Last week was such a whirl of activity, starting on Monday- yes, another Monday out, Monday is now our new Friday- with a late night Bellini tour, and ending on Friday with the very romantic and intimate wedding at the ICA, of my friend Mel and her husband Rupert. This week feels ever so slow by comparison. The kids are off school, Christmas is still 2 days away, and it is still very cold outside.
Our Monday evening Bellini tour was organized by our friends Edith and Lou. Tall, elegant, with long black hair and a marvelous collection of eccentric hats and hair ornaments, Edith is an arbiter of good taste and manners, with an amazing and encyclopedic knowledge of cinema history. Had we lived in another time, she could also have been a suffragette leader, or a sort of Mother Jones, the great 19th century labor and community organizer, and staunch defender of children’s rights. Her husband, Lou comes from Newcastle, and is fast-talking and driven, with a kind of contagious charm and energy which makes those around him feel inspired, and almost as clever. He is also clearly a man about town, on a first name basis with every good maître’d, and barman in London.
With Edith and Lou, London becomes a friendly town rather than a cold metropolis. They know everyone and everyone knows them.
Our first stop was the Bar at the Connaught Hotel in Mayfair. Set back at the end of the hotel lobby, the bar has an art deco theme, though it was almost too dark to really notice the glorious details. My Frank was drinking a mojito, and Edith was sipping a Bellini when I arrived, but she immediately cautioned me against ordering another one. It was a bit flat, she said, but maybe she’d just let it sit for too long? I was a little late, as I’d come from a holiday concert across town in the Temple Church- but I went ahead and ordered one anyway, and when it appeared, it was difficult to get a sense of the color, as the room was simply too dark. We put a few votives next to the glass, some borrowed from our solitary, well-groomed gentleman neighbor at the next table, to no avail. In retrospect, I suspect that the lights in the Connaught Bar are kept dim on purpose. Single gentleman, like the one sitting next to us, might not like to be observed in the company of a tall whiskey and the petite Asian woman who later joined him. But I digress…
Served in a what looked like a cross between a Hurricane Glass (used for tropical drinks- ie. a pina colada with a little umbrella) and a Cordial Glass, we should have been forewarned. In the Connaught Bar, we expected a very special Bellini, a Bellini with class, festive vibrancy and bubbly swirl. Instead, we were given a sort of flattened wine spritzer, which tasted a bit like peach. After some more sips and discussion, we agreed that the prosecco had indeed gone off.
Lou arrived just then, and Edith immediately informed him about the Bellini disaster. I realized then how responsible they felt, having organized the evening- Edith and Lou look after their friends with the dedication and passion of an Italian grandmother feeding her young- And though I’ve always worked ‘incognito,’ before I could invoke the name of my old friend, Barto Sanuto, Lou had swiftly whisked my Bellini back to the bar. I looked at Edith & Frank. Edith nodded, ‘There’s Lou for you, don’t worry he’ll sort them out,’ she said. ‘Go on, follow him!’ Frank urged.
Lou was chatting amiably with the barman, as though they were old friends, though in fact, this was one barman he did not know. Lou had had politely asked him to demonstrate just how he’d made the Bellini, so that we could observe. The barman, who was short and wore a crisp black suit, moved about expertly, though clearly nervous, like a man about to be shot. He produced what looked like a large cognac glass, and filled it about a third with ice. He then poured the prosecco into the makeshift pitcher, and swirled it around with the ice, effectively destroying all life left in the drink. Adding what looked like a little peach puree to a champagne flute, he poured the prosecco from the pitcher into the glass, holding the ice back, and we watched as a thin layer of fizz settled on top, and then sadly disappeared.
Back at our table, we told the others what he’d done, and they laughed- the ice had killed the Prosecco, it was clear. ‘He must be middle European,’ Edith remarked glibly, before we ventured out into the cold night. An overpriced disappointment to say the least, we hopped in a cab and sped towards our next Bellini destination.
The Bar in the Connaught Hotel
Bellini made with ice £18
The Connaught Hotel
Carlos Place
Mayfair
London. W1K 2AL
T: +44 (0)20 7499 7070
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