A gentleman's tour of London Town
Cocktail hour
Of course, he will also enjoy slightly stronger refreshment as the cocktail hour approaches. From the Ritz, take an afternoon constitutional along the Strand to Holborn, the center of London’s legal community and home to the Royal Courts of Justice and the four Inns of Court. There, off Chancery Lane in Carey Street, lies the Seven Stars, a public house that was one of the very rare buildings to survive London’s Great Fire of 1666.
Opened in 1604 — just one year after the death of Elizabeth I and three years before the founding of Jamestown — this pub is more a ship cabin than a tavern, with its bare timbers and creaking low roof. At the bar, landlady Roxy Beaujolais will pull you a pint of authentic English bitters, but be kind to the cat of the house, the one in the clerical collar. Not only is he fiercely protected by Madame Beaujolais, but he bears the name of one of America’s most celebrated revolutionaries: Tom Paine.
Having swigged your sturdy aperitif, navigate the lanes and byways of Covent Garden to Rules Restaurant, London’s oldest, for a sterling English dinner. Opened while Napoleon was gallivanting about Egypt, Rules dates from 1797 and appears not to have changed a whit in the intervening centuries. For the complete experience, book a private room on one of the top two floors, where Edward VII sought privacy behind mullioned windows and closed doors for his dalliances with Lillie Langtry.
The menu is stocked primarily with game hunted and caught on the restaurant’s estate in the north of England: grouse, venison, partridge, but, mercifully, not four and twenty blackbirds. When your meal concludes with the cheese course, behold the imperial splendor that is capable of producing a custom-made silver barrel for crackers.
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Surrounding the central space on the two main floors are a series of magnificent rooms, specially designated for reading, writing, gaming and dining. The smoking room on the piano nobile runs the length of the building and features floor-to-20-foot-ceiling bookshelves; in it, find yourself an original club chair, with buttery green leather and a sensible antimacassar. From a hidden doorway, an attendant will take your order for a snifter of brandy. Quaff deeply the imperial tradition and win an empathetic nod from the local gentry by toasting “Confusion to Bonaparte!”
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