The packing was easy. We both had carry-on roller bags and I had my faithful knapsack and Judy had her large pink-and-black zipper shoulder bag plus her purse plus the laptop. What did we have to pack? My clothes, her clothes, gifts for the three grandchildren, the play scripts and theater programs from the ten plays, the new "winter" clothing we bought because the weather was so cold and windy, three umbrellas, six pairs of shoes, a bag of chocolates from a VERY fancy chocolate store that Richard had bought for us, AND two boxes of lightbulbs for European sockets that we needed for a table at home, AND four (maybe six) boxes of Evergreens (Judy's favorite Dutch cookie/crackers-dry as the desert). Somehow, we did it. We actually were able to zip the bags closed. Oh, I almost forgot the toiletries and Kindle and even the kitchen sink, BUT NOT MY WEDDING RING.
We took a short rest, texted with Alice to meet us at 6:30 at Piccadilly and that was that. Except that Richard had told us that Hakkasan reserved the table at 7:30 and we HAD to leave at 9:30. This is unheard of in Europe, in my opinion. We have eaten in restaurants where you made a reservation for 7:30 and stayed until midnight. No rush, no problem. Okay, we decided this was a fancy-shmancy place and the crowds to get in were huge.
We met Alice as planned in the wind and cold and waited for Richard to join us at the apartment. We got his text: "Stuck in a bus and will meet you at the restaurant. Take a cab. Don't be late." No problem, we jumped in a cab and told him: "Hakkasan Restaurant." We figured such a fancy place must be well-known in London. "What?" he asked. "Hakkasan. It is on Hanway Place I think," I told him. He set off. Richard had said it was right off Tottenham Court Road near Oxford Street. I looked it up on my IPhone and found the street. "Yes, Hanway Place it is," I told the driver. "I know it." he answered. And we drove off up Shaftsbury to Oxford Street. Now, at the end of the road, just as you enter Oxford Street, there was a red light and the driver stopped. A man on a bicycle next to us, tapped on the cab window and the driver opened it. "Do you know the fast way to Marylebone?" the cyclist asked. "NO." the driver said. "Thanks." the cyclist said. A funny way to begin the evening for sure.
Okay, the cab crosses Oxford Street and at the first street on the left, the driver stops and says, "Here it is." We pay and get out.
We see a street sign that says: Hanway Street. It is one way the wrong way, and that is why the cabbie stopped. We walk down Hanway Street. NO restaurant. And the end of the street, the road turns to the right. No street name. It is 7 o'clock at night, a bit cold, a bit windy and the neighborhood is deserted. EXCEPT for a sort of hippy reading room/library with strange types standing on the street. Judy doesn't like the look of the place. "Maybe we have to go back," Alice suggests. "Back to what?" I said, "There is no restaurant on the street we just came from." Judy said, "Let's try this street on the right." It looked deserted. Empty factories. Strange names like "Ethiopian Handbags" or "Johnson's Printing". NO Hakkasan. And NO street name. But, we walked down the street and there at the end, under a street light, like a character from the film Casablanca, was a large person. "Hey, it's Richard," I yelled. "Hello."
"Let's go," he said, "it is here around the corner." We turned a sort of corner into a dead end alley and there were two cars, both Bentleys and three or four men standing in front of the restaurant entrance. The men wore long black overcoats with white shirts, black pants and black shoes. They were NOT smiling. In fact, they were a bit threatening. They reminded me of a visit we had made to Moscow. There, a good friend, Sergei, told that he knew the BEST Ukranian restaurant in Moscow. We would love he said. We went with him to the restaurant which had a HUGE wooden door with little screened windows in it. Outside in front of the door where a couple of black cars AND three men all wearing black clothes and (obviously) armed to the teeth. They were NOT smiling and, in fact, they were a bit off-putting. Once we got inside (and it was LOVELY) and ate dinner (it was DELICIOUS) and drank vodka (it was cold and sweet), we had fun. And Hakkasan reminded me of Moscow.
I think I said something to the "boys" at the door, like: "Hey, you guys look like Ukranians!" No one smiled. They got heavier and darker. So, I said, "C'mon, you either come from the Ukraine or from Gruzia (Georgia)." Judy grabbed me and said, "Richard, let's go NOW into the restaurant!" No one smiled. So, I pointed to one guy and said, "You MUST be Gruzian!" Judy was tugging on my arm. And, guess what he did. He pointed to the third guy and said, "HE comes from Tblisi, not me." By this time they were actually smiling (sort of) and they had taken their hands out from behind their backs and were in a James Bond position to strike me down like a blade of grass. Judy was tugging on my sleeve at this point and that was the introduction to this fancy restaurant.
Downstairs was a gaggle of fancy ladies and men all taking our coats and giving us the professional eye-over (are they rich or not?). We were taken to our table and sat down. Fancy place. Very modern and chic and good looking. Friendly waiters. Helpful people. I glanced at the table to our right. There were three people there: one beefy man from the Caucus' Mountains with a neck the size of a tuba and with his necktie NOT pulled tight and his shirt collar unbuttoned. Next to him was a GIGANTIC woman dressed like an Uzbeki or Turkemeni in a very expensive "native" dress. Across the table from them was a man dressed in a suit that he had bought ONLY for the trip to the West. They were not smiling or laughing. They were very very serious. A dessert came of some kind of little somethings on little plates. The big guy reached out with a little spoon in his immense paw and scooped up whatever it was in one scoop and it was gone. I mean the WHOLE DESSERT was gone. The others didn't get a thing. Nada. It was almost funny. Some more stuff came and they each ate something or other and I stopped looking (staring is more like it).
We opened the menu. After all, this was supposed to be Richard's gift dinner to us. Here are three examples of items on the menu. No joke. Real menu items.
1. Peking duck with Royal Beluga caviar (whole duck with 16 pancakes and 30grams of Royal Beluga caviar; second course with a choice of XO sauce, black bean sauce or ginger and spring onion): EngPd 235 ($382)
2. Braised supreme dried whole Japlanese abalone (with morel mushroom and sea cucumber-24 hour notice required): EngPd 418 ($678)
3. Braised dried whole Japanese abalone (in royal Supreme stick with goose feet, sea cucumber and Thai asparagus tip): EngPd 208 ($337)
I actually laughed out loud. "Richard, you are NOT going to pay for this meal. Even if these are uniquely expensive, the rest of the menu must be costly. And we brought Judy's colleague, so it is a fourth person. Let's just split the bill and forget about it, okay?" He agreed.
Here is a sample of the "good" part of their menu:
Notice the Stir-fry ostrich? I wondered how they got a dog-gone ostrich INTO a wok. Seriously, the meal was fantastic. Really delicious. Alright, so it cost about $900,000,000, but it was worth it. I think this is the first time I have eaten in a Michellin starred restaurant and now I know why it is worth the prices.
We left happily full and although it was so noisy that we had to shout to be heard across the table, it was enjoyable. The table on our left had three YOUNG people at it, two girls and one boy. They looked Swedish and I kept thinking how young people could afford to eat there. When one girl stood up to go to the bathroom, she bumped into our table and said, "Sorry". She was a lovely blond Scandanavian girl about 25. She was wearing a sort of low cut dress but it was draped and had an old-fashioned look to it. Anyway, when she turned to apologize, we noticed that her entire right arm from shoulder to wrist was completely tattoed with a sort of Norse snakey thing. It was intense: a huge tattoo. (I don't like tattoos, excuse me for being old fashioned, but a fad is one thing and a FAD is another. I am hoping to see somebody with the tattoo of F-A-D tattooed on them somewhere.) I asked her about it, what it meant. She said, (what they all say): "I just like it." Wow.
After we left the restaurant, and the tough guys made comments to us about Georgia and the Ukraine, we walked down Oxford Street to take Alice to the Tube. She had been up since 4 in the morning and was tired. We kissed good bye to her at Oxford Circus tube station and it was about ten at night. What to do?
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