Putting the iced prosecco behind us, we made our way through Soho, our spirits gradually revived by Edith and Lou’s banter and earnest enthusiasm for our mad quest. Was there a decent Bellini in Londinium? Did we always have to pay top dollar, or in this case pound, for the sake of a few salacious bubbles and a brief whiff of summer? Would the barman at the Connaught be fired? Time and a few more drinks would only tell.
We were greeted at The Ivy by a wonderfully dressed doorman, in full doorman regalia, who was worried about the BA Strike. His trip to Thailand might be canceled, and his girlfriend was going to kill him if that happened. Of course, he had no control over the strike, but they’d been planning it for ages, and her potential wrath was already making him fret. After a few words with Edith and Lou though, his mind was put at ease- yes, Edith and Lou have this effect, making the worst possible situation, in this case an airline strike, seem but a small hiccup on the holy path to a vacation in the sun.
We entered in a hubbub of handshakes, nods, and friendly pats on the backs. Waiters, coat check girl, barmen, Lou knew them all. We sat at a table in the bar, the hullabaloo of the restaurant rising just beyond, while Lou chatted with the barman, introducing me as his friend who was writing a book on the Bellini. A book? Oh yes, a book! Fernando, the big boss, the manager, the man in charge, joined us for a bit, and asked us about the Bellini quest. Handsome, quiet, and clearly a master of societal observation and congeniality, he had the air of a man who often says no, yet is loved all the same.
My Bellini at The Ivy was served in what some barmen refer to as an ‘old fashioned’ glass, a sort of tumbler. A small glass, rounded at the bottom, it might also be used to serve whiskey on the rocks. The color was pinker than peach, and at first sip, this was a winner, a jewel in the crown, a goddamn find, pardon the expression. Where on earth had they sourced summer white peaches? Where was it summer? In my glass, that was for sure.
We had a fantastic dinner that I could rave about for many more paragraphs- The Ivy is a place imbued with London’s theater history, filled with brilliant art and great atmosphere. But I need to get on with this, to take you along to our next stop, which was The Ivy Club, members only. Lou and Edith of course are members, bless them.
We went straight to the piano bar, passed Andrew Lloyd Webber on the way in- I thought I recognized him but could not place him right away. We sat at a table near the bar, and ordered our last Bellinis of the evening. They were fine, perhaps a little heavy on the peach puree, but they simply couldn’t compare to the ones served earlier in the restaurant, though I think this was due to timing, the late hour, more than anything else. Lou gave me a quick tour of the rest of the club, over several floors, with fantastic art everywhere, including some quirky, Warhol shoe drawings. Back at our table, we sipped our drinks, while watching an impromptu handbell chorus perform ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful.’
The Ivy
1-5 West Street
London, WC2H 9NQ
Tel 020 7836 4751
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