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JULY 2012
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living room overlooking the Thames, plus a
full collection of Coward books (sample quip:
“I love criticism just so long as it’s unqualified
praise”) and art. You spend some time lounging
on the couch inyour robe, reading theman’s le ers
while idly sipping the tea and eating the oranges
the butler brought up.
A er a suitable amount of post-sleep repose,
you head downstairs and stroll east along the
Thames to
Borough Market
, a dauntingly convo-
luted outdoor labyrinthof food stalls that a racts
hordes of hungry gourmands every weekend. As
one such patron puts it upon entering, “Ooh,
this place is
evil.
” Indeed, over a couple of hours
you fall prey to its enticements, consuming the
following: a jam doughnut, stuffed grape leaves,
two empanadas, some potted wood pigeon,
olives with sun-dried tomatoes and garlic, a
paving stone–size brownie, two cups of cof-
fee, a cup of olive leaf tea and, as a digestive, a
beechwood-smoked sausage. And with that last
bit, your stomach goes from upset to resigned.
Managing to remain upright, you trundle
westward along the river and make for the
Tate Modern
. Set in an old power plant and
accessedviablacked-out slidingdoors leading into
the disorientingly dark Turbine Hall, the art museum is embarking on a major
expansion, but even in its present form it’s one of the
greats. Aswing through the currentDamienHirst exhibit
inspires questions of whether the painter of spots and
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slicer of sharks is a genius or amore cynical
Warhol, and a look at Michelangelo Pisto-
le o’s
Venus of the Rags
, a kitschy Venus
statue standing amid a pile of laundry,
prompts a Sco ish visitor to quip, “That
woman ain’t done the cleanin’, ’as she?”
You hop on the Tube at Waterloo sta-
tion and emerge at Victoria. A short walk
brings you to
The Goring
, the stately hotel
near Buckingham Palace where you’ll be
having a ernoon tea. When weather per-
mits, it’s served on the terrace overlooking
the lovelyhotel gardens. Holding the belief
that one should always order the thing
that’s named a er the establishment serv-
ing it, you call for the invigorating Goring
blend, an assam darjeeling, and se le in
for an hour’s worth of scones, jam, clo ed
cream, finger sandwiches and sweets. It’s
a genuine oasis.
Hoping tomaintain that calm, you take
a long amble along the Mall, between the
BuckinghamPalace gardens andSt. James’
Park, and turn up Charing Cross Road to
peruse the bookshops. Thenyou stroll into
tony Mayfair for dinner at the celebrated
Babbo
. Taking a corner seat in the taste-
ful, cozy room lined with the owner’s
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LOVE HIRST
Left, the Tate Modern’s Turbine
Hall; above, the American Bar at The Savoy;
opposite, Portobello Road