London + Paris

It all happened kind of quick: I wasn’t planning on a trip, but I leaned in. Annie, owner of hit wine bar Lei & partner in King/Jupiter, mentioned she was heading to London for some R&D and threw out the invite. Last time I was in London I did some R&D myself. Despite not always being on the same page —Chris and I had a lovely trip before opening Gus’s Chophouse (now Gus’s and no longer associated with Popina though friendly neighbors). On that trip we hit a good mix of classics and some of the new hip spots. We ate bone marrow at St John, drank wine at Planque & Noble Rot, got in the mix at Borough Market, and had some pretty great lunches at Rochelle Canteen and Lyle’s. I was so full it hurt. I remember a painful morning at the Wolseley when all I could stomach was a coffee: an espresso because even a cappuccino might kill me. London’s food is not light and when you’re chasing it with cask ales: you better bring your big pants.

London doesn’t seduce you like Paris–it grows on you: charms you. I have fond memories of London, but it doesn’t make it into the rotation like Rome, Paris, Milan, or even Barcelona. I was excited to go back.

I always wanted to stay at Claridge’s. It always happens to find itself on “best hotel” lists and it’s not only for its old-school luxury but for its hospitality. You can tell they thought of every aspect of your stay and continue to ask themselves: how could we do better?

I probably should have taken a later flight but I had slim pickings since I only booked a few weeks prior. I landed at 7am and didn’t get much sleep; but you run off the excitement and a few espresso, of course. The Heathrow express is super easy and took me 30 mins from the hotel. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to check in, so I kind of took my time. Maybe walking in the rain wasn’t the best idea; but it just felt right. That feeling vanished when I found myself dragging my luggage down a cobble stone street: clank, clank, clank! I was happy to arrive in Hyde Park, but then the challenge became avoiding geese shit that was too strong to wash away in the rain.

Soaking wet—I arrived to a doorman who doesn’t question my arrival; but greets me with a big smile. He immediately grabs my bags and asks my name—ensuring me that my bags are in good hands. Check-in is easy—a process that few hotels really get right. As I suspected, the room isn’t ready so I head to the Foyer for some coffee. Feeling a bit indulgent —I ordered some pancakes with my coffee. The Foyer was grand and elegant, but perhaps they save the good seats for the big spenders; because I got a shit table. I was sat right next to the host stand—like so close that if she had passed gas I would have been in big trouble. The cappuccino was oversteamed and the pancakes were whack; but sometimes we make sacrifices to be in a fancy room. Claridge’s reminds you that London once ruled the world–or atleast half of it.  I could have stayed in that room for hours: people watching —making up stories about who people were and what they were talking about. Lots of history in this room–feels like a film set for aristocrats making decisions that will shape the world. But an overly excited kid was sat behind me: their table almost on top of mine. It was good—why waste calories on sad pancakes when there’s room temperature beers to drink? It’s just about 9:30 at this point; the perfect time to sit in the lobby, charge my phone, and watch Claridge’s come to life. It’s quite the scene: an army of staff standing at attention, a Kim K look-alike taking some content by the fireplace, a tour guide entertaining kids with Harry Potter facts,  and some businessmen meeting for the first time. Christmas music is playing, kids are running up and down the stairs, people come, people go: some wanting the attention and some avoiding it. 

I hit the Devonshire in SoHo right at 11am when it opened and it only took 30 minutes until it was packed. A mix of all sorts of people —everyone drinking beer: mostly Guinness. It was lively but too early to be rowdy. Bartenders smiled and cracked jokes as pints lined the bar. Upstairs opened at noon, so I headed for a proper Sunday roast. I was blinded by the roast but should have just stayed downstairs for a few more pints and maybe even some sausage on a stick.

The hotel texted me so I walked back over with a nice lil buzz. I wasted no time and went down to the spa where I was hoping to book an appointment for a hammam. I have been thinking about this treatment since Morocco and thought it was time for a good scrub. No appointments, of course, so I headed to the sauna and followed that up with a quick swim. Back at the room—one of the best showers: pressure like they had a special deal with the city.

Go figure, The Connaught Bar was closed, so we went to the Red Room where we enjoyed a fantastic martini; but here they do not roll out the cart. Sean was feeling fancy so we got some caviar; but we didn’t stay long because we wanted to check out a few more spots. We tried to go to St. John Marylebone; but no luck as they were completely booked with reservations with no room for walk-ins. At this point, we didn’t really have much time so we took the recommendation from someone at St. John who recommended: Josephine; which felt like a Parisian bistro of sorts. We sat at the bar–had some drinks and snacks before squeezing in one more drink at the Langham before dinner. Artesian isn’t your traditional cocktail bar–pushing the boundaries of mixology. The room is super cool with its opulent touch; but the cocktails were a little out there for me. We rushed to The Hart – a new pub that was recommended to Annie. While there were mixed feelings about our experience–it was nice to see a more designed pub experience. A nightcap at the Fumoir at Claridge’s seemed obligatory before calling it. 

Sauna, swim, and coffee before meeting the crew. We walked to Hunan in Belgravia & had a long-lunch while it rained outside. It was a bit out of the way; but it’s in a cool location near all these showrooms and galleries: a great way to spend an afternoon. We drank a bottle of Chantereves Aligote and a bottle of 2013 Fourrier Gevrey-Chambertin while eating a beautifully paced feast. There were dumplings, shrimp toast, bao, and many other flavorful delights. Next stop, Grenadier: tucked away down a cobblestone street you can easily miss. It’s a cozy little pub worth checking out. Bring a dollar, write a note, and staple it to the ceiling! We wanted to go to Star Tavern; but we opted for wine instead, so we headed to Noble Rot Mayfair. We treated ourselves to an epic bottle of Rousseau CSJ 2019: I really love this R&D thing. 

We had dinner at Dorian and it was a standout of the trip. The service, the food, the wine list–it was all on point. Our server suggested martinis as she knew I was going to spend a while with the wine list. We picked out some individual bites & then shared a perfectly cooked steak. We drank Richard Leroy–a bottle that you can’t find on many lists; especially in NYC. We followed that with some Gonon St Joseph–excellent with a charred steak. Irish coffees in to-go cups was a brilliant nightcap–or at least the pre-nightcap, nightcap. Mom and Dad went to back to their hotel; so I squeezed in two more drinks: one at Kwant and one at The Connaught Bar. By now all the “influencers” and 50-best chasers have departed: it feels like the best version of itself. Low lit and sexy with dark furnishings and a sophisticated feel–this is a place where you end the night: hopefully not alone. 

One more sauna/swim routine before I head to St. Pancras. Next stop: Paris. 

Paris is a lot like falling in love–you can’t always explain it; but it moves you and brings out the best version of yourself. When I think of Paris I think of slowing down and enjoying every moment: the joy of not looking at your phone and getting lost. You slow down for love–you turn off the noise. Paris, where ordinary things feel poetic and life just seems more complete, more vivid. Like how is this bread and butter so damn good? Paris amplifies the small things –the things that somehow make life more beautiful. 

I arrived at Gare du Nord and realized I didn’t have a hotel yet. I guess I was too busy daydreaming about jambon beurre, cafe culture, or just walking along the Seine. I head to a spot 15 minutes away in the 10th. I think I've stayed here before: it's fine, nothing special; but good for this solo traveler. 

I charge my phone, shower, and hit the streets. I haven’t eaten all day; so I head straight to Bistrot Des Tournelles where I was quoted an hour-wait for the bar. The bar isn’t the most comfortable spot; but i’ll take it. I head to Bar Nouveau for a cocktail and quite possibly fell in love. Her name was Sarah–and i’m not exactly sure if that's how you spell it. She worked at the bar and welcomed me with such warmth. She had the perfect mix of confidence and approachability: the fine line of comforting yet exciting: butterflies and ease. I wanted to stay and maybe I should have; but it was time to head back for my bar seat. 

Only in Paris could someone have five smoke breaks during one meal. They come outside for their final cigarette as I wait on the rickety bench for their seats to free. About 45 minutes into waiting–its my turn and I'm kind of surprised I'm not more frustrated about the wait: total wait time 1 hour & 45 mins. But sitting on that bench wasn’t so bad. After all–how different is it then sitting over a coffee you finished hours ago: just watching Paris move. 

Inside–warm and cozy: my appetite kicks in. I could have gone for a glass of wine; but I opted for a bottle–leaving most of it for the staff. The staff: a beautiful lady whose name I forget and a younger guy eager to talk wine. Foillard 2014 beaujolais hit the spot and went really well with the food: mushrooms then roasted chicken with more mushrooms. A solo guy at the bar was trying to ask out the lady; but stumbled upon his words. When he left, I joked “he liked you, huh” and she smiled pretending he was there for the food. Some crème brûlée & some conversation –senses on overload: welcome to Paris. 

I slept in–I never sleep in; but it felt right and I needed the rest. I walked to a tiny sandwich spot in Belleville called Saigon for one of the best banh mi’s I ever had. I wander around for a bit then run into some friends: Lena and Daniel who happen to be in Paris for a couple of days. Lena suggested a spot; so we grabbed a table by the window and drank a few bottles before the place packed out. Next stop Café Montezuma where I met Christina. It’s one of her favorite spots: solid food, nice selection of natural wines, and great music. We start pushed up against the bar; but luckily they know her and we grab a table in the back. It’s been a minute since I've seen Christina so we try to squeeze years into a few hours. Nightcap at Cambridge Public House. 

Sleeping in again–only love gives you permission. Lunch is at Romain Meder’s new restaurant, Prévelle. My friend Daniela recommended it and I thought a short set menu was perfect for a rainy day. They don’t preach or talk at you here; but Roman’s food is all about sustainability and no-waste. Of course we want to eat healthier and more sustainable; but is the food delicious? I’m happy to report it was delicious and servers were happy to tell you more about it; but only if you ask. I walk around and end up at a cool wine shop/bar called La Cave de Passy. Plenty of stuff to drink like Pillot, Bonin, or even some Cantillon. 

Next stop: Ritz Bar. It’s normally Hotel Crillon; but I wanted to switch it up. I was lucky to grab a seat at the bar: a front row seat to my favorite show. Cinematic and intimate without being precious–it made me feel a life with endless possibilities. Going out should make you feel special and places like the Ritz Bar are world-class at it. It only seems right to order a martini–so cold it wakes you up like a cold-plunge. Watching the bartender work is an art in itself: building drinks the proper way. He’s the only bartender and there’s about 30 seats; but he never breaks a sweat. He’s a pro–his steps of building drinks is impeccable: a process built on serving each and every drink at its best even if you’re building multiple drinks at the same time. Temperature, delution–its all considered. It’s impressive and separates good from great. 

Oscar Wilde wrote, "I can resist everything except temptation" and that temptation presented itself on the wine list. Lost in the allure and certain that restraint is boring –i ordered a bottle of 2014 Rousseau Clos St. Jacques. Technically I ordered the same vintage of Clos de Beze; but the wine director said he thought the CSJ was drinking better & who was I to turn down an offer to save a few hundred dollars. The wine was cradled and presented with enough ceremony to make it special without being over the top or weird. The bar manager brought me a cheese plate saying, “if we can’t spoil you here, what’s the point?” I sipped the wine slowly and noticed it evolving in the glass. I poured some for the staff because life is always better shared. 

I sobered up on my hour and a half walk to Dandelion in the 20th. If there was a standout meal from my trip, it was here. I fucked up and didn’t order the French Onion Soup; which some friends have described as life-changing; but I got a bright & citrusy squid dish for an appetizer & beautifully rendered duck for the main course. A sundae seemed indulgent; but it’s my last night. A little Cazottes eaux-de-vie to fuel my walk home. 

I wake up early because I have an afternoon flight home and I need some last moments in Paris. I walk around, stop for some coffee, and ultimately decide i need a ham sandwich from Caractère de Cochon for the plane ride home. It’s cutting it close–its 11am and my flight was at 2pm:Its the risk you can only take traveling solo. Luckily there’s no lines at the airport and I get to the gate right as they begin to board. The flight attendant smiles and reassures me that – “now that’s a good move.” 

For a list of London or Paris recs–please email james@popinanyc.com