I Know Everything: Beau Brummell, Stodge in the Strand and Other Miscellany

Statue of Beau Brummell on Jermyn Street

Yesterday, whilst suit shopping on Jermyn Street, we were served by a beautiful youth got up in the manner of Beau Brummell. His hair was perfectly coiffed, he wore a cutaway coat, tight pinstripe trousers, a white waistcoat and white cravat and I complimented him, saying, "you look wonderful! I wish other people would make an effort like you". A very short time later we were back on Jermyn Street and T was exploding with laughter, assuring me my compliment was up there with the best Australians could offer, and Barry Humphries would have been proud to have pencilled it for Dame Edna.

Whilst researching Mr Brummell,* I came across this article about him on a whimsical website called Wonders and Marvels, to which I immediately subscribed. Brummell was the epitome of fashion in Regency London and when asked the cost of clothing a single man, replied, "Why, with tolerable economy, I think it might be done with £800" ($160,000). Mr Brummell attended Eton and Oxford and later joined the personal regiment of the Prince of Wales (later King George IV), resigning his post when the regiment moved from London to Manchester, "citing the city's poor reputation, lack of atmosphere, and an absence of culture and civility" (Wikipedia).

Mr Brummell did not have the income to sustain his lifestyle and eventually died in penury, of syphilis.

We dined at Simpsons in the Strand last night. Simpsons started as a coffee and cigar club 170 years ago and still serves its famous roast meats at the table from same silver-domed trolleys it has used since the 1800s.

Sash and Trev watching the waiter carve the meat for someone else

I am pleased to say Simpsons, as a bastion of traditional English Dining, still proudly serves inedible stodge. Or perhaps I am being uncharitable. The signature dishes are roast beef and lamb served with all the trimmings from the trolleys. Our American waitress extolled the virtues of the beef and lamb. I ordered stuffed artichokes and the waitress looked a bit grim. I was expecting a pretty green artichoke that had been gently steamed, its tender leaves interspersed with fragrant, crunchy, spiced breadcrumbs. What I got was a blob approximately the size of a football with a grey bottom (the "artichoke"), orange lumps in the middle (pumpkin. I think.) and topped with oily globules (? breadcrumbs? No idea). There was some dark brown sludge on the side that smelled sweet and I suppose was chutney and two gigantic deep fried triangles that turned out to be those sickly sweet stuffed chillies you get from Woolies. A remarkable meal, really. The American waitress pointedly did not ask if my meal was ok before she took away the nearly full plate, she just gave me an "I told you so" look. She gave no hints on the virtues or otherwise of the desserts, but when we both ordered Summer Pudding she beamed and said, "excellent choice". The pudding was quite good, although not a patch on the Garrick Club's.

Speaking of clubs and food, we are staying at a club in St James Square (not the Garrick, which is in the middle of Theatre Land, naturally). The eggs are like bullets and the toast cold by the time it gets to the table, which I find an enormously comforting reminder of boarding school.

Today is our last day in London before flying to Japan for one night, then home. Here are some gratuitous shots of baroque gardens.