London “Goes Gay” On Derby Night

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 104, 23 July 1927, Page 24

London “Goes Gay” On Derby Night

Hiss Jane Maudcr. Auckland novelist, tells SUN readers of the excitement in London on Derby Night . . . and discourses pleasantly on the subject of food. . . HE season, the most brilliant since the outbreak of the war, is now a month old, but so far the £ rea t shows have not drawn masses of people to London. It is the cityite and the foreign visitor who go to the Mall to watch the long lines of debutantes waiting for the Courts, or to stare at the Empire’s great men on their way to the King’s levees: it is more or less those of special taste who come from the country to the Royal Tournament and the opera and the big shows of various kinds. But on Derby night, which was last night, London belongs to all England, as well as to the Empire and foreign visitor. To walk the West End and Soho last night, popping in and out of cafes, restaurants and clubs, was to see in an hour of time what the centuries have done to the Anglo-Saxon type all over the world; was to observe a panorama of expression and feature all touched by something that causes the foreigner to say at once, wherever he may see it . . . “Ah, British!” On a night like last one felt regretfully the limitations of the body. I wished for magic to give me seven-leagued boots, the invisible cap of transportation, and a hundred eyes. I wanted to eat in every great restaurant, dance in every night club, gossip at every great dinner, see the opera and the Albert Hall ball all at once. Probably dinner and supper satisfied more generally than anything else most people’s idea of a celebration for the end of the day. At least everybody could eat and drink, whereas comparatively few could get into private parties, the balls, the opera or the theatres. Long after the latter had opened every restaurant -was still packed with crowds making a night of it, Lucullus-like. For the people at large it was essentially a restaurant and club night. And never before in its history, I am told, has London had such a variety of interesting eatinghouses to lull to relaxation its citizens and its guests. Eating in public is not by any means as general here yet as it is in the Continental and American cities, but it is a habit that is growing with the increasing number of flats and because of the difficulties with cooks. Overseas people know the great hotels, of which the most cosmopolitan and the best known to the outsider is the Savoy, on the Thames Embankment. This is the paradise of the moneyed American, the movie star, the wealthy Empire visitor and the diplomat. Almost everybody goes to the Savoy at one time or another to eat, to dance and to stare at the

crowd. The place has a splendid floor and a perennial parade of celebrities. But the Berkeley, on Piccadilly, is much smarter, the Claridge, in Mayfair, much more aristocratic, and the unobtrusive little white-fronted hotels about Dover and Cork Streets much more exclusive. The Ritz, the Carlton, the Piccadilly and the Metropole are favoured by Americans and others of the opulent type. When it comes to atmosphere, however, no hotel, no matter how expensive, can give that something that is given by our leading restaurants or clubs . . . the more intimate personal touch of the proprietor who has made the place the expression of his own genius, and who has attracted a group of a certain flavour to his house, and made it too expensive or too uncomfortable for anyone else to go there. First of these to-day is Marcel’s, in Covent Garden The proprietor of this is a Frenchman, Marcel Boulestin. Till recently he ran an expensive place on Leicester Square, where he made his food the talk of the London gourmets. Marcel is one of the greatest food experts in the world, and is himself a connoisseur both of exotic delicacies and of old wines, of which lie has a wonderful pre-war stock. He is the author of many books on cooking. But food is not his only interest. He began his career as a musical critic. He has translated Max Beerbohm into French. For years he was an interior decora tor and was the first person to bring French decoration to London. He is still young as age goes these days. A few months ago he took over Sherry's, in Covent Garden, and has made it one of the great restaurants of the world It is now the rendezvous of the most brilliant peonle in society and in the art world. Mere wealth is not what Marcel wants. He wants personality and distinction in his house. The rooms are the last word in modernity I am told that no place on the Continent offers a greater variety of rare

> dishes, brought from China and »n , ," ay Eastwards. A regular ai!l ti * service brings fresh delieaci*. 1 | day from Russia, itaiv and

Lady Diana Diana Manners, favours “Th*v? Tour" restaurant for her dinnrr

Besides these there are the sm-. dishes, the creation of Marcel himsS Needless to say, it costs money il dine with this aristocrat, and a like myself would never see the insit of the place without the luck of hansi a friend who is a friend of the man. I was taken recently to there and was unfortunate enough .' be just recovering from gastritis at t time, so that I dare not eat any of the rich things offered, but I didhav' the omelette Boulestin, and now i know that food can be ranked wm poetry and music, and I understand sybaritic ecstacies, and why the human race risks the horrors of cor pulence. What a dish!

Marcel has proved a powerful rim to Rudolf Stulick, of the “Eiffel Tout in a side street off Tottenham Coar. Road. For many years before the *at this place was like a dozen others about Soho. Since the war it has beet made smart and famous, not so muti by himself as by the artists who began to gather there a few years ago. l am told it was Augustus John aad Epstein who started the boom, whici was later augmented by Lord Lathe®. Evan Morgan and others, who nor dine as frequently with Marcel. Oi the rising tide of fortune Rudolf redecorated his rooms, employing j large number of artists. Wyndhac Lewis did one very jazzy cubist room in brilliant colours, and Nancy, Ladv Cunard, and Nina Hammet did others The main restaurant is hung with pit tures by the most notable of the younger moderns and the whole place hums with youth and the latest idea? about smartness. Stage stars favor Rudolf; and Diana Manners, Tallulah Bankhead, Margaret Bannerman ant Olga Lindo are regular diners. So ate are the “best sellers,” some of the younger publishers (who are courting publicity by means of the social game and leading young painters ant musicians. These two restaurants are, however more cosmopolitan than foreign in a' mosphere, and they are not proper!; Soho, where the places are smaller mi far less plutocratic. The eating-house of the foreign quarter offer considerable variety as to price, atmosphere and food, but few of them are in ur sense smart. There is good okfashioned expensiveness and modsi expensiveness and unpretentious ches; ■ ness. Italian and French places art most numerous, but there are Russia: Chinese, Greek, German, Spanish Swedish, Danish and Turkish booses and this is the only part of Louden where one sees, as one would in a foreign city, the sign, “English tea and lunch rooms.” Not in Soho, but on its fringes, is the much advertised Indian Veraib wimys (I am not sure I have spelt i: correctly) and at the head of Piccadilly Is the famous fish and oyster Scott’s, which rumour recently saie was to be pulled down, but in a recer. Press paragraph I read it had bees bought to keep on as usual. AntiIndians and those who go out to tfe remote corners of the Empire aresas'to regard Scott’s as part of the Brins: Constitution. Anyway, it is one of tie best-known fish restaurants of tie worid. I cannot leave the subject of earn* houses without mention of our « Cafe Royal, which is Piccadilly not Soho. In conformance with tb new Regent Street and Circus wfamous old place was recently down, and the new is horrible to 0 old habitues. The cafe room restored to the extent that it MW its long distance, its <i elightfully WVenuses and Cupids and chandeWand marble-topped tables. But “- entrance halls and the stairs ,’. upper floors of small and large dnm? rooms scream to the heavens of pensive sordidness. But it is afliyyr lar, and the cafe is in full swings* only thing of its kind in London French cafe with an all-night u<% ~ But it is no longer the haunt 0 aristocrat of the art world. Augustus John and Epstein hav serted it for Rudolf and MarceL customers are mainly the y<>™ coming and still obscure in the “ and the tourist and the hurried, or old upper-class man who wan ■. cocktail in a hurry. However, ta room still has a flavour, likely to enjoy a new sort of the novels of the younger set. ~ I had meant to include our »r, clubs in this article, but tney wait. After all it was our that finished the day for e number of the city’s Derby guests. __ •