San Francisco Boy

London 2014

Did you miss us, England?

Because of multiple heartbreaks, one year away turned into two.

Then three.

Four.

Five.

Then we went back.

And we remembered.

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Met at LHR-T5

Fortunately, our SFO-LHR British Airways flight didn't divert to Amsterdam at the last minute due to wicked cross currents near Heathrow, as our steward feared. So, we met our hired greentomatocars (yes, it's all lowercase and run together) driver on schedule at Terminal 5 Arrivals. Friendly, efficient service (they prefer Priuses) and finally a cabbie who didn't feel it necessary to drive through perpetually clogged Piccadilly Circus en route to our apartment suite in Bloomsbury. "Black cabs feel they need to do that for tourists," he noted.

Pizza Negotiations in Soho Square

Always the first meal off the plane! At Pizza Express, 10 Dean St., an American Hot for me, Andrea has egg on hers.

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We're at the Morgan in Bloomsbury

Andrea studiously iPhone'ing restaurants in Time Out London Eating & Drinking downstairs in the breakfast room of the Morgan Hotel, 24 Bloomsbury St., our go-to accommodations in Bloomsbury, around the corner from the British Museum, skipping distance from the YMCA and West End.

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Table service.

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Full English brekkie.

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My turn with Time Out.

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Our apartment suite's living room.

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Andrea notes our flat has the finest of mod cons, enabling us to prepare all that we need to sustain us, like wheatmeal toast and milky English tea.

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View out front window looking toward Bedford Square.

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View out rear window looking toward alleyway trundled by workmen at 4 a.m.

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Rob and Di Bradford pay a visit.

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Strolling from Bedford Square up to our apartment at the Morgan.

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The dramatic Gower Street entrance to RADA, just up the road from the Morgan.

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Semi-emergency dental work done opposite the British Museum to re-cement my wayward gold crown, which popped out after biting English granola. "You don't have much tooth for the crown, it might pop off again in two days," said my Greek dentist, who studied at NYU. (It took seven months, actually.)

London for Books

From the Bloomsbury Set to Piccadilly, Persephone to Skoob, antiquarian to modern, Dickens to P.G. Wodehouse to S. Gibbons, London is truly a book lover and book buyer's dream.

Hatchards, 187 Piccadilly, a British institution and perhaps the best bookstore on Earth, certainly our favourite in London.

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A surfeit of P.G. Wodehouse at Hatchards.

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Persephone Books, 59 Lamb's Conduit St., Bloomsbury, independent publishers dedicated to female authors of the British persuasion. It's the sweetest, coziest shop!

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London Review Bookshop, 14 Bury Place, Bloomsbury, where Andrea briefly lost a glove.

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Jarndyce Antiquarian Booksellers, 46 Great Russell St., Bloomsbury.

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Shop window on Cecil Court, off St. Martin's Lane, a timeless antiquarian alley chock-a-block with book and memorabilia sellers. And the occasional nutter shop owner.

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Where Marks & Co. once stood, 84 Charing Cross Road.

Positively Dickensian

Overwhelming to stand in Charles Dickens's study, 84 Doughty St., Bloomsbury, where he lived from 1837 to 1839 and wrote Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickleby. It's now the Charles Dickens Museum, preserved floor to ceiling as it was in the author's day.

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Jeeves & Wooster in Perfect Nonsense

"Besiege the box office!... check your pulse..." Perfect nonsense indeed about a silver cow creamer lost on St. Martin's Lane in the West End. Surely the funniest play we've ever seen in London.

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Keep the Aspidistra Flying

Walking in the footsteps (12 Woburn Walk, Bloomsbury) of the great Richard E. Grant (as Gordon Comstock) and Helena Bonham-Carter (as Rosemary Waterlow) from the film adaptation of George Orwell's Keep the Aspidistra Flying (1997) about a frustrated advertising copywriter-poet and the graphic designer who loves him thru thick and thin (and Lambeth).

"Sharply the menacing wind sweeps over the bending poplars, newly bare..."

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A Taste of Honey Across the River

Our usual selves are very unusual selves at the opening night of A Taste of Honey at the National Theatre, South Bank, London.

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View from Dress Circle, seats A24-25.

London by Tube and Coffee

If you kept to best independent coffee bars nearest London Tube stations, you'd drink like a prince every day in the Capital.

My small sampling of Northern Line picks followed a straight black shot from Nude Espresso (Tottenham Court Road) to Lantana (Goodge Street) to TAP (Warren Street). All good, all full of care, all rather pricey. Plus some good attitude: "Don't dare add sugar AFTER it's made, "advised a patron next to me at Nude, where I'd ordered a flat white. "Owner won't allow it—must be added DURING brewing."

Glad to see trad faves Monmouth Coffee Company and Fernandez & Wells on the map, too.

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Nude Espresso perfection.

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TAP likes bikes.

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You'll have to share a table here.

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Everything is delectable at Fernandez & Wells.

Flowers in Winter

Regent's Park, London. Paradise for walkers, strollers, joggers, runners. 

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Ground floor of the Red Fort, 77 Dean St., Soho, luxe Indian.

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The merchandising of Van Gogh's Sunflowers at the National Gallery, Trafalgar Square, London. What would Theo or Vincent think?

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Transit Panorama

London Heathrow Terminal 5.

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London Euston.

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London Victoria.

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London Marylebone, seen in Richard Lester's A Hard Day's Night (1964) with The Beatles running for their lives and a year earlier in John Schlesinger's Billy Liar with Julie Christie and Tom Courtenay, also running down the platform. Alas, Billy never caught that train with Liz (JC) to London.

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Going Underground.

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Central Line train to Tottenham Court Road.

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Crossing Waterloo Bridge in a black cab to Southbank and National Theatre, London Eye in distance.

Masala Zone Back to Back

A grand gathering of friends at the Covent Garden branch of Masala Zone: Jim and Laura Nugent, Barry and Julia Gillam, Rob and Di Bradford. This kindly lot treated us to lunch.

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Keen conversation, judging by everyone's body language.

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For a culinary encore, Andrea and I dined at the Soho branch of Masala Zone the next night. The Chicken Madras Railway Curry—"as served on the Southern Indian railway"—turned out to be best thing I ate all trip. "I had some this morning," said our waitress, "because I needed a wake-up! It has like 25 spices in it."

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Samosa and chickpea still life.

Tayyabs in Whitechapel

Ever in search of the Lost Curry, I ventured via Tube to London's East End for fiery Pakistani lunch fare at Tayyabs (touted for years in Time Out), 83-89 Fieldgate St., neighbor to a local mosque and synagogue, side by side.

Seated near the kitchen, I ordered chicken tikka, tarka dahl (uber spicy, yet patron next to me asked waiter for a pile of extra chiles to sprinkle on his), juicy seek kebabs and naan—all sizzling great but not the equal of nearby Lahore Kebab House, my gold standard for East London kebaeries and the only Pakistani I've ever sampled that rivals and might top Shalimar in San Francisco.

Tayyabs clientele an uproarious mix of business suits, women in burkas, locals. Later, for the record, outside on Whitechapel Road, I saw a couple holding a Jack the Ripper Tour map, fitting, as the fiend did his infamous business in the area.

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Amaya in Belgravia

Michelin-starred Amaya in Halkin Arcade, Belgravia, London is simply my fave Indian restaurant anywhere, tipped to us by Andrea's dad years ago after he read about it and sent me a clipping. This night, we toasted Paul Ullman and my dad, Joaquin Ogarrio, who tried in vain to get our family to try Indian when I was a teenager.

Customer relationship management: Amaya reservations recognized my mobile number when I made our booking "because you ate with us last in September 2009... Now, is your email address still [email protected]?"

"Sorry, no!"

And the food? Well, the tastes (rose-scented chicken tikka, anyone?) match the magical presentation in the images below. Funny, a nervous server spilled a dish of potatoes on our table and the manager immediately mentioned (cheekily) that the poor lad would be sacked that evening.

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Colours

The Carnabetian Army marches on at Sherry's, recently relocated from its original hole-in-the-wall on Ganton Street to 63 Broadwick St., both addresses just off Carnaby Street. For what it's worth, the first time I ever heard the name Broadwick was in the film Quadrophenia, when office boy Jimmy was asked to make a delivery there.

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By request, we acquired a replacement Small Faces t-shirt for friend and ace San Francisco Bay Area traffic reporter Kim Wonderley. "No one else sells this design!" advised owner.

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Sherry's sells Chelsea Boots in Soho.

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Surveying Sherry's.

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Tabio, 66 Neal St., sells socks in Seven Dials, Covent Garden.

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Simon Carter, 36A Lamb's Conduit St., Bloomsbury, sports Liberty of London shirts "I know Greg wouldn't wear," Andrea noted.

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For good measure, David Bailey's Heroes, on newsstands everywhere.

Chelsea Girls

What are the odds our first visit to a Mary Quant boutique (King's Road, Chelsea, naturally) would coincide with the birthday of the fashion icon who dressed Swinging London in the 1960s? Andrea came away with a wee Quant purse.

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Andrea says this Harrod's window display features millinery by Philip Treacy. I prefer "hattage".

Andrea Joy

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Anticipating Early Music performance by Vox Luminus at Cadogan Hall in Chelsea.

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Enjoying tea and cake at Morpho, 39 Lamb's Conduit St., the perfect repast after shopping at Persephone Books.

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Watching Oxford Street pass by on a rainy day from the top deck of a double decker bus.

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Riding the 19 from Piccadilly Circus up Shaftesbury Avenue to Charing Cross Road.

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Blissing out on train to Preston, Lancashire, to rendezvous with The Rapiers.

Preston Rock

You're never alone with The Rapiers—champions of British rock 'n' roll and "the best '60s band since the '60s"—at the sold out Lonsdale Sports and Social Club, aka Preston Rock 'n' Roll Club, Preston, Lancashire, near Blackpool. Our first gig in five years!

From left: Grey Meanies Colin Pryce-Jones, Neil Ainsby, Nathan J. Hulse and John Tuck.

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Yep, another absolutely fabulous Rapiers gig.

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With Nathan before the show.

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Neil shoots for the stars.

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Teen Scene, Move It Baby, Saturday Nite at the Duckpond, Doctor Feelgood, Brand New Cadillac, FBI, Go Back to Daddy.

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Left: Lager. Right: Our heat-challenged room at the Whitburn House Hotel, Preston. On our arrival, landlord was out and advised via phone to use the key under the mat to let ourselves in.

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The next morning found us on the road from Preston to Liverpool by coach via Wigan, where I disembarked for a quick minute to use the loo, escorted by a station agent, who wanted to make sure I didn't get left behind.

Liverpudlian Meetup

Lovely meeting again with friends originally met through Facebook (FOMTFB), Richard Lamb and his wife, Erika. Thank you for the warm welcome to Liverpool!

A Cellarful of Noise

Going down to Mathew Street, Liverpool to remember old friends. And hear The Shakers, hard-working house band at the Cavern Club, who pulled out all the Merseybeat stops and chops for us.

Daytripping with John and George.

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The sights and sounds of Mathew Street, Liverpool.

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Yes, it's true: The Flamin' Groovies played the Cavern.

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It's gonna be alright, let's go in!

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Fab gear.

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"Mach schau!"

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The Shakers channel The Searchers on Love Potion No. 9 and Billy J. Kramer and the Dakotas on I'll Keep You Satisfied. They also did fabulous takes of I'll Never Get Over You and I'm a Hog for You Baby.

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Backstage with The Shakers, flanking our drummer pal Tony O'Keeffe.

British Museum: Elgin and Rosetta

The vaunted Elgin Marbles from the Parthenon in Athens, 2500+ years old. Saved by the British from desecration, war, neglect, pollution. Or stolen. You decide.

In the matter, the British Museum posts this short justification:

The Parthenon sculptures in the British Museum were brought to England by Lord Elgin and bought for the museum in 1816. Elgin’s removal of the sculptures from the ruins of the building has always been a matter for discussion, but one thing is certain—his actions spared them further damage by vandalism, weathering and pollution. It is also thanks to Elgin that generations of visitors have been able to see the sculptures at eye level rather than high up on the building.

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The Rosetta Stone looked much larger than the first time I laid eyes on it.

Hakkasan on Hanway Place

Hakkasan is my No. 1 dim sum experience. Period. From food (exquisite, delicate dumplings and puffs), bespoke tea (Jasmine, Oolong), service (black-clad Italians) and atmosphere (English Oak latticing, purples and blacks evoking "traditional Chinoiserie decadence") to mystical surroundings (subterranean). Literary bonus: Hanway doubles as the magical street portal to author Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere fantasy.

Management frowns on fotos but when you boast a Michelin Star you can be haughty all you please, I suppose.

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Alounak in Bayswater

Behold the fire inside the tandoor at Alounak, "finest Persian cuisine" at 44 Westbourne Grove, Bayswater.

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Their taftoon bread is simply ethereal, almost crepe-like. Trick is to order one at a time, as the bread goes cold quickly if not eaten immediately. That may mean asking the waitress to locate and rouse the baker a few times a meal.

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Trekking upstairs to the loo is a colourful experience.

Patogh for Persian

If I had one best-of-the-best London food secret to impart it would be cozy Patogh on Crawford Place near Edgeware Road, what I imagine a working class caff in Tehran would be like. Great salads, kebabs, rice and luscious, huge wheels of bread as big as small tables and capable of doubling as hand warmers. Our fave Persian! No wonder it's a Nigella Lawson top pick as well.

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Great British Food

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Sausages of the month, mash and onion gravy plus fish pie—"Oh, and let's have a side of chips, just to be safe!"—at spanking clean and sparkly branch of Canteen at the Royal Festival Hall, South Bank.

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His 'n' Her fish 'n' chips (mushy peas greening Andrea's portion) at the Lobster Pot in Liverpool city centre. As a hard-learned rule, I eat fish (usually cod) and fat chips only in the UK, never at home. Something in the air, water and frying, I imagine! For even the grub (mine was warming under a heat lamp) at this takeaway chippie was mouthwatering, but then it had been five years since I last emjoyed this seaside delight.

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Glimmering neon at Friars Inn on Victoria Coach Station end of Elizabeth Street, Belgravia.

Sweets for My Sweet

Ah, the joys of Sticky Toffee Pudding and other dreamy English desserts, floating in golden custard pools in Marylebone (Landmark Hotel), Soho (Mother Mash), South Bank (Canteen) Fitzrovia (Fitzrovia Belle) and Belgravia (Baker and Spice). Caution: May be seriously habit forming.

STP: Landmark Hotel.

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Unidentified Butter Thingie: Landmark Hotel.

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STP: Mother Mash.

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Apple and Blackberry Pie: Mother Mash.

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STP: Fitzrovia Belle.

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Steamed Syrup Sponge Pudding and Custard: Canteen

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Apple Crumble and Custard: Canteen.

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Giant Meringue: Baker and Spice.

Patisserie Valerie on Old Compton Street

In an uncertain world, let's hope we'll always have the original Patisserie Valerie, 44 Old Compton St., and its cool '50s Soho vibe.

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Neal's Yard Dairy in Seven Dials

Wall to wall farm cheeses and produce from the British Isles. That's what you'll find (and inhale) at Neal's Yard Dairy, 17 Shorts Gardens, Seven Dials, Covent Garden. Here's their cheese list.

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West End Music

Farewell, old friend! The great HMV megastore on Oxford Street between Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Circus—where I spent a small musical fortune in 1988, the 1990s and early 2000s—is shuttered, its HMV logo a sad skeleton. What a merry rush it was to tear through its many levels and massive selection (LPs, CDs, books, magazines, movies, classical). In its place is a soulless, depressing discount-like branch near Bond Street. Nice legacy street signage, but I almost wept when I went inside. I later told Andrea not to bother suffering the tragedy herself .

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Fortunately, Berwick Street in Soho still maintains its used record store avenue cool, thanks to Sister Ray and Reckless.

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At the top of Berwick on Great Marlborough Street is Harold Moores Records, still flying the flag for classical.

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On Denmark Street, the former Helter Skelter Books is now Regent Sounds, trading on its musical heritage when the address was home to Regent Sounds Studio in the 1960s, where The Kinks, The Rolling Stones and The Dave Clark Five recorded.

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Across Charing Cross Road in Soho Square waits Kirsty MacColl's bench.

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Now, we're in Camden Town, where Sounds That Swing, season after season, keeps the flame burning for rockabilly, '60s garage and British rock 'n' roll. Teenaged clerk knew enough to describe an obscure instrumental playing in the store as having a "Joe Meek sound".

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Jacqui Dankworth at Ronnie Scott's

Soho high life from the front row with Jacqui Dankworth, daughter of British jazz royalty. Yes, sublime and subtle. We were fortunate to see her parents, Cleo Laine and the late Sir John Dankworth, in San Francisco, September 2008.

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Frith Street after dark.

Where Laurence Meets Julie

Tracing the footsteps of Laurence Harvey in director John Schlesinger's 1965 Swinging London epic Darling, I found the Marylebone bachelor pad location used for his tryst with Julie Christie—40 & 41 Wimpole St., address typography unchanged over half a century.

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Portrait at the National Theatre, South Bank.

British Telecom

At the fictional TV home of Avenger John Steed, 17 Duchess Mews of Portland Place, aka 3 Stable Mews and 5 Westminster Mews in the series.

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BBC HQ in Portland Place.

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BT Tower looming over Fitzrovia and scene of an out-of-control pop party in 1967's Smashing Time with dolly birds Rita Tushingham and Lynn Redgrave.

It's Hard to Believe It But It's True

I stood inside 304.

Had I a hit list of recording studios to visit, 304 Holloway Road, Islington, North London, would rank above Sun Studios and Abbey Road. For there above a handbag shop, maverick UK recording producer Joe Meek lived, worked and died, inventing DIY record making, pop compression and "English gothic" as he "conjured up the sound of another world" and "called upon forces from beyond the grave" on the immortal Telstar instrumental by The Tornados, Have I the Right by The Honeycombs, Johnny Remember Me by John Leyton—all No. 1's!—Tribute to Buddy Holly by Mike Berry, Just Like Eddie by Heinz, Sky Men by Geoff Goddard, Something I've Got to Tell You by Glenda Collins plus hundreds and hundreds of other tracks from 1961-1967, before taking his own life at top of the stairs on 3 February 1967, the eighth anniversary of the death of Buddy Holly.

At once genius and paranoid, obsessed by all matter of sound, Holly, outer space and the occult, Meek had Tom Jones, Rod Stewart, David Bowie, Ritchie Blackmore and other future legends in his studio/flat years before they hit the big time. That flat was scene to seances and Ouija boards, flying reel-to-reel tape recorders and hidden microphones, madness and pain, murder. But the music! If the walls could talk! (I listened but nothing called to me.)

Needless to say, for this former card carrying member of the Joe Meek Appreciation Society, it was chilling beyond words to finally set foot inside 304—credit sheer good luck, hutzpah and guile—then climb the very stairs Honey Lantree and The Honeycombs stomped on while recording Have I the Right, peer into the loo where the backing singers stood for Johnny Remember Me and imagine where Screaming Lord Sutch stood while waxing Dracula's Daughter under Joe's direction.

Cheers to Rob Bradford, Jim Nugent and Laura Nugent for sharing the ultimate 304 Triumph.

"On the second floor of No. 304 above a handbag store in the heavy roar of traffic moving down the Holloway Road..."

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Resting on the Joe Meek Memorial Bench, opposite 304.

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With longtime friend and Joe Meek authority Rob Bradford.

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Synchronised buzzer ringing.

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The door to 304 opens: Behold the stairs to the birthplace of the hits.

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The studio floor where Joe created Telstar, Johnny Remember and Have I the Right. To the right is the entrance to the kitchen, where Joe's control room stood, piled high with miles and miles of recording tape. "Children of Earth, be not afraid, for we come in peace..."

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Standing in the shadows of Joe's studio. 

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Top to bottom, madness and pain on those stairs.

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Dreams do come true.

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Twenty-six seconds inside 304.

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Joe Meek, Wreckless Eric's musical tribute.

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2008 Biopic, Telstar: The Joe Meek Story.

The Archers Receive a Blue Plaque

At Dorset House, Gloucester Place, near Baker Street in Marylebone, I managed to witness the unveiling—by no less a personage than filmmaker Martin Scorsese—of an English Heritage Blue Plaque honoring extraordinary British filmmakers Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, aka "P&P" aka "The Archers", who created endearing cinematic gems The Red Shoes, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, Black Narcissus, I Know Where I'm Going!, A Canterbury Tale and A Matter of Life and Death during the 1940s.

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Before the unveiling, I met Columba Powell, son of Michael Powell, and child star of Peeping Tom, the 1960 shocker masterpiece that destroyed Powell's career upon its release. Chuffed-and-a-half to have a chance to discuss his father's genius and praise The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp. Over a coffee down the block, we agreed that the film, rather than skewering and satirising the British Military, actually was a tribute.

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Scorsese and his longtime editor Thelma Schoonmaker (Michael Powell's widow) have tirelessly championed P&P.

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Columba pointing my way, noting to Thelma I'd journeyed from San Francisco. I got the chance to tell her about my San Francisco State University journalism class assignment that had me reviewing the just-released Raging Bull, which she edited. For the record, I gave the film a thumbs up!

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Comedian, actor, Twitter maven, BAFTA Awards host and P&P aficionado Stephen Fry, proudly wearing an Archers pin. After the ceremony, I managed to shake his hand and suggest he host the Academy Awards as well. "Oh, too kind!" he replied.

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Dorset House, Gloucester Place, near Baker Street, where the Archers had offices from 1942-1947.

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Cheers to No. 1 P&P supporter Steve Crook for making this honor a reality after a 12-year campaign.

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Andrea next to Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger portrait at National Theatre, South Bank, London.

London Views

Top of Primrose Hill, looking south toward the City, BT Tower in center of the view.

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Looking north across the Thames from Southbank toward the Savoy, Hungerford Bridge sparkling at left. "Dirty old river, must you keep rolling, rolling into the night... as long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset, I am in paradise..."

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First Plane Home

From LHR to SFO: 10 hours, 20 minutes.