Essential Snobbery 101: Ritzy on Piccadilly

A London Weekend

A fascinating London weekend it was, in which most of what was intended was achieved, including the benefit that being over the age of sixty offers; a third off transport fares, if you remember to show up with the bona fides for your age.

On the Piccadilly line of the London Underground, the glimpse I caught of buttons on the back of a jacket suggested an untucked, ruffian look from the front; with a tie rather than a bow tie or cravat, it was a tailcoat of undecided pretensions to putting on the Ritz.

The Ritz and Recognition

Indeed, I did alight at Green Park and exited onto Piccadilly on the side of The Ritz London, one of the swankiest hotels in the city, opened by César Ritz in May 1906.

I could never walk down Piccadilly without being acknowledged, and I was quite dressed down, standing out simply because I wore a straw hat, carried a walking cane, and had a jacket finished with an elaborate pocket square collage.

The doormen at the Ritz doffed their top hats and even muttered a greeting, which I returned.

Heading to Fortnum's

I was on my way to Fortnum & Mason, a walk that takes you past The Wolseley Piccadilly, the Caviar House, Burlington Arcade across the street beside Burlington House, the home of the learned Royal Societies too.

Fortnum's is always busy, yet a very different busy from Harrods in Knightsbridge, which I only ever entered once at someone's behest; the less said of the garish, gaudy place, the better.

Inside Fortnum's

In existence since 1707, this shop is famous for its teas and other exquisite foods. It has been picketed many times for selling foie gras, the making of which does not greatly concern me, as the taste is as different from pâté as fish roe is from beluga caviar.

I have a predilection for Earl Grey tea, and they have many blends, of which Smoky Earl Grey wins every time. It is best to have the loose tea dispensed at a counter by weight rather than buying packaged tea bags or the ready tins, which can be more than 33% dearer.

Along with some Lapsang Souchong aromatic tea and Strawberry with Fortnum's Champagne Preserve, which takes the edge off the sweetness of the jam, that was my first visit in about seven years.

Leaving Piccadilly

As I left for the station, the doorman at the Wolseley offered a greeting; not the one who always took time to compliment my dressing, but they do see enough to know the difference between being dapper and just snooty.

He had a bowler hat on, and I had to ask where he got it, as mine, bought from a gentleman's outfitters in Ipswich some thirty years ago, was looking the worse for wear.

He recommended a milliner near Liverpool Street, but that might require another visit to London.

There is a quiet, unbothered sophistication about Piccadilly; the London tour buses gather at the entrance to Green Park just as a patron of The Wolseley urges his dog to take a pee. The carefree appearance demands a dress code enforced on the serving, whilst remaining non-existent for the served.

Putting on the Ritz

A short note on the places that punctuated this walk: The Ritz London, opened in 1906, was the realisation of César Ritz, the Swiss hotelier whose name became shorthand for refined luxury. Fortnum & Mason, founded in 1707 by William Fortnum, a footman in Queen Anne's household, and Hugh Mason, his landlord, has supplied the British establishment with provisions for over three centuries.

The Wolseley, by comparison, is a relative newcomer; a former car showroom turned grand European café, it opened in 2003 and has since become a Piccadilly fixture in its own right. Burlington Arcade, opened in 1819, remains the original covered shopping promenade, still patrolled by its top-hatted Beadles. The Royal Societies along Piccadilly include the Royal Academy of Arts at Burlington House, where the learned and the artistic have gathered since the eighteenth century.

It is no accident that the Ritz lent its name to a song. When Irving Berlin wrote Puttin' on the Ritz in 1929, he was reaching across the Atlantic for the very idea César Ritz had built into a brand. The original lyric pictured "Park Avenue", with its "high hats and Arrow collars, white spats and lots of dollars", as the place to dress to impress.

The 1946 revision moved the scene to "up on Lenox Avenue", but the spirit remained the same; to put on the Ritz was to wear your best and walk as though the pavement belonged to you. 

Piccadilly, in its quieter, more unbothered way, has always done the same. Park Avenue performs its wealth; Piccadilly assumes it. The doormen still doff their top hats, the bowler hats still need replacing, and the tailcoats of undecided pretensions still ride the Underground, hoping nobody notices the buttons on the back.

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Just milking the milk

Excuse me please

After settling down at my desk, I put a teabag of my decaffeinated Earl Grey tea in my mug and made it for the kitchen with half a litre of whole milk that I bought from Sainsbury’s on my way to the office.

People sometimes gather in the kitchen around the instant hot water faucet and the coffee machine, chatting and totally oblivious to others.

At times you must make your presence known, intrude in their space to make them aware that once they have had their drinks or beverages dispensed, they really should move on.

Swift of hand

I placed my bottle of milk on the counter and went to fill my mug with hot water, between doing that and adding sugar to my tea, one of the interlopers, instead of opening the fridge to use the public access semi-skimmed milk, had opened my bottle of milk and poured it in his tea.

When I reach for the bottle, I was surprised it was already open, the seal had been removed, and I do remember seeing the seal intact before I left my desk. What to do? Just ignore the situation and finish making your tea. But what an Artful Dodger he was.

The milks of taste

One of my colleagues later came to get some tea and waited for it to brew before pouring in some milk. I offered the whole milk, and we began the discussion about the difference in taste between fully skimmed, semi-skimmed, and whole milk. Then, we discussed the new range of designer milk substitutes made from oats, almonds, coconuts, or other sources. I have never liked goat’s milk, and I might just fall ill on camel’s milk.

As we talked about tastes, I recalled the explosion of taste I experienced on a visit to Prague, and I wondered if I had already written about it. Well, I had, and I did not want to repeat myself, so I excerpted the section and offered a link to the corresponding blog.

“For years, I had semi-skimmed milk with my cornflakes till I had breakfast in Prague with whole milk - the bouquet, the taste, the wonder of things unadulterated - I never went back to that tasteless half-milk stuff, it only contains 2% less fat than the real deal.” [Ich bin ein Berliner – March 2006] I cannot believe my proofreading skills were that bad in 2006. Anyway, the source blog is fixed.

Meanwhile, the thought alone of when they ran out of milk last week, and it was the milk I bought that kept things going until there was barely enough for my last cup of tea. It literally is a case of my sharing the milk of human kindness. I get what I need, others just take what they see.

Photons on the Prostate - I

Change and difference

I guess this does not really fit the Men’s things blogs so I have decided to write about my radiotherapy treatment as Photons on the Prostate, basically on how I feel and other experiences. The Image Guided Radiotherapy treatment I am having uses a photon beam rather than a proton beam. [City Of Hope: What’s the difference? Photon and proton radiation therapy]

We are advised not to change our eating habits, but there is no way to prevent changing something when met with the prospect of treating cancer. You adjust or the situation forces them on you.

The first thing I had to sort out to prevent bowel gas was in the drinks, and I miss the fizzy comfort of bubbles dissipating on my tongue as sparkling water creates a sating sensation even before you have swallowed. Still water is so bland and ordinary, it is how things are.

Dishwater tastes so good

Returning from the hospital yesterday, I stopped at my local supermarket to get decaffeinated tea and coffee, how this effluent of dishwater was ever palatable escapes me. The coffee having lost its potency with the absence of caffeine is perceptible to taste, at least to mine.

Two cups of coffee later, I can understand this is being done for a cause as there is no way I could have been persuaded of the benefit of it, I shall persevere. What I have not dared to try yet is the decaffeinated Earl Grey tea, I guess I’ll just pinch my nose when I drink it.

Getting tired of food

In terms of side effects, whilst it is early days, I do not seem to have much of an appetite for food, I have already been skipping meals long before I started treatment, an anticipatory response that I need to counter. Every desire to cook deserts me too.

There is some tiredness and early morning insomnia, whether related or unexplained, I cannot tell. A feeling of bowel discomfort with some urgency that is not presenting effect, I can only wonder what that is.

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - II

Blog - Men's things

A teacup of different

Getting a feel

We decided on a trip to Stellenbosch today and it was our first apart from a drive-through over a year ago. We had been to the winelands around the city and it was getting to be too historic a place to miss.

Setting out for lunch at Stellenbosch Kitchen, the short menu, two per course had provenance and historical notes. As there is no alcohol being served, we made do with what was in the meals, one of the entrees had vinegar and for dessert, it was Amarula bread and butter pudding. Yet, we are in the middle of the Cape Winelands.

Then we made for the Tourist Information office and as we passed the African Art Gallery, I could not help but notice the many giraffe sculptures quite likely numbering more than giraffes in the wild.

Rooibos tea

At the Tourist Office where we waited to start our Stellenbosch On Foot tour, I asked and decided to try rooibos (red bush) tea with a hint of sugar. Out of the teapot, I expected a redder hue than was presented in the teacup, a strong tea visage with an inviting palate.

The aroma was cool and earthy. To the taste, it felt like tea without any characteristic discovery in flavour. From a frame of reference, a stronger and darker serving of Chinese tea. I won’t put milk in rooibos tea and will likely prefer it as iced tea. Alright, now I read it is an herbal tea, how on earth can you be served that at breakfast?

Blog - South Africa: This humble customer is not a diva

The tea cosy

She’s a kitchen fuss

Every once in a while, I get hit with a haze of domesticated frenzy and all that matters is equipping my kitchen or kitchen activity with the right tools.

At one time it was getting the right apron, it took maybe three purchases to get one that was just right. Nice slip-on over the head and behind the neck, a good tie-around the back that would make a air-hostess envious of my life-jacket wearing abilities and two well-sized pockets for my oven-gloves.

Then, egg-timers, there are all sorts, I never really liked the digital ones, too fiddling, and by the time you worked out how to set one, you would be taking ashes out of the oven.

The digital timer on my deep-fryer was as inscrutable as being an emergency pilot in a dire situation where the best vehicle you have ever controlled is a pedal bicycle.

I found that a simple wind-round-and-set one was the best for my purposes as long as what I was cooking or baking did not take more than 60 minutes.

Earl Grey Smoked Out

Recently, I had taken to having Earl Grey or Smoky Earl Grey (Earl Grey with Lapsang Souchong) tea strained from my teapot on idle Saturday mornings when I am at home.

I happened upon Smoky Earl Grey tea by accident, I had visited Fortnum & Mason on the Piccadilly in London and picked up this can of tea which tasted quite different from my usual Earl Grey Tea – it was when I bought another can on another visit that I looked closely at the labels and found there was something added.

It took the assistant in the Simon Levelt (Dutch) coffee and tea shop at the Amsterdam Central Station to give this blend a name. After sniffing the aroma of 4 blends of Earl Grey tea from 10-gallon cans, I was about to swoon with tea delirium – such bliss.

For all the warmth in the world

My problem was, I took my time with tea that by the time I was ready for the second cuppa, the tea in the teapot was lukewarm. Now, only a tea-Philistine might be tempted to do the sacrilegious – put the teapot in the microwave oven – My heart stopped.

Besides, tea only really releases its best flavour with freshly boiled water, all that ceremony for another cup did not appeal to me.

I needed to get that old-fashioned English tea cosy, but what is it called in Dutch? My friends at work helped out there – thee-muts – that is what I should ask for at the shops, Blokker (Dutch), being the most likely one to stock it.

This morning before Polly put the kettle on, she went shopping for a tea-cosy (thee-muts), I doffed my hat as I asked the shop assistant with a mix of English and Dutch for a thee-muts.

She pointed to this thing, far above our heads, which did not look like my idea of a traditional tea-cosy which is usually a cap or balaclava thing fitting completely over a teapot; she got the steps and fetched it – it was like a padded doctor’s bag with an interlocking latch fastener - a sophisticated tea cosy with a handle.

By the time I had my second cup of tea; it was just as hot as I would have liked it.

The tea cosy - thee-mutts in Dutch - the slideshow .