Reviews

Review: Tamara Ecclestone’s SHOW Blow Dry Bar

Ever wondered what you would do if you were a Billionaire? Well, if your name is Tamara Ecclestone, heiress to the Billion-dollar Formula One dynasty, you open up your very own Blow Dry Bar. I was invited to try out the SHOW Dry Bar this past Monday and for once actually went. I don’t usually do beauty reviews but I was tempted by a) its proximity to my home b) feeling sorry for my hair c) but really because I am very curious about this whole ‘Blowdry Bar’ experience and of course, Tamara Ecclestone’s weird and wonderful life.

All photos courtesy of Halpern PR unless otherwise noted. NHYM 2015.

Apparently, Blowdry bars are already very popular in the US, and there are a few scattered around London already (Soho, Chelsea and pop-ups at Harvey Nics/Harrods/Selfridge’s), but Notting Hill was still a Blowdry-Bar-virgin- until now. Strategically, it is located across the street from Granger’s, a very popular ‘Ladies-Who-Lunch’ spot with regular David Beckham sightings. So, while you are blowdrying your hair, you can spot celebs, and people-watch, or conversely, you can eat while craving a blow dry. Can you really have a BlowDry craving? My NHYM mentor Francesca, (see: https://nottinghillmummy.com/2014/07/24/notting-hill-nurseries-the-rise-of-the-notting-hill-yummy-mummy/) once told me that the most important way to look glamorous is to do your hair. If your hair looks nice, everything else will look nice, even those run in your tights.

So, off I went to SHOW Blow dry Bar on a ‘Bloggers’ day, for my first SHOW blow dry. I am not one to look after my hair particularly well: occasional dying of white hair when I’ve had enough of my friends pointing them out and laughing, or an occasional blow dry for a special event, but that’s about it. My hair looks more like Anne Hathaway’s in the Devil Wears Prada, before the fabulous makeover, rather than after…

Photo courtesy of the internet. NHYM 2015.

Entering Show Dry, I see that I am really an amateur in the ‘Hair’ department. When my blow-dry lady asks what hair products I use, I try not to admit that L’Oreal from Boots does the trick. I first go downstairs for a fancy shampoo in a ‘massage’ chair (well, it’s really a vibrating chair more than anything), where the steps are black and the railings rose gold, with photos of red lips and diamonds on the wall. It’s definitely the ‘Totally Tamara’ look.

After, I go upstairs to get my BlowDry, where I am offered a list of goodies and magazines on a sleek black iPad Mini: I choose an Apple, & Banana smoothie and salted caramel popcorn (there was Champagne on offer, but didn’t want to wobble to the school run after). This was the ultimate luxury Monday afternoon: getting my hair washed & blow dried while munching on caramel popcorn and reading a magazine. It felt very, very indulgent for a mum of two. Oh and the salted caramel popcorn is so so good, you’ve got to try it.

At the end, I even got a goodie bag with actually something I would use: Volumising Mist and a hair oil made with Argan Oil, which I am a big fan of. I hope this store does well, I am always a fan of success stories (unfortunately for Kevin Pieterson’s Bella & Beau has already closed down… https://nottinghillmummy.com/2014/03/24/to-cut-or-not-to-cut-that-is-the-question/). My blow dry is very good, I instantly go from ‘mother-doing-the-school-run look’ to ‘glamorous-where-are-you-going-tonight’ look.

Photo courtesy of the internet. NHYM 2015.

Ah. It does feel lovely, me and my bouncy hair, and it reminds me of Kate Middleton’s bouncy, perfect hair that she gets done daily. (see photo of Kate Middleton post-birth) She obviously got the memo from Francesca about perfect hair making you look instantly polished, presentable and dressed up. It’s been a lovely, indulgent afternoon, and I may just be back next week. Even if just for the Salted Caramel.

NHYM

http://www.nottinghillyummymummy.com

@NHyummymummy

Social Commentary

Notting Hill Nurseries & The Rise of the Notting Hill Yummy Mummy

I was first introduced to the world of Notting Hill Yummy Mummies 10 years ago when I was still in the world of Little Miss Notting Hill (www.littlemissnottinghill.com), brunching at the old Electric, Sunday afternoons at the Westbourne, and late nights at Montgomery Place, blissfully unaware of the darker side of Notting Hill. I met ‘Francesca’ through an ex-P.E. boyfriend, who ended up being instrumental in my rise to being a Notting Hill Yummy Mummy. She taught me everything there is to know about motherhood: ‘1. Get Mr. Teoh on the phone as soon as you are pregnant and book your suite at the Portland Hotel & Spa (for those of you who don’t know, it really is a hospital, but their concierge/bellhop is very good, breakfast is 5 star, and request the Dutch Bowen therapist, she is lovely) 2. The day he/she is born, send the sperm-donor to the gates of ‘that’ school with the to-die-for school uniforms (Wetherby/Pembridge Hall), application in hand and stop by ‘the’ nursery on the same day (one of the ‘famous five’). 3. Discipline, Persistence, Perseverance and Consistency (I wasn’t sure if she meant that for me or for my children, but it worked for both). That’s all you need to know about parenting,’ she assured me. I followed all of her advice and here I am today, a Notting Hill Yummy Mummy.

Only after the fact did I realise how much time and money Francesca saved me. I avoided hours of research, headaches wondering which nursery to send M to, visiting all the below nurseries, or paying a ‘school consultant’ hundreds of pounds to research the nurseries before doing all of it again myself . I once almost veered off track and asked about a Bilingual nursery, but my Alpha mum friend told me ‘Don’t do it. Your child will be put in the Z class at Pembridge/Wetherby and that’s the end of it. You can forget about Oxbridge.’ ‘What’s the Z class?’ I asked wide-eyed, innocent and ignorant. ‘It’s for the slow kids that the teachers ignore.’ After that, I thought it best to take Francesca’s advice, and do what I was told.
The first day of nursery, nervous, scouring for new friends, wearing a new outfit, and some crying involved, I felt 7 again on the first day of school, while my child was happily playing with the toy kitchen. (Thankfully, I wasn’t aware that some parents were googling each other, otherwise I would have really lost it) but all has turned out just fine. Here’s my piece of advice for new mums choosing a nursery: stop giving yourselves headaches, women! They are all great nurseries! Which is why everyone bribes and steals to get in, but each has its own personality, which is what I will focus on below. Once in, you just need to stay away from the competitive Alpha and Tiger mums, be polite to the billionaires (you never know when you’ll be needing their private jet) and somewhere in there, in every nursery, you will find clever, interesting, genuine parents that you may become friends with. Just make sure you send in an application as soon as your child is born. That is imperative. If not, send them cards and photos of your child each month, cookies may help, or pretend that you’ve just moved to London, cry a little, and they will take pity on you (There are always spaces once offers are declined. This strategy works well at Acorn).
So here I am paying it back by spreading Francesca’s wisdom and giving you the ‘real’ low-down on the ‘Famous Five’ Notting Hill Nurseries. For Free.

‘FAMOUS FIVE’ NOTTING HILL NURSERIES

‘A is for… A-List ACORN NURSERY’
Best for: Rock ‘n’ Roll Royalty and the Kool Kids
McCartney and Jagger are common last names at this nursery. A-List Hollywood actors send their kids here when they are filming their latest flick in London. Film directors, news presenters and politicians all send their kids here. You have to be ready to mingle with the fash-pack, as you will have to compete with shoe designers, who probably design their children’s own shoes, and a famous fashion designer with rock royalty genes whose latest very cute, kids see-through waterproof raincoat will put your child’s Gap raincoat to shame. But not all fashion designers are welcome. One famous A-list fashion designer (one half of an A-list ‘Golden’ couple) was rumoured not to have gotten a place because when she visited she wore big, oversized sunglasses and never smiled (I wouldn’t smile either if I only are one green apple a day). Madonna apparently was rejected and Richard Curtis may have based the Christmas Play in his film ‘Love Actually’ on this nursery’s Christmas play. There are ‘Daddy mornings’ which involve daddies coming for a coffee morning to encourage daddy and child bonding (which really just highlights the fact that these daddies need their assistants to schedule me-and-child-time in their busy work schedules). A whole article in the Telegraph was written about this nursery in 2004 which will give you a flavour of this nursery, but also of all the nurseries in the area: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1459538/The-only-education-you-need-is-Acorn-and-Oxford.html.
Ofsted rating: Good (2011). http://www.ofsted.gov.uk/inspection-reports/find-inspection-report/provider/CARE/105673

‘M is for… Mini Royals at the MINORS NURSERY’
Best for: English Royalty and Wannabe English Royalty
This nursery was made famous by Lady Di dropping off her precious princes William and Harry at Minors Nursery in the eighties. The nursery is rather on the small side with little outdoor space and the toys are so pristine and clean, they look like they’ve never been used. The parents say that this nursery is ‘all about the children’ so there is less parent-competition around once you are in (the competition remains behind closed doors during the application process here). There is a new headmistress who started a few years ago, whom some parents feel is rather cold and on the snobby side, especially when she explains that Minors stands out for ‘not being a nursery in a dirty church hall’ (what’s wrong with a dirty church hall? They probably had more fun there and that’s probably where most of these mums went to nursery). One parent given the tour of the nursery felt that the children seemed a bit snotty (not the cold-virus-nose-snotty kind but the spoiled-brat kind) and the girls were all in expensive princess dresses (not the Disney kind, more the Melissa Wyndham kind), which scared them off.
Ofsted report: Outstanding (2011). http://www.ofsted.gov.uk/inspection-reports/find-inspection-report/provider/CARE/EY295790

‘S is for… Sexy Dads and Stepford wives at STRAWBERRY FIELDS’
Best for: The PTA mum and hot-daddy-watching/drooling
Strawberry fields earned its reputation some years ago as having the best-looking-dad-of-all-nursery-dads. ‘He just walked by…’ one mum would say, without even mentioning his name, and all the other mums will sigh in unison. This was one good enough reason to send your kids here, but I will try to remain unbiased and will fill another whole post on the virtues on this very famous ex-football player as the ‘World’s Best Dad’ another time (who by the way does the drop off and pick up more than any other dad, takes his daughter to Granger for lunch after nursery, and then drops her off to playdates and BabyBop). As one woman manning a booth at the Christmas fair was overheard saying ‘Every woman should have an accessory like that.’ But it’s the mummies to be afraid of at this nursery. There are some who send their nannies to stand in line for them at the Christmas play and then use their twiglet, sharpened elbows to bulldozer through the line 10 minutes before the start to ensure front row seats. Then there are the panic-attack-inducing mums who organise the Christmas fair (the Christmas Fair deserves another blog to itself). Apart from those details, the nursery itself is wonderful, the staff is strict but loving, the children are adorable, the nursery feels spacious and welcoming, having the use of the large adjacent church hall for physical education, christmas plays, easter hat parades and farm animal visits. Having said all that, the parents are extremely involved, if that is your thing, and there are parents’ nights out at the Lonsdale, lunches at Osteria, and Pub Quizzes all organised by the Class and School Representatives and there are some lovely international parents to have coffee with at Kitchen & Pantry before or after pick up and drop off.
Ofsted: Outstanding (2013). http://www.ofsted.gov.uk/inspection-reports/find-inspection-report/provider/CARE/EY456623

‘R is for… Respite or Rejects? at ROLFE’S’
Best for: Those who are just afraid of all of the above. This nursery is part of the Alpha Plus Group, which has Pembridge Hall, Wetherby and Minors in its roster, so comes from a very good pedigree. Rolfe’s is the opposite of the Minors, with children running around in the big open area on the ground floor, playing with sand, and getting their hands dirty in the outdoor space. It all seemed like good fun. It is still very good, the parents love it and the new nursery premise is brand new, but for some the space has lost its charm and coziness of the Ken Park Road space, where it used to be. Some of the mums choose Rolfe’s in hope that they are shielding their children from the Alpha mums and Bling from the other nurseries, but they can’t escape. There are still chauffeur-driven children being dropped off, mums who give Harrod’s presents to the teachers at Christmas and mums asking other mums ‘So, are you teaching your child Mandarin yet?’
Ofsted: Good (2013). http://www.ofsted.gov.uk/inspection-reports/find-inspection-report/provider/CARE/EY448774

‘L is for… La La Land at LADBROKE SQUARE MONTESSORI’
Best for: The Anti-Bling Notting Hill Hippy Chick
For the remaining Hippy Chicks who live in Notting Hill and decidedly want to stay away from the Hedge Fund/Banker/Bling crowd (although don’t be duped, there are still children living in £13 million mansions backing onto communal gardens), most opt for Ladbroke Square Montessori. There is less competition, so it is easier to get in and is described as a ‘warm and happy place.’ It is not known for its hard discipline, but more for its carefree approach, unlike some of the other nurseries above mentioned. When touring the nursery, one parent asked: ‘How do you discipline a child if one child hits another child?’ ‘We ask the child to apologise to the other child.’ ‘What if they don’t want to apologise?’ ‘We encourage them to say sorry but if they don’t want to say sorry, we don’t make them.’ So, if you’re OK with that, I am sure your child will love this nursery.
Ofsted: Outstanding (2011). http://www.ofsted.gov.uk/inspection-reports/find-inspection-report/provider/CARE/105707

NHYM

http://www.nottinghillyummymummy.com

twitter: @NHyummymummy

p.s. Check out my mention in this Saturday Times Magazine 30/8/14 in the articles on London Nurseries & Schools!!! xx

Quote of the day, Social Commentary

‘A Day In the Life of A Notting Hill Yummy Mummy’

Quote of the Day: ‘I’m panting like a bulldog during a heatwave and sweating like a 60 year old man trying to have an orgasm on Viagra.’

(All photos courtesy of the internet)

5:30am. ‘Waahhh!’ I hear screaming somewhere in the background through the BT monitor trying to wake me from my happy-beach-dream slumber. Please Stop. I ignore it. I am sure the noise will die down if I just pretend I don’t hear it. 10 minutes later, I am back to my beach-dream. I am exhausted from being up 4 times last night. 2x with the teething Baby A, and 2x with M, once because she had a bad dream, and the other to tell me she wants pasta for lunch.

6pm: ‘Mummmmmyyyy!!! Peeeeppeeee!’ Really? Hasn’t she been potty trained for years? I try to remember. But the potential thought that I may have to clean up her wet carpet mess if I don’t go, makes me get up to take her to the bathroom.

6:15am: More noise. This time louder. ”Wwwaaaah’ in one monitor. ‘Mummy!’ in the other. Both kids are up and screaming for attention. I guess I sympathise, since it’s been a whole 12 hours since they saw anyone but a teddy bear.

6:15am-7:30am: I’ve used all my tricks to entertain and convince them it’s still night-time and M replies ‘It’s light out, it’s not sleep time, it’s play time!’ How is it possible to be this exhausted by these two little angels (monsters)? I look at my watch every minute. 30 more minutes until New Nanny shows up. 29 more minutes. 28 more minutes….

7:30am: Hurrah! New nanny is on time. I hand off my oompah loompah midgets and go back to my Haastens bed and Egyptian cotton thread. Ah. This is more like it. Until I realise that I promised myself to try that Zumba class, since I am surrounded by Claudia Schiffer and Elle McPherson types and I still look like K-Middy’s post-baby-St.Mary’s-Lindo-Wing-Photo.

8am: Breakfast with the girls. I’ve had 30 minutes to turn myself into someone slightly suitable for drop offs and pick ups, so I won’t be mistaken for the nanny again.

8:30am: New Nanny is in charge of Drop Offs and Baby Naps today, so I have a Full NHYM day ahead.

8:45am Off to Zumba! I am trying to get rid of the 5kg tire that has been stuck like super glue to my pre-baby-size-8-body since the birth of Baby A. It has been impossible to get rid of it: Dukan diet, 5:2 diet, only-eating-apples/pineapples/kale/pomegrenade diet, Bootcamp Pilates or Yoga. ‘This isn’t me, I’m a skinny girl stuck in a fat-girl’s body!’ I want to tell the mums I meet when they ‘up-and-down’ me. What’s worst, is that I have a full wardrobe of beautiful, gorgeous clothes that I may never wear again. I am stuck wearing elasticated waists for the rest of my life like an 80 year old, I think to myself.

8:50am On my way there, I pass by the trendy-twiglet-blonde-who-never-smiles NHN (Notting-Hill-Neighbour). I guess I wouldn’t smile either if my ex husband was cheating on me. But still, I see her almost every day and she barely acknowledges my existence. Must be something with fashionistas. They must be either hungry (which makes them grumpy), or angry.

9am: Zumba! I don’t know anyone here and I feel quite intimidated. There are about 35 women, size 8 and under, chatting to each other, and I am quite literally the elephant in the room.

9:05am: Oh, there’s someone I recognise, one-hit-wonder Trinny in the front row (I hear she had a successful fashion show on TV a lifetime ago, which was replaced by her fat-turned-skinny-gay-friend Gwok Kwan, and whose career is now non-existent. The difficulties of fame). More importantly, can someone tell me what she is doing with Charles Saatchi?! She is certainly not with him for his dashing good looks or charming, endearing character. Was she hibernating in Antartica when he throttled Nigella, divorced 3 times, and confessed to being a narcissistic, reclusive, egotist?? I want to go up to her and hug her and tell her she’s better than this.

9:05am: There’s Pamela Anderson! Oh wait, that’s a skinnier, younger, and prettier version of her without the inflated boobs or lips.

9:15am: These women clearly come every day. They all have the ‘special Zumba shoes’ and all seem to know the moves even before Doni, the Zumba teacher, shows us. This Zumba class is like a game of Twister and I am definitely losing.

9:30am: I’m panting like a bulldog during a heatwave and sweating like a 60 year old man trying to have an orgasm on Viagra. Not a pretty sight.

10:00am: How much longer is this class?! I wonder if I can sneak out without anyone noticing, but I think about my tire, and I can’t go anywhere, I’m too tired and it’s too heavy for me to move. Again, I look at the clock to see when this torture will end.

10:15am: It’s wind down time. Finally. This class really isn’t for me.

10:30am: As I am leaving the Zumba class, looking my best, I see David Beckham leaving Bonpoint, arms full of Bonpoint, Caramel and Marie-Chantal bags. There’s certainly one lady in his life. He goes shopping for her, drops her off every day, looks at her adoringly and he is apparently just the loveliest guy, says my local butcher… (I’ve also figured out why his parents called him ‘David:’ after Michaelangelo’s David’s body!). Can someone tell me why Victoria never smiles; she’s super-rich, super-famous, she is now a bona-fide, super-designer, she has four super-adorable kids and a husband like THAT. What’s not to smile about?!

11am: I stop by Austique on my way home, and while trying on girly goodies, I run into B.B., an impossibly leggy, beautiful, ex-model, LSE graduate, married to some Art Superstar who tells me about her new company she has started, producing ethical coffee. You see, to be a NHYM it isn’t enough being beautiful, smart, size 8 and under, rich and married to a super successful husband, you now must own your own company and be successful at it (and save the world while you’re at it!). This is the new trend for NHYMs; to be your own boss and become a ‘mumpreneur (Post about mumpreneurs coming up soon).’ Me and my tire are feeling even more deflated.

11:30am: I’m rushing home to take a shower to get rid of all of that Zumba sweat, check in with New Nanny that all is well at home and school. Finally I spend time with Baby A who has been neglected since her birth, give her lunch and sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ for her nap before heading off to lunch at the Electric with my two Scandi friends K & C.

1pm: I am the first to arrive. Just as I am about to think that The Electric is full of bespectacled, middle-aged, writers in plaid shirts, Paloma Faith walks in and sits in the booth across from me. She is the last Mohican of Notting Hill Cool. NH is not full of NHYMs and yuppies after all.

1:10pm: K arrives 7 month pregnant, but doesn’t even look pregnant. I look more pregnant than she does. She is radiant and glowing. Which is giving me morning sickness, even though there is no way I could even be pregnant.

1:30pm We are finally happily eating our salads and soups while talking Europen real estate, schools, and healthcare and all I can do is stare at them trying to find a flaw. White perfect teeth? Check (Must get my teeth whitened one of these days). Always smiling? Check (They are actually genuinely happy people). Long, blonde, beautiful hair? Check (Must get hair dyed and done). Pool-blue eyes and flawless skin? Check (Must make an appointment with Dr. Lowe). Cool factor? Well they are Swedish after all. Ugh. This day is depressing me more by the minute. And they are just the nicest people ever. I spend the whole lunch trying to find what’s wrong with them and all I can come up with is that they are fans of 50 Shades of Grey.

2pm: We are going through our Celebrity Crushes (CC). Mine is of course, David, only for the fact that he is the ‘World’s Best Dad’ (and he happens to be even hotter in real life than in photos). I just can’t help it, seeing a (hot) dad with his adorable daughter in his arms just wins me over every time. C’s CC is Christian Bale in American Psycho, with a bit of Christian Grey thrown in, while K’s is Brangelina. Together. In Bed. At the same time. And here I was thinking that Scandis were boring.

2:45pm I leave the Electric after a lovely time with K & C, and having had a decent but un-extraordinary soup and salad, but anything tastes better than waiting in line at Bill Granger. On our way out, Marina Fogle, Ben Fogle’s wife, is busy having a work meeting for her new company ‘The Bump’. More mumpreneurs in action.

3pmish: Pick up time. I rush to the school gates and dread the uncomfortable small talk and idle chatter (Where are you off to for half term? How was your half term? Are you going to the Parent’s Event/Sports Day/Christmas Play?) while they ‘up-and-down’ me to see what labels I am not wearing. I feel like an awkward teenager who has no one to sit with at lunch time.

3pmish + 5 minutes: I spot ‘Gossip Mum’ and go straight to her. She loves talking so much and only listens to herself anyway, so I will look like I have a friend, but won’t need to talk. Perfect. And she keeps me in the school gossip loop, which makes me feel less of an outsider. Today, she chats away about the latest weird thing ‘Weird Mum’ has said and done and tells me about SuperRich Mum’s inbuilt trampoline and slide in her huge back garden (Yes, in London). Alpha Mum joins us and tells us about how many laps her perfect, supersonic daughter can do at the ‘Country Club’ after having lessons from Gold Medal Swimmer Coach. I wonder whether I should admit that M still doesn’t swim without floaties.

4pm: We are home after a play in the playground/private garden/park/activity. M has been best friends, enemies, then best friends again with her BFF in the past 10 minutes. Her BFF happens to be SuperRich’s Mum’s daughter and has a private jet, two drivers, three chefs, and 6 staff and M keeps asking if she can have a slide that goes down into a trampoline in our non-existent garden, and why we don’t have our own a ‘taxi’ driver. Hmm… Perhaps they should stay enemies.

4:30pm I open the door for the alarm/kitchen/builder/dishwasher guy to fix the broken alarm/fridge/house/dishwasher. Groundhog Day.

5pm: Finally, it’s TV time and everyone is happy! Anything from Frozen, Doc Mc Stuffins, Peppa, Mickey, Epic, or anything with Pirates will do.

6pm-7:30pm: Dinner, bath-time and wind-down-time, sleepy -time: Baby A doesn’t want to eat, M doesn’t want to poop and neither wants to go to sleep. Lots of negotiations and bribes later, everyone is in bed sleeping.

8pm: Dinner-time. Finally a moment to sit down. Mr. C is at a work dinner/traveling, as usual. I really need to go back to work, I think to myself, at least just so I can blame work for being an inadequate mother. Until then, the pressure of being a NHYM lurks heavily. I blame myself for my daughter not swimming yet, I self-loathe some more about my non-size-8-body, go back to feeling like the outsider who has no one to sit with at lunch-time, feel like the Ugly Duckling next to all these gorgeous Scandis (who seem to have an unfair physical advantage over the rest of the world) and feel personally inadequate for not having my own internet company/ethical food/clothes line/yoga studio.

So, perhaps this is why Trinny is with Charles Saatchi, because the NHYM pressure we put on ourselves creates unrealistic expectations to become these superwomen and supermom NHYM, who don’t actually exist (Except if you are Scandinavian, and then perhaps you stand a chance). Perhaps we should realise that all that really matters is that our families are happy and healthy and all the other stuff just doesn’t really matter. Period.

NHYM

http://www.nottinghillyummymummy.com

Twitter: @NHyummymummy

Photos, Reviews, Travel

Review: Chiltern Firehouse Restaurant & Hotel

Where… ‘Everybody is treated the same!’

1 Chiltern Street, Marylebone, London W1 7PU

http://www.chilternfirehouse.com
+442070737676

Food: 4 stars

Atmosphere: 5 stars on Saturday night

Service: 4.5 stars

Design: 4 stars

Price/Value: 3.5 stars

Overall: 4 stars

Chiltern Firehouse is so talked about and its gates so photographed at the moment that I am getting palpitations from my FOMO (fear of missing out), fuelled by my frustration and jealousy that I still haven’t been since the opening a few weeks ago in February. Already, they rejected my first email reservation demand with an automated response in January pre-opening, turned down my ‘table for 6’ reservation in February, and finally I am allowed a 6:30pm reservation on a Tuesday night in March. I wonder if they have a log of all my pleading and desperate emails and phone calls and whether they will hold it against me. Yes, I am pathetic, and seemingly have nothing else to do, but let’s face it, I am not Bradley Cooper or Kate Moss or Guy Ritchie or Noel Gallagher or Bono or Stella McCartney or Andre Balasz himself. I have no VIP pull whatsoever, but merely a persevering and determined attitude that can take you a long way in America, which is where Andre Balasz found his fame as a hotelier.

Andre Balasz, the mastermind behind the glitzy and glamorous hotels Chateau Marmont in LA, the Mercer in New York, and all the Standard Hotels (one which houses the infamous Boom Boom Room), just to name a few in his collection, will now prove whether he has the Midas touch in Europe as well (unlike Keith McNally’s rather spectacular failure of bringing Balthazar to London which you can read about in Giles Coren’s review of which London restaurants should be shut down). So far, the midas magic is working. He has attracted every A-lister and tamed the biggest lions of the foodie world, with MC (master critic) AA Gill giving it 4 stars for both food and atmosphere, akin to getting a First in Chemistry by a beady eyed, unsmiling Oxford chemistry professor. But it is his collaboration with Executive Michelin starred Chef Nuno Mendes that may be the key to the success behind the Chiltern Firehouse restaurant. Nuno, the hirsute experimental ‘food artist’ who trained for years in the US, is known for offering diners a unique culinary experience, both in the carefully prepared and invented dishes, but also in the entire dining experience. Here, he says that it is a place to have ‘fun’ and ‘about the experience as a whole and the social experience of being in this room.’ It is with this vision that Andre found the right chef to head his kitchen in his Marylebone boutique hotel.

Marylebone is an interesting choice of location for this new restaurant and hotel, but upon further inspection, may prove to be a very canny and strategic move. Chiltern Street is now becoming a very chic, discrete, and cosmopolitan destination helped by Portman Estate’s financial injection and Chiltern’s arrival. As I arrive early evening on Tuesday, I discover independent boutiques and cafes lining the street, which would be favoured by A listers choosing to stay in the hotel. I am greeted by a cheerful and courteous doorman in a top hat and fancy coat standing by the gates who, unlike red-velvet rope-keepers who usually thrive on their power trip, welcomes me to a ‘home away from home.’ Once past the gates protecting the impressive pre-war Gothic fire station, I find myself in a beautiful courtyard full of daffodils and spring flowers in large terra cotta pots, a Garden of Eden, which will become the jewel in this hotel’s crown this summer.

Once inside, I am greeted by a lovely, ‘modelesque’ hostess with Nyong’o Lupita looks and another pretty hostess milling around, looking pretty. Both are almost too nice, but it comforts me into thinking that I really do belong here. It is as if all my hard work and dedication has paid off and the red velvet rope has been lifted, finally letting me in the club. I immediately head to the bar and am surrounded by ‘rah rah’ handsome city boys and foodies who have snuck in without a reservation desperate to taste Nuno’s nibbles at the bar. I order a ‘Dashamour,’ their signature non-alcoholic drink (now called a Green Goddess), which immediately becomes a firm non-alcoholic favourite with its refreshing apple and mint combination. The bar waiter with chiseled features out of GQ magazine is forgiven for looking clueless and inexperienced when I ask about my reservation because he is so easy on the eye. There is staff everywhere, ensuring everyone is well catered to, but in a charming rather than overbearing way. Andre is already scoring points with the impeccable, attentive service and good looking, enthusiastic staff. He has created a ‘model’ service imported from New York and London restaurants have a lesson or two to learn from it.

While waiting for my darling French friend A who is joining me for dinner, I ‘up-and-down’ the dining room, which is slightly a puzzle to me. I agree with AA Gill’s description of ‘weird.’ My first impression is that the main dining room manages to feel small and homey despite its multiple levels and brasserie-meets-warehouse-in-NY feel, but I don’t like the upholstered ceiling, looking up makes me think I am in a psychiatric padded cell, so I decide not to look up for the rest of the evening, which thankfully doesn’t deter from my ‘experience.’ The dramatic open kitchen is elevated above the main dining room with counter seating for the foodies to salivate as they watch bearded chefs create food magic. There are indoor trees along the back of the booths adjacent to the bar which adds to the ethereal and mystical appearance of this dining room. Groups of people wander towards what I later find out to be the kitchen and loos, both to worship the almighty Nuno, and then to escape through the magic doors in the loos to a secret smoking den.

A, whose famous alter ego is Angelina Jolie with her luscious lips and Jessica Rabbit eyes, is already being charmed by the waiters as we sit down, who all seem to be French. We hear a lot of ‘Mademoiselles’ and feigned disbelief that we are both married and yummy mummies. They know how to speak to women, these Frenchmen. The experience continues when we read the menu, which is casually printed on paper, and has words like ‘tiger’s milk’ on it. I see round, wooden plates delivering the food, realising that the whole ‘experience’ is rather casual for a Michelin star chef, which is a refreshing break from starched white tablecloths and forced-stick-up-the-ass waiters. Like a docile sheep, I copy AA Gill’s dinner order and ask for the Crispy Chicken Skin Caesar and the Shortrib with Hazelnut puree and Marrow. The caesar salad is good, although the dressing is a bit on the thick and sticky side and the chicken skin tastes like chicken stock crackling, not displeasing, but overall it is not the best caesar I have ever tasted. The shortrib is melt-in-your-mouth tender and succulent but is too heavy for me to finish. My apple granita and panna cotta is light, sweet and tart and is my favourite dish of the night. Nuno Mendes is at the helm tonight and makes an appearance, scanning the dining room from his kitchen perch, but does not look very relaxed, too pre-occupied with giving his foodies the spectacle they have come for.

The problem with restaurant reviews is that they are dependent on a) what dish the reviewer chooses, b) what the reviewer likes and c) whether chef is having a good ‘chef day.’ I decide that the meal has been very good, but perhaps not as mind-blowing as I would have expected from all the reviews and press. I decide that I need to come back to ensure I am providing an accurate review of the place. After dinner, we meet the charming maitre d’, Darius, and A tries to use her charm:

‘So, what do we have to do around here to get priority booking?’ She winks and he starts laughing and we know this isn’t going to end well.
‘Ah, the magical question I get asked every day. We treat everybody the same!’ he laughs away with a friendly, apologetic but poker face. We all laugh together knowing this is an absolute lie, but we understand the unspoken. Even if you look like Angelina Jolie, you still won’t get the A list priority booking telephone number.

Luckily, I know an M.I.P. (more important person than me) who uses his obscure LA connections to get us a booking on a Saturday night, albeit at 6pm, but for 6 people, another impossible feat for mere earthlings like you or me. The vibe on Saturday is somewhat different. Tuesday was filled with a majority of foodies, and a glamorous, eccentric, slightly older crowd, whereas the age range has dropped by a decade on Saturday and the beautiful people have arrived, flitting around, buzzing like bees on flowers in search of Nuno honey. We are seated in a booth with a view of the kitchen in the background and when 6pm turns into 8pm, Lilly Allen is sitting in the booth next to us, Louise and Jaime Redknapp sit at 2 o’clock from us, Billie Piper is behind us at the bar, and David Beckham is waiting for our table. We are sitting in prime real estate and Chiltern is a ‘who’s who’ of London. For a small moment, I am convinced that I am a VIP, drunk on the vibe which feels like I have been let in a member’s club exclusively for celebrities and sometimes allow NVIPs (not VIPs).

Dinner this time is a revelation. I have the crab doughnuts which are good, but it is the grilled octopus and wild mushrooms that I have been looking for. Delicious, divine, and delectable. The monkfish is also very good, but the rhubarb sundae dessert to me is another standout dish. The words ‘rhubarb sundae’ makes me think of a TGIF in the middle of the Cotswolds and those words don’t come close to describing what the dish represents. These are the dishes that have made Nuno famous and a Michelin star chef, and make you scramble for the telephone as soon as you leave to make your next reservation, so addictive they are. And as I leave the gates of heaven at the end of the night while my MIP friends are chatting up and getting a selfie with David Beckham, I am dreaming of trying the fried chicken bites, the DIY Japanese style steak tartare, and the Chargrilled Iberico Pork.

Andre has scored a ‘home run’ with Chiltern so far, as they would say in ‘Noo Yawk.’ He has scored the right chef, the right location, the right henchmen, and the right PR machine to create a dining room that is becoming the Chateau Marmont of London. The next day, I call for a brunch reservation thinking they may be more generous with their daytime reservation handouts and hoping to get a courtyard table, but can only get a 1:30pm Sunday reservation in two months time with no outdoor seating guaranteed. Other friends looking for an evening reservation only manage a 6pm booking on a Monday in July, when all the VIPs fly off to Club 55 in St. Tropez for the summer, reminding us that we are still merely just NVIPs. On our way out, Darius tells us not to worry, the frenzy will eventually die down, but from what I had ‘experienced,’ there didn’t seem to be anything that could slow down what is turning out to be the biggest restaurant opening in the decade. For once, my FOMO was justified.

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