then veer off to the north­west cor­ner and make a left onto what I believe is Mount Street (see, I should have been tak­ing notes). In any case in just a few steps you’ll be able to see the sadly scaf­folded and unrec­og­niz­able facade of the Con­naught Hotel, which houses Angela Hartnett’s glo­ri­ous restau­rant and is cur­rently under­go­ing huge refur­bish­ment to reopen, they say (!) on Decem­ber 14th. Book lunch now, for your fes­tive hol­i­day jaunt through Mayfair.

Or you could saunter fur­ther along Mount Street and try the recently revamped Scott’s of May­fair, which I full intend to do some­day. Or you could shop at Allen & Co. Butch­ers and cook at home (much more likely I’ll do that). Their win­dows looked like some­thing from 100 years ago: “Bronze Turkeys”, “Red Pigeons,” all sorts of sir­loins and racks of lamb, all the price cards in hand­writ­ing and game birds hung in the win­dow. Sim­ply won­der­ful. Don’t for­get to drop in on the Grosvenor Chapel at the cor­ner of Mount and South Aud­ley Street and gaze at the stained glass.

Well, that’s the hol­i­day tour of May­fair, or at least one of them (plus the excur­sion across Pic­cadilly). And if you don’t feel like pay­ing for any of the posh lunches avail­able in my neigh­bor­hood, do as we did last week and head up Baker Street, past Maryle­bone Road, to Base Bistro at 195 Baker Street (20-minute walk from Mar­ble Arch). It could not be more unpre­pos­sess­ing. Shabby exte­rior, nasty loca­tion directly oppo­site the Baker Street tube sta­tion, under what I thought was scaf­fold­ing but turned out to be a per­ma­nent icky awning of sorts. But once inside: it’s sub­lime! Not to look at, although I’m sure it’s nicer at night and they have live jazz on Sat­ur­days). But a faintly Mediter­ranean menu of fish, pasta, sal­ads and soups. I had a gor­geous tuna carpac­cio with a sweet sesame dress­ing topped with really fresh fresh, crunchy rocket, and then a “crispy duck salad” fea­tur­ing lit­tle nuggets of savoury duck on a lively mix of greens with a hoi­son dress­ing. Go for the main course por­tion, I’d advise, because it’s a lot of leaves and not over­whelmed with duck (but gen­er­ous). I would go back in a heart­beat and try the other tempt­ing offers. And it’s so inex­pen­sive. From the set menu, 2 courses for 10 pounds.

This was our lunch spent with the savvy school mum advis­ing us on Avery’s senior school, and the whole expe­ri­ence was quite eye-opening. Not only is Beth a per­fectly com­pe­tent mother of three, which job descrip­tion alone bog­gles the imag­i­na­tion of a mother of one, but she’s also a con­sul­tant for Prince­ton Uni­ver­sity over­see­ing all the UK appli­cants to the school. Whew. She had extremely cogent advice and back­ground infor­ma­tion to offer and I must say, we both came away feel­ing that no mat­ter where Avery goes to school, it’s to be no doubt a happy expe­ri­ence for her. None of our choices met with Beth’s dis­ap­proval, and she could offer some meaty inside infor­ma­tion, more pleas­antly known as gos­sip, on the staff and teach­ers at many of the schools. I feel much more relaxed than I did before we met her.

But also intim­i­dated! John should have mar­ried a Prince­ton under­grad­u­ate with a Har­vard busi­ness school degree, I sup­pose! With a for­mi­da­ble intel­lect and no-nonsense wis­dom, too. And nice! Instead he has a slacker wife who feels that spend­ing the evening read­ing aloud from “Daddy Long-Legs” is fine intel­lec­tual stim­u­la­tion for her child. Ah well, vari­ety is the spice of what­ever, and I guess Avery gets plenty of push from other sources. Isn’t a mother’s job also to pro­vide inter­vals of rest and relax­ation, or is that just from the point of view of ME, who loves rest and relaxation?

Let’s see, have I any bits of foodie wis­dom to offer you this week? It was a week of eat­ing only things we have already eaten before. I must say, it’s a bit of a con­stant chal­lenge to find new things to tell you about. How do real chefs do it? What do they feed their fam­i­lies when they’re spend­ing their days turn­ing out monk­fish on a bed of tape­nade and topped with caviar and red chill­ies? I know, I’ll give you one of my com­fort menus. It’s com­fort­ing to me because it cleans out the fridge, there’s some­thing for every­one, it’s inex­pen­sive and my favorite: it’s lots of dif­fer­ent things all at once. It’s called:

Every­thing in a Pan­cake
(serves how­ever many you want it to!)

Chi­nese pan­cakes (in the frozen sec­tion of Asian super­mar­kets)
left­over roast chicken, roast pork, flank steak, etc.
sliv­ered cucum­bers
sliv­ered spring onions
sliced pears or Asian pear-apples
sliced sauteed mush­rooms, red pep­pers, aspara­gus, etc.
hoisin sauce (Chi­nese plum sauce)
chili gar­lic sauce
home­made basic fried rice (recipe follows)

Steam the pan­cakes in their pack­age (cut a slit and microwave medium heat for 30 sec­onds) and pile up on a plate. Allow at least 4 pan­cakes per person.

Place ingre­di­ents on sep­a­rate plates where every­one can reach them. It would be great to have a Lazy Susan for this. I must digress: in my child­hood home this imple­ment was called a Lazy Suzanne. Guess what my mother’s name is? Naughty Dad.

Now, just pile up what­ever you want and driz­zle it with sauce, or not. Avery always starts with the fried rice, because she likes it best.

Basic Fried Rice
(serves four easily)

1 cup bas­mati rice
1 1/2 cups water
1/2 cup frozen peas, thawed
2 tbsps peanut oil
2 eggs, beaten
1 tbsp sesame oil
dash soy sauce (to taste)

Steam your rice until done (about 20 min­utes) and set aside. Have a medium bowl ready. In a wok or medium skil­let, heat the peanut oil until quite hot and QUICKLY whisk in the eggs. Scram­ble with with the whisk and imme­di­ately remove to the medium bowl. Now add the sesame oil to the wok and heat till nearly smok­ing. Throw in the rice, peas and eggs and stir thoroughly.

This is so much sim­pler and lighter than any fried rice you can buy, and so easy, that it will become a sta­ple for din­ner. Plus almost with­out excep­tion, you always have all the ingre­di­ents to hand.

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Not very exotic, I grant you. But the beauty is, every­one will eat some of the offer­ings, and some peo­ple will eat them all. And it’s glo­ri­ously messy, so lay in the paper nap­kins, light some can­dles, and enjoy.