London, Wednesday, November 6, 2024
We landed, activated our eSim’s, and heard the news we had been dreading. Donald Trump would serve a second term as the President of the United States of America. That sentence alone is sufficient inditement of our country and its electorate.
After the usual visit to the Heathrow fitness center–the two mile hike from gate through border security and on to the trains–we stepped aboard the Elizabeth Line, which whisked us to Farringdon, where we transferred to the Thames Link light rail. That was a bit of a glitch, with signal problems delaying us by ten minutes or so. But from the City Thames Link station, it was a five minute stroll up Ludgate Hill to St. Paul’s and down an alleyway to our hotel, the Leonardo Royal St. Paul’s. We had chosen it because it is one of the few hotels in London that accommodates families at a (relatively) reasonable rate. It proved to be a great choice: a stylish modern hotel built around a great atrium, with spacious and comfortable rooms. And the location is terrific: three minutes to St. Paul’s and the stream of buses running deeper into the city or down the Strand to Trafalgar, and five minute to the Millennium Bridge, with its direct access to the Globe and Tate Modern.
After dropping our bags at the hotel, we walked to the South Bank for a small bite. It was a perfect London day, if your London ideal includes fog. Here are a couple of shots from the Millennium Bridge. The first one shows the Shard disappearing into the atmosphere, the second some of the largest buildings in the City of London reduced to more human proportions.
The murky weather does make for some nice colors, though.
Here’s looking at you, kid.
And right back at you, G-Pa.
The girls had been real troopers: no complaints despite little sleep and the relatively long trip from gate to hotel, and they were interested in everything. The were hungry, though, so we ran past an interesting installation in the Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern; Open Wound by Mire Lee.
That’s an actual turbine hanging from the ceiling, and when it turns, its wind animates the haunting skins hanging from long metal chains.
The food at the Tate is consistently good and interesting. We ate at the Cafe facing the river:
I had red pepper hummus on flatbread, Sue a Cheshire cheese scramble on a bun.
Then back to the hotel for a surprisingly short but refreshing snooze.
We rode a red bus down Ludgate Hill and Fleet Street to the Courts of Justice; fittingly, we got the prestige seats at the front of the top deck for the girls’ first ride! London is glorious at night, with its soft light and stunning mixture of the old and the new. We gave them a first taste of shopping at Covent Garden covered market before heading to dinner. Ingrid was cooked by this time, so we treated ourselves to a black cab to the restaurant.
Our second visit to St. John Marylebone was even better than the first; unlike the original restaurant in Smithfield, the smaller, less formal Marylebone branch is oriented toward sharing; the dishes are placed in the middle, and everyone digs in. We ordered far too much food: a splendid potted pork (a confit of pork on toasted bread with cornichons), their signature Deep Fried Rarebit (to die for), a sublime celeriac soup, succulent braised fallow deer with a swede (rutabaga) mash, and Braised Turbot with leeks and Laverbread, a seaweed found in Wales. Although we were stuffed, the five of us finished up by polishing off an order of chocolate and pistachio terrine. The food was perfect: simple with deep and often unusual flavors. And we love the restaurant, with its elegant simplicity, coziness, and above all warm and welcoming staff.
Our waiter hailed from Manchester; he is clearly deep into the world of food and an aspiring chef (with an M.A. in the History of Design and a body of sculpture behind him). We also learned a bit about the history of the St. John restaurants. Fergus Henderson, the chef and owner, suffers from Parkinson’s and hasn’t cooked for many years. But he sits down once a month with the chefs of the three restaurants and they make menu choices. Our waiter agreed that his first restaurant, The French House, is one of the best in London.