THE RITZ CLUB
150 PICCADILLY
LONDON
The Ritz Club and Casino is a legend in its own time, and while the Ritz Hotel in London is still in business the world has hope.
“If there is any kind of nuclear fallout, invasion from foreign forces, massive pollution of the water supplies, take your credit card and go check straight into the Ritz.” I told my kids in case of emergencies.
They have never lost a guest intentionally, probably have a tunnel connected to Buckingham Place and definitely have a back door used for political figures who should not be seen gambling.
“Don’t worry we can always sell the house and pay the bill as it’s the safest place in London in times of war.” I reassured them as they grew up, they blinked in agreement but might have dismissed the idea after I left the room. In my mind it saved me the horror of relying on relatives.
Cesar Ritz introduced innovations to the hotel like brass beds, en suite bathrooms and it was the first steel building of any consequence in London which he described as ‘ a small house to which I am proud to see my name attached”.
The hotel retuned into English hands in 1995, after a complete overall of the Grade II listed building, restoring every detail both seen and unseen.
In 2002 The Ritz Hotel received a Royal Warrant for Banqueting and Catering Services awarded by Prince Charles and the first hotel to get such an award. Given we don’t see the Royals popping in and out on a regular basis, and given its proximity I presume it’s become the royal ‘take away’?
“Hello, is that David?” I asked the well-spoken man who answered the phone in a firm and polite manner. After informing him the reason for my call and my desired meeting with his head chef we chatted about a few relative topics and the past.
“My ex husband was one of your members but you probably wont remember him and he has since passed away” I went onto explain which actually had very little to do with truffles.
“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that” he kindly added.
“Please don’t be, he is probably eating Dover sole in heaven, if they have any left…and please be assured his death was not related to any gambling debts!” He laughed, I laughed as he had no need to worry another family had left with starving children, and a widow, because yet another man thought he was a better black jack player than he actually was.
Thank God there was humor still left in the world and a couple of days later I arrived at the Ritz Club door, gave my card and took the small but ornate lift down into the ormolu red and navy plush basement.
Never has a basement been made so splendid if you like Baroque meets Shar of Persia 1980’s. It’s the classic style, opulent, wood paneling, imposing but comfortable and all the luxuriant furnishings a high roller would have expected.
It had none of those modern minimal grey hard lines of industrial chic that we have had thrust upon us, which essentially make people look ugly, badly dressed, jaundiced, greasy and unwanted.
David was a young man in his mid 40’s but polished and confident befitting such a position in one of London’s most important gaming casinos.
I followed him, and the very beautiful cut glass tumbler of Perrier water he held, into a private room and he said he would call for chef as we passed two Russian men, in their mid 50’s, drinking large chilled glasses of champagne at 11.00 am.
”How civilized” I thought to serve a decent large glass and not one of those silly little ‘coupe’ sized B breast. While we all poisoned ourselves with fattening coffees all day the Russians drank the sparkling grape. They will outlast us all in the end.
I emptied my case of black gold, and a set of scales, taking care not to spoil the starched fine white cotton virgin white tablecloth.
One day in the future tablecloths themselves will be a restaurants selling point as I see most of them serving food directly onto tables with the odd slither of paper in place, while the generation who still expect such luxuries, are slowly dying off.
“Hello, how are you?” said a tall man entering the room dressed in whites with his arms folded in front of him. He had obviously been dragged away from something important and perhaps dreaded meeting me. “Oh… what do we have here?” he turned his attention and gazed at the field of various sized black lumps emitting nothing but their dusky distinctive aroma.
“Truffles” I said, knowing he really didn’t need to be told.
“May I?” He asked as he reached forward with all the tension in his face having now disappeared. He looked over at David who delicately and hesitantly reached in “whispering I love truffles.”
Unlike babies, truffles ask to be touched and smelt but retain no fingerprints. They should be clean and these had no soil on them, dog hairs, leaves from the forest or residue from any handling.
We talked about the Ritz Casino, the hotel’s fascinating stories, our memories, food they served these days to the international cliental and the ingredients they now needed to cook them, often very late at night.
The kitchen, and the staff, did not set the hours or the requirements of customers who ultimately pay the wages as the casino (separate to the hotel) is open 24/7.
“I remember one of our party knocking over a large bottle of Petrus over the white table cloth many years ago on a table of about 10 people, and how seamlessly the waiters cleaned up, replaced it and re set everything in minutes, like professional Norland Nannies looking after clumsy toddlers.
The platters of smoked salmon and oysters were continually brought from the kitchen on large trays as if the waiters were nurses delivering medicine to patients.
Customers didn’t read the menus because they knew them by heart, they understood what was best, and had no intention of experimenting and every table was taken by 7.30 pm.
The wealthy middle classes dressed up, turned up, ate up and could afford to do so even if they weren’t compt by the casino. It was a meeting place, and a place to be seen except on the weekends when most regular folks went to the country.
“These were wonderful days, we didn’t know what was coming or how lucky we were,” we all agreed but it was now mainly the high rollers who flew in that all the casinos wanted these days and besides most of the folks I once knew had virtually all died….
In 1987 Kerry Packer (the legendary Australian tycoon) reportedly lost over a million pounds playing cards in the private salon according to an eyewitness. Playing two tables at a time he played all seven hands at each table, staking £10,000 pounds per hand but eventually tiring of signing his name for his losses he handed over a cheque for £1 million pounds – that was a lot on money in those days.
The stories we don’t get told about are even more interesting but you need to know someone in gaming to hear them.
“Can you carry all those?” chef asked as we packed up my bag and headed for the maze of interior corridors. “Come, I will show you the kitchens” which I was always delighted to see given there was nothing cooking, hardly anyone around, no food left out and nothing to smell.
Perhaps, I kept going on kitchen tours with chefs in the hope that someone was going to ask me to the chefs table and sample something delicious like a lobster thermirdor…. something else we no longer see on a menu these days…
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