Review: Q Club at Austin Reed

Well. Yesterday I called into Austin Reed after a very good lunch at Gaucho Grill, intent on sampling the new(ish?) bar on the third floor, called the Q Club (apparently after the character in the James Bond films; there were at least two photographs of Desmond Llewellyn in evidence). I don't shop at Austin Reed a great deal - it's a little modern for my tastes - but I thought it was worth visiting the bar, in case it proved to be a hidden central-London gem. Alas. So nearly a win, but actually a fail.

It should be great. From the third floor of the building, the floor-length windows give a splendid view of Regent Street, and I was able to gaze at the protest marchers hemmed in by police (something to do with the Democratic Republic of Congo). There are comfy armchairs and sofas, some splendid 1930s AR posters on the wall, and the bar is a spacious area which could provide a welcome respite from the rigours of shopping. If you pay £275 you can also join the Q Club itself, which gives you discounts on clothing, a half-price bespoke suit and sundry other attractions; seems a lot, to me, as it's not far off the fees for my club on Pall Mall. But I digress.

Oh, the missed opportunities. Firstly, the staffing. I stood at the bar for a good five minutes until a very apologetic man bustled over; I suspect his day job is working in the adjacent hire department, as his skill as a barman was not particularly evident. But he was very polite. I had looked at the rather limited drinks menu with a sense of disappointment, and asked if they made cocktails. No, he said with a sad shake of the head. Hmmm. To what use, then, are the cocktail glasses on a shelf behind the bar put? Or the bottle of orange bitters, for that matter? Oh well. One cannot have everything.

The drinks were eventually rustled up, and were fine. They had two white wines on offer, but one was sold out, and, to be honest, the riesling I had was fine but was hardly worth £9 for a 175 ml glass. The Pimm's was, I am told, underpowered. Taittinger by the glass for £8.75 is not extortionate, for which they deserve credit. But in truth the menu was just very pedestrian. Tea and coffee are available for those who do, and the Earl Grey (the inevitable Twining's) was palatable, I am told, though the slices of lemon which were produced on request did not provide the taste sensation for which my companion had hoped; they might well have been preserved.

Again, in fairness, the service bucked up a little bit. The original, apologetic gentleman was replaced by a very cheery young lady who was solicitous, even if she gave little more indication than her colleague of this being her metier. But the bar was never busy, yet even dealing with three or four sets of customers left the staff breathless with the effort. It was not that we felt unloved, just that we were asking of the staff more than they could deliver, which is surely not right.

A few tweaks would transform the place. This is a famous gentlemen's outfitter on Regent Street, for God's sake. A bit of elegance and dash is not too much to expect. And the decor is there, ready to provide. Get a decent barman, a cocktail menu and some more wines, and maybe knock a pound off each of the prices, and it would be a real find, a haven of calm and sophistication in the middle of London's shopping district. Until then, however, I won't be going back. And that, I have to say, is a real shame.

The Sybarite's favourite martinis, part 1

Behind the Royal Courts of Justice, on Carey Street, you will find the Seven Stars, one of London's oldest pubs. Run by the inimitable and indomitable Roxy Beaujolais, it is a gem of a place; narrow and oddly laid out, to be sure, and often very busy, but wonderfully idiosyncratic and beloved of regulars. The beer is very well kept, I am advised by people whose expertise in such matters is greater than my own, the food on offer is superb, and the range of wines is by no means miserly. However, the Seven Stars has a secret weapon up its sleeve.

Roxy's Perfect Martini is old-school. There are no cocktail-shaker pyrotechnics, no "magic" ingredients, no rare or quirky spirits - simply three shots of ice-cold gin (or vodka, if you must), a whiff of Noilly Prat, and your choice of an olive, a twist of lemon or a cocktail onion (which, strictly, turns the drink into a Gibson). It is prepared swiftly and served simply and conventionally. What makes it so good? It is hard to pin down, exactly. Certainly, the surroundings and the atmosphere contribute to the experience. The straightforwardness of the drink is also pleasing. It would also be disingenuous to deny that the extraordinary value of £7 is also an attraction. But my best advice would simply be to go, and try. Any of the staff will do the business for you (though Gillian is especially dexterous with the gin bottle), then try to find a seat, or stand outside if the weather is fine, and enjoy that characteristic rush of warmth through the body which is the hallmark of the first sip of a good martini.

One word of warning: as with any martini, quantity control is important. Do not expect the staff to monitor your intake for you. I once had five Perfect Martinis, and felt a little queer afterwards. But a) it was my own fault, and b) goodness, it was fun getting there.

What will Wills wear?

With the days counting down until the Royal wedding on 29 April, there has – understandably – been a great deal of speculation as to what the bride will wear. The Sybarite hears that the smart money is on white… There has also been a flurry of excitement over the past two days as to whether the Prime Minister will wear morning dress, and, happily, it now seems that he will do the decent thing and don his tails. But in all of this hullaballoo there has been little attention paid to one of the most interesting aspects of the ceremony – what will the groom wear?

One of the more satisfying aspects of being a senior royal, I would imagine, is that you have an extensive dressing-up box with which to play. Accordingly, there are many outfits which HRH could choose for his wedding day. I think we can rule out plain morning dress; although his father chose it for his second wedding, that was a (relatively) low-key affair. The Earl of Wessex also wore morning dress for his marriage to the then-Sophie Rhys Jones. Although Prince Edward holds several honorary military appointments – he is, for example, Colonel of the 2^nd Battalion, The Rifles, and Colonel-in-Chief of the Saskatchewan Dragoons – it may well have been thought that any references, however slight, to his own time in the military were best omitted.

One obvious choice for Prince William would be his uniform as Colonel of the Irish Guards. It is an appointment which he has only held since February, but the Foot Guards will be much in evidence on the day of the wedding itself, and I daresay His Royal Highness would look very dashing in scarlet, though the bearskin might be deemed to be something of an encumbrance. Moreover, as Colonel of a Guards regiment, he is in the company of his grandfather (Grenadiers), his father (Welsh Guards), his aunt (Blues and Royals) and his first cousin twice removed (Scots Guards).

However, the Royal family also has long-standing and very close connections with the Royal Navy, the senior service. The Duke of Edinburgh, the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York have all served in the Navy, and Prince William trained with the RN for a time. He is Commodore-in-Chief of the Royal Navy Submarine Service, and of HM Naval Base Clyde, and would follow his grandfather and father in walking up the aisle in dark blue.

However, it seems likely that he will appear on Friday week in his service dress as a Flight Lieutenant of the Royal Air Force. That he has invited all of his comrades from C Flight, 22 Squadron, to the wedding indicates that his current position means a great deal to him, and he has appeared at public functions in RAF uniform before. It is a shame that RAF full dress is no longer worn (except by bandsmen), and that Prince William therefore will have to make do with tarted-up service dress (white gloves, dress belt, sword); a shame in particular as his great-grandfather, George VI, was married in RAF full dress.

A light-hearted little item in the Sunday Times Style section recently described Prince William as “accessorising” his RAF uniform with “a peacock-blue sash”. Hardly. It is his insignia as a Knight Companion of the Order of the Garter. But on a purely superficial level it is true that the Garter riband, in kingfisher blue, does not sit especially well with the blue-grey of RAF uniforms, and is much more striking against the scarlet of the Army or the dark blue of the Royal Navy.

Nevertheless, one should not be churlish. If he has, perhaps, more stylish uniforms available to him, Prince William should be saluted for wearing the dress of his working life to his wedding, assuming my hunch is right. The other branches of the military will be well represented, not least by the Royal family themselves, so maybe the focus on the blue-grey is not such a bad thing after all.

Hat-tip to Mr Laithwaite

I recently received from Laithwaite's (http://www.laithwaites.co.uk/) a half-case of McPherson Family Vineyards 2009 Cabernet Sauvignon under the charming label of Jock's Vineyard. I admit freely to being a fan of robust Australian reds, and have no time for the all-too-common, namby-pamby, hands-thrown-up-in-horror reaction which so many people demonstrate. This is not, of course, to say that a full-bodied red will suit every occasion, or that there is no place for more delicate flavours, but a good, chewy wine is a joy to behold.

I digress. The Jock's Vineyard cab. sauv. is a delight. A rich, spicy, fruit-laden bouquet leads in to a smooth-but-deep mouthful of berries and smooth tannins. An excellent, warming glass on its own, it also provides a marvellous partner for a good steak (I can attest), or, I dare say, a game or beef stew. Alas it appears that the bin end has run out, but if you can find any, grab it. I paid something like six pounds a bottle, but this is a tipple that can hold its own in the company of wine twice or three times the price. Simply delicious.

Double-breasted suits, and what the Guardian says

An article appeared in the Guardian this week (http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2011/apr/12/return-double-breasted-jacket) lauding the return of the double-breasted coat. (This was pointed out to me; the Grauniad is not my news organ of choice – but I digress.) This I found very interesting, both for what it said and what it didn’t say. Now, let me be honest right from the start: I am a fan of double-breasted, and have a blazer and several suits in that configuration. But the Grauniad article revealed, I thought, a great deal more about the author – Mr Simon Chilvers – than necessarily double-breasted coats themselves.

Let us begin with preconceptions. Mr Chilvers initially dismissed double-breasted as the preserve of “Posh boys guffawing at boating events, overweight scruffy politicians, nightclub bouncers and pinstriped bankers power-dressing in the 1980s”. Hmm. Well. I suspect that an average Henley Regatta would yield as many “posh boys” in single-breasted blazers as double-breasted; by “overweight scruffy politicians” I think he is adopting an ad hominem approach (and, dear readers, I think we all know to whom he refers); when I think of nightclub bouncers (which I do very infrequently) I cannot say that ‘double-breasted’ is the phrase which pops unbidden into my mind; and as for pinstriped bankers, well, what is so very wrong with pinstripes?

But let us not be uncharitable. The thesis behind the article is that double-breasted coats are coming back into popularity, with, as the author acknowledges, the unlikely pairing of HRH The Prince of Wales and Mr David Beckham showing us the way. Well now. His Royal Highness has long been a devotee of the double-breasted style, and is also a firmly established style icon for anyone who takes gentlemen’s attire seriously. In this, he follows his great-uncle, the late Duke of Windsor, who, more than any other member of the Royal Family, made the world of fashion his own. But Mr Beckham? I think not. We shall return to this.

Still, if there is “a new, gentlemanly mood in menswear”, then we should all rejoice. A good suit, worn properly, will give a man a feeling of comfort, security and superiority unlike anything else. Why, then, have double-breasted coats fallen into this slough of despond from which they seem to need rescuing?

First, I suspect, is an insidious notion that double-breasted does not suit the, ahem, fuller-figured gentleman. This is twaddle, and reflects, I think, only the sporting of badly-fitting coats by fatties. If the suit is cut properly, then a double-breasted coat will make the most of any physique. It can give a sleekness to any shape, particularly, I would suggest, if worn in fairly bold stripes. I hope I make no offence when I suggest that Nicholas Soames MP is immaculately and elegantly dressed despite being on the larger side, and double-breasted suits are a key part of his armoury.

A whiff of 80s Wall Street excess must also play a part. After all, banking is not a profession the stock of which (if you will forgive the pun) is at an all-time high. Some of this is false-memory syndrome. If you watch, say, the incomparable Wall Street, Michael Douglas and Charlie Sheen are usually seen in single-breasted suits. (You may also notice that Michael Douglas is seldom, if ever, seen in the red braces which are held to be iconic of the film and the era.) But the ingrained perception must have some hold. If boldness and élan are not you, then, very well. I take the opposite view; a boldly-striped double-breasted suit can announce to the world at large that the wearer is a man of business, a man who takes care of his appearance, but also a man not to bend like a sapling in the wind of received wisdom and popular thought. Let’s face it; any gentleman who deviates from a plain dark suit, a white shirt, and a monochrome tie is – alas –going to attract notice in this mundane modern world. So why worry?

One more point on Mr Chilvers’s article. He quotes the head of menswear design at Asos: “We simplified the cut and used a single fastening to keep it modern and a little rock’n’roll.” Well, bully for you. But if you are looking for a “new, gentlemanly mood”, then you will not be seeking to appear “a little rock’n’roll”. Have a single fastening – two-plus-two, rather than four-plus-two – looks to me simply a bit, well, 80s (pace my comments above) and I find the more common four-plus-two much more pleasing to the eye. There is also, I must warn, a tendency when wearing a two-plus-two for the fastening to disappear under the gut, incipient or not, of any but the slightest gentleman.

I must now have a few words on Mr Beckham. I have never met him, and he is no doubt an estimable fellow, talented at association football and, I am sure, an all-round good egg. But I cannot pin him up as a style icon. The extensive body art notwithstanding (and really, my dear, just no), he has committed pretty much every solecism available to a gentleman. Not all of this is his fault; he is, after all, a footballer. But shiny suits, belt buckles visible below waistcoats, metallic ties, let alone the sarong and the nail varnish – these are not the elements of a style icon.

So let us celebrate the “return” of the double-breasted coat, and look for its proper exponents. I will offer only two: HRH The Prince of Wales, always immaculately dressed, and the late but great Cary Grant. That’s style.

Finally. Anyone who keeps his coat buttoned when sitting down is guilty of two things – caring too much about form over function, and inflicting discomfort on himself. Just unbutton the coat. It will crease and bunch less, it will feel better, and you will feel less like a fashion plate; but more, I hope, of a man.

The capsule cocktail cabinet

Having recently moved house, with all the packing and unpacking which that involves, I had to find a new home for the spirits and mixers. It also provided an opportunity to finish and throw out the last inch of some of the more outré contents. (The Lithuanian mead is hanging on, but it won’t last long.) An additional benefit was diminished guilt when restocking with some of life’s essentials. However, the process started me thinking: what is a capsule drinks cabinet for the cocktail lover?

Of course, much must depend on taste. Anyone who has cocktails with anything like regularity will have bottles to which they return again and again, and some which gather dust. But guests must be catered for too – up to a point – and there is certainly a distinction between those drinks which one could reasonably be expected to rustle up, and those which one couldn’t. What follows, then, will reflect personal preference, but will also make at least a nod towards the rules of hospitality.

First, for me, must be gin. Greatest of all, this allows you to make a martini, the king of cocktails, and not just because of James Bond (Ian Fleming’s views on martinis, while no doubt well researched, are for another day’s discussion). But it will also provide the base of a gin and tonic, a gimlet, a white lady, a pink gin and a negroni.

Bourbon may well be next. The kind I will (for now) leave to you – it is a bitter and internecine business picking the best. This will be the base of a Manhattan, an old-fashioned, a whiskey sour, a mint julep and (if you must)  a bourbon and Coke. (I would prefer not to include this here, but if I give an honourable mention to the gin and tonic, then I don’t see how I can omit it.)

Vodka may be jostling towards the front now. I find it a spirit which divides opinion. Some will drink almost nothing else, and cannot bear gin. Vodka is a must for bloody Marys, cosmopolitans and white Russians, and some prefer a vodka martini or a vesper to the classic recipe. Very well. For me, though, and this is purely a personal whim, I find it bland and lacking in complexity: a shot of alcohol with nothing of the fun or frolics of gin.

Then there is brandy. The brandy Alexander, the horse’s neck, the sidecar, let alone a simple brandy and soda. It is a vital ingredient in some of the best and most classic cocktails, though perhaps is of the second rank now compared to other spirits. But it is the heart of a classic champagne cocktail, and that is no small thing.

Rum is something of which I know very little. It has handled me roughly in the past, and the only way in which I can bear it now is as a constituent part of a mojito. But others will rightly enjoy a Cuba libre, a piña colada, a daiquiri or a sundowner. If you have a half-dozen bottles of spirits, as this article seems to be leaning towards, a decent rum must surely be among them. And I suspect it falls into the same category as cooking only with wine you would drink – don’t make cocktails with rum you wouldn’t drink on its own.

Finally, tequila. I confess at this point that I cannot get on with the stuff at all, and have had enough bad experiences with it to convince me that we will never be reconciled. But any self-respecting cocktail lover ought to be able to summon up a margarita or a Long Island iced tea for a guest who yearns to go down Mexico way.

There are other bottles which can be added according to the leanings of the toper. Cointreau and triple sec give a citrus punch; coffee-based liqueurs like Tia Maria and Kahlúa will offer a sweetness unmatched by anything else (and are a sine qua non for devotees of The Big Lebowski); sake provides an Oriental twist to some cocktail standards, though I have never been able to acquire the taste for it myself; absinthe adds a dash of Parisian joie de vivre, quite apart from being enjoyed on its own; and cherry brandy, crème de menthe and blue curaçao have their place.

Mixers fall into two categories, the alcoholic and the suitable-for-children. In the first category there must be, at least, a dry and a sweet vermouth and some bitters. In the second are tonic water, soda water, cola and perhaps ginger ale. Don’t even think of using diet versions, unless you’d stir Canderel into your drink. Some lime cordial and the wherewithal to conjure up sugar syrup would also be helpful.

That has all ended up being longer (and potentially more expensive) than I had anticipated. Oh well. If a thing is worth doing… I have not dwelt on brands of the various spirits, yet, but that is for another time. As I say, the list reflects personal taste, but one could do worse than collaring the six spirits above and their impedimenta. It will not leave you shame-faced if a guest asks for a something mainstream. If you are unable to oblige, you will certainly be able to offer a classic alternative. More than that, though, you will be able to pander to every mood, whim, joy and sulk that you yourself may have. And that, surely, is the point.

Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome!

Greetings to you all. This modest blog will do much what you would expect. It will concentrate on the finer things in life and express, sometimes forcefully, the author's opinions on such matters. It may amuse and divert some people; others will no doubt pass it by as it had never been. That is the nature of such reflections. For those of you who stay and engage, welcome.

The Sybarite