FROM A CLUBMAN'S CHAIR

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVIII, Issue 19957, 15 November 1934, Page 10

FROM A CLUBMAN'S CHAIR

THE GREEK VOGUE IN DINING HIGH STAKES AT CROCKFORD’S (Specially written for “ The Timaru Herald ” by Charles Martin.) LONDON, October 11. No one is more pleased about the Royal engagement than the proprietor of a pleasant little Greek restaurant in Soho. Princess Marina’s appearance on the social horizon has started a vogue for all things Greek —including Greek eating. So quite a number of unfamiliar guests are to be seen just now in this restaurant, sampling unfamiliar fare. I suppose the place might even lay some claim to Royal patronage, for one of its founders was the former chef of King Constantine of Greece. The present proprietor was a partner in the venture. Eating Roses One of the restaurant’s specialities is the famous rose-petal jam of Greece, served in the form of various sweets. It is also noted for its “tamaras”— pressed red caviare, which, incidentally, is a good deal cheaper than the black kind. In honour of Princess Marina, the restaurant is going to appoint a doorporter. Nothing very startling in this perhaps.but somehow a door-porter seems to lift a restaurant out of the Bohemian Soho class into West End fashionableness. This door-porter is going to be a particularly gorgeous specimen, dressed in Greek national costume of a century ago., with a murderous-looking knife in his sash. Food of All Nations There is no city in the world (unless, perhaps, it be Paris) where you can eat and drink in so many different national styles as you can in London. A list of our foreign restaurants would read like the membership roll of the League of Nations —except that Germany and America are represented, too. Some countries are represented many times over. French and Italian restaurants are legion. There are quite a number of Indian places and a good many Chinese. All the better-known establishments are congregated cheek-by-jowl in the narrow compass of Soho. Gigli Is Coming There is a stir of excitement in most of the Italian restaurants just now because the great tenor, Gigli, is soon coming to Town. Gigli gets £SOO for every concert at which he appears, but he still prefers to sup at these modest Soho restaurants —the kind that do a table d’hote dinner for three-and-sixpence. Gigli likes to see as many of his countrymen as possible whenever he comes to London, so he goes to a different Italian restaurant every night. The waiters all know and love him. After he has supped, when all the customers have departed, he sings to the restaurant staff, and lets them hear his £SOO-a-night voice for nothing.

Where Caruso Supped The great Caruso used to have the same expansive habit when among his countryfolk. I once dined in New York at an Italian restaurant he made famous in this way. The proprietor still points out “Caruso’s corner” and the table at which he used to eat his supper after the opera. My visit was made when Prohibition and bootlegging still held sway; and I recollect that this particular restaurant was one of the few places where you could get a bottle of passable wine. Good spirits (at a price) could be bought almost anywhere in New York, but wine v/as difficult to come by. The New Champagne Talking of wine, I hear that the champagne growers are immensely elated by the prospects of this year’s vintage. But we shall not be doing more than talk about it for six years yet. Not until 1940 will connoisseurs be passing judgment on the 1934 vintage. Champagne being a luxury, its sales may perhaps be some kind of barometer registering general trade conditions. At any rate, it is worth recording that Britain is buying more champagne than a few years ago. America, on the other hand, is proving a disappointing market to the Continental wine houses, who had hoped for bumper business as soon as Prohibition was lifted. The Humble Hop Meanwhile, those of us who have no prospect of helping to send up the champagne sales may be consoled by the news that this is a “vintage year” for beer. The humble hop is finer in quality than it has been for many years. A year or two back the brewers were complaining of falling consumption. But beer certainly seems to be coming into its own again. Lager from Germany and Czechslovakia is also growing in popularity, if one may judge from the lunch-time orders at West End restaurants. Crockford’s Is Safe I was glad to hear from a member of Crockford’s the other evening that this famous card club is confident of weathering the financial difficulties which resulted in the reconstruction of the proprietory company a little while ago. Crockford’s has the makings of one of the most prosperous clubs in Town. It is (as my friend put it) “rolling in money.” Stakes at the card tables are high; and members who may win and lose hundreds of pounds in a night spend equally lavishly on food, drinks and cigars. All of which is good for any club’s finances. Lost £23,000 at a Sitting But though the bridge and poker stakes at Crockford’s are higher than anywhere else in Town to-day, they are nothing compared with the sums staked at the original club a century ago. William Crockford, who founded the club and made a big fortune out of it, put up a bank of £5,000 at the hazard table “every night during the sitting of Parliament.” He kept this up for twelve years, until he retired in 1840. Lord Rivers, one of Crockford’s habitues at that time, once lost £23,000 at a single sitting. Another famous member was the Duke of Wellington. But he never gambled, and it is said that he joined only in order to blackball his son—who did gamble. The Government Tie It has just been revealed that the National Government has its own “club” tie. The matter has been kept very dark, for it seems that the ties were issued three years ago. Every Government supporter received one. Mr Churchill is one of the few M.P.’s who have been seen wearing the tie. He declares that it is the only thing he ever got out of the National Government. I should add that the tie is a rather startling combination of red, white and blue stripes—which perhaps accounts for the reluctance of members to wear it. Dress in the House of Commons is “quiet” to a fault.