Feels like spring

London. England It was mostly warm and sunny today, so our destination was particularly apt. Along with our friends June and Alan, we headed for the Saatchi Gallery, where an overwhelming exhibit of flowers in many artistic contexts was on glorious display.

But before we entered, we had an encounter with one of London’s famous Chelsea Pensioners. The Chelsea Pensioners are the faces of the British Army’s veteran community. They reside at the Royal Hospital Chelsea, their home since 1692, founded by King Charles II, in what was then the village of Chelsea. 

Any former soldier of the British Army over the age of 65, who is facing spending their advanced years alone, can apply for residence at the Royal Hospital as a Chelsea Pensioner. What a wonderful institution. We were close to the Royal Hospital, so our particular Pensioner was out enjoying the spring air. This gentleman is 88, and was quite proud to tell us all about how well-treated he and his colleagues are. He was in daily dress, but there is a much more colorful uniform worn for state occasions.

He could have kept us there talking until his two companions were ready to join him in the hospice.

Then onto the gallery. It was a huge exhibition, which served to demonstrate how pervasive flower motifs are in our world. From the vintage to a submission done earlier this year, the span was extensive. And we’re not just talking paintings of flowers. Record albums, fashion, movie posters, furniture, sculpture, fabrics…flowers everywhere.

Of special note was an installation of dried flowers, which enveloped the room and its visitors. Perfect lighting and arrangements made it a wonderland of flowers past their glory days.

It was a stunning collection of flowers in art, and a welcome harbinger of spring to come. And some color popped outside the building as well.

Don’s Food Corner

When we first arrived in London and settled into the hotel where we’ll be staying for a week, we made a beeline for a local pub that has been a favorite of ours for years to dig into some authentic fish-and-chips. (A photo of the fish and chips got posted the other day, but I didn’t have a chance to comment on it.)

Things have changed at this pub . A few years ago I’d call it a traditional pub. That means ordering food and drink at the bar and carrying the drinks back to the (often sticky) table and wait for someone to bring the food. Just last year I noticed things had begun to change. The first change was that soft drinks were served in glasses filled with ice — just like in America. I mentioned to the young bartender that having such ice in a glass in England was unheard of years ago. The bartender was puzzled. “Why?” I remember once asking for ice in a drink and a single small ice cube was begrudgedly plopped in the glass. Well, even in England people are growing up with McDonald’s and McDonald’s LOVES ice. Ice is now as ubiquitous in the UK as it is in Columbus, Ohio.

Our visit the other day to this pub — the Albany, located directly behind the Great Portland Street tube station — has now been refashioned into more of a “gastro pub.” That means, for example, that there is now table service. The tables themselves seemed less sticky and the room didn’t have a pervasive smell of beer. In fact, they had a special menu featuring cocktails. Cocktails in a pub? Do you really want to go to a pub for a mojito, Moscow mule or Aperol spritz? A pub is supposed to be beer, beer and more beer with some occasional whisky.

Even the fished fish and chips dish has been “modernized.” It came with a lemon that had been grilled. Grilled! And to make it even more modern they placed the fish on top of the French fries. Then, it was served on a plate with a fancy embossed border. To think that it wasn’t too long ago when this dish would have been served in newspaper.

Despite these modernizations — and, happily, no kale has been introduced to the plate (yet) — the fish-and-chips were superb. Only the Brits can make it right. Wonderfully crispy coating and perfectly juicy and tender-flakey fish. A huge portion for about $22. Mushy peas came with it, of course. But I don’t think those peas were as mushy as true aficionados would expect. (Picture included, in case you forgot.)

Can this place really be called a “pub” when there is table service? Food placed on top of other food — on purpose. Ice-filled glasses. And a grilled lemon? Britain, we hardly knew ye.

Today after looking at all the flower images, we found our way into a quasi-fancy French brasserie on Sloane Square. Very posh location. It was very busy. And while the waiter had the audacity to speak some French to me, the menu was filled with authentic French dishes and appeared to be a pretty close approximation what I remember as French food. We’ll be able to judge that more completely when we get to Paris next week.

I started with fried whitebait. Tiny, tiny fish, deep-fried whole with a garlicy dipping sauce. I was the only one who would eat this. I’ve been to Japan, baby, and I’ll now eat anything. Jo had a liver parfait with some great grape chutney.

For our mains, June and I had pan-fried seabass with a mild dressing of tiny beet pieces, capers and shallots — served ON TOP of a composed serving of roughly mashed new potatoes tarragon. It sure seemed French to me.

Jo and Alan had grilled chicken breast covered in a creamy mushroom and thyme sauce. Again, very French seeming. Those sauces. The French can’t help themselves. The chicken came with frites, but in this case the the frites were not UNDER the chicken but were served separately in a paper cone.

Dessert was an array of French cheeses and more of that great grape chutney.

All very French. And all delicious.