THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
20 Arlington Street, St. James's, London SW1A 1RG
For devotees of the legendary Caprice restaurant in Arlington Street in its glory days, life in London has not been quite the same since the new owner, Richard Caring, decided not to renew the lease and close the restaurant at the onset of the Covid pandemic. Instead, he used the name for his vast franchise, which includes Scott's and the Ivy restaurants. He launched Caprices elsewhere, including in New York, where it did not survive.
So there was bound to be a surge of excitement at the launch of a new restaurant on the same site by Jeremy King, one of the prior owners of the Caprice. "It's been a tsunami of regular clients calling for a table – things have been crazy," said my great friend, the famous Jesus Adorno, who was helping to open a version of the former Caprice in a new incarnation, called the Arlington.
Jesus and I first became friends when he doused my head with a glass of water as my hair was ablaze! Not many friendships begin this way, but it was the '90s so my hair was curled with hot rollers, brushed upside down for maximum volume and double sprayed with hairspray. Big Hair was the fashion and I felt I could pull it off. Not thinking it was highly flammable. As I was holding my boyfriend's (now spouse's) hand over the table and staring lovingly into his eyes, the candle suddenly got hold of a lock and whoosh! - hair bursting into flames. Luckily Jesus (always surveying the room) rushed over with a glass of water and put the flames out. Hair ashes were whisked away and the crisp, white tablecloth was promptly replaced. The only remaining problem was that the other diners started sniffing nervously, as what seemed like the smell of burning flesh instantly filled the intimate restaurant.
Mortified, I tried to rush for the exit, as diners were looking suspiciously in my direction. But my hero Jesus blocked my escape. He opened windows and insisted that we must continue with my first ever Caprice dinner. As I must have looked like a drowned rat, I refused to look anyone in the eye as I headed for the ladies' room. After a couple of minutes, that seemed to take forever, people stopped staring and resumed their chatting and dining. I will never forget Jesus's kindness in this crisis. He was superb!
Other than the excellent no frills familiar dishes, the celebrities, the ambiance, the staff, there was a piano player who lit up every time we walked through the door. This was because we were the only dancers in a restaurant where there was no dancing, for lack of space. But though we were extremely well behaved during dinner, as soon as we paid the bill, we always (and I do mean always) danced a rapid foxtrot out through the door, ignoring the surprise of other diners. The vital requirement was to avoid accidentally knocking incoming traffic out of the way. The pianist enjoyed this and would start a second ditty to keep us around. Jesus always looked the other way, but his major domo frowned on our exits, though we got more smiles and thumbs up than scowls and never knocked over a table of diners, so we are hoping to continue to be able to get away with them at the newly opened Arlington. Some American visitors who asked if this was normal British behavior were firmly told that it was not.
A hilarious memory of the Caprice was when our favorite waiter, Emmanuel, handed me the menu with all of my favorite dishes blacked out as not available. Dumbfounded, I could not believe it – no Caesar salad, no black cod and no chili broccoli – all I ever ordered. I was crushed. In near despair, I studied what on earth else might be available, while a David Bailey portrait of a smoking Catherine Deneuve looked down on us. When the poker faced Emmanuel came to take the order, I was horribly confused as to what to order and kept stalling – until suddenly he cracked and burst into uproarious laughter. Of course my favorites were available.
"You ruined a perfectly good menu just to tease me?"
"It was worth it" he beamed! Just another night at the Caprice.
One evening, Bill Clinton trotted through the restaurant to greet my spouse, as he never forgets a face, always looks you straight in the eye and makes you feel like you are the only person he really wants to talk to – and I am a Republican! His arm, thereafter, was firmly attached to a brunette who bore no resemblance to Hilary. Another evening, at the next table, Prince Andrew was trying hard to avoid our or anyone else's eyes. Understandably, as he was awaiting a statuesque Eastern beauty who appeared in a black bra and shimmering golden harem pants.
I could go on. For where else could you bump into Uma Thurman, Jerry Hall, Kate Moss, Madonna, Hugh Grant and Elizabeth Hurley or Gordon Ramsay at the bar?
The car parking valet was so kind that one evening when I was stranded solo, instead of calling a taxi, he drove me home!
On a recent Sunday night my son and I were lucky to get the chance to enjoy Jeremy King's new venture and, inevitably, to compare with its predecessor. The car valet has been suppressed. But we were warmly greeted by the new manager Paul and the table was ready, even though we were early, though not in the corner we used to frequent. With new management, it may take a while to inch our way back to our favorite table.
To our delight, the Arlington does look almost exactly like its distinguished predecessor. The beautiful David Bailey black and white photographs still adorn the walls and the huge mirror enables drinkers or diners at the bar discreetly to survey what is going on behind them – a favorite perch for occasional lunchtime spotting of Princess Diana in the old days. The restaurant is, or seems, more brightly lit, with lots of glass and chrome and no potentially hazardous candles on the table for careless diners' hair to go up in flames.
Venturing down to the ladies' room, with Mick Jagger looking down on me (in photo form), it too was brightly lit, reminding me of the story confided to my spouse by the late Duke of Edinburgh, a member of the Garrick Club. When the facilities there were refurbished, the Secretary asked the oldest member for his reaction. "Absolutely ghastly," was the reply. "All this new chrome and paint makes your Johnson look so shabby!"
On a more mundane note, the scarcity of hand towels no doubt will be addressed; improvements will be made!
The menu (see left photo) was very familiar, including even shepherd's pie, plus the signature dish dessert of frozen berries covered in hot white chocolate, which we devoured and was as delicious as ever.
We were served by a cheery, nice and efficient lady in a mock tuxedo. My son started with the bang bang chicken, of which I forced him to hand over a delicious morsel. My salad starter of endive, walnuts and Roquefort was followed by cod with lobster risotto, plus a side of creamed spinach and my usual Diet Coke.
There is a piano, but no pianist in view, so no foxtrotting with a dip and flourish on the way out. Paul, the manager, kindly took the obligatory photo of the two of us under the Arlington's neon blue sign above the front door. On leaving, we were photobombed by some would-be diners unable to get in.
A fun and cheery night, with good food and excellent service and we have another chance at this as we are returning after Easter with my spouse in tow. With Jeremy King of the old Caprice and the Wolseley in charge, it undoubtedly will prove to be a first class addition to the West End dining scene. Not quite the Caprice, but how could it be?
Meanwhile, Richard Caring, owner of the Caprice group and the name, is reported to be planning to re-launch one in the Chancery Rosewood hotel on the site of the former U.S. Embassy on Grosvenor Square. We will explore that too as soon as we can get in – so, please watch this space.
