The Review - Aaron Paul - Issue #1

DUBROVNIK CROATIA’S FAIRYTALE CITY

CROWDFUNDING PROPERTY IS A GROUP AFFAIR THE DOLOMITES ITALY’S MAJESTY

JAGUAR THE ICON IS BACK

AARON PAUL

CHEMICAL BROTHER

AN

E L E G ANT

PERFORMANC E

THE ALL NEW QUATTROPORTE. A CELEBRATION OF ELEGANCE, TECHNOLOGY AND POWER The all new Quattroporte is more than just the finest luxury high performance sports saloon. It blends extraordinary beauty with uncompromising performance from a range of V6 and V8 engines. A classic and exclusive grantourer with unmistakeable Italian design.

For more information on the new Maserati Quattroporte, call 01943 871660 or visit maserati.co.uk

Official fuel consumption figures for Maserati Quattroporte range in mpg (l/100km): Urban 16.2 (17.4) – 36.2 (7.8), Extra Urban 33.2 (8.5) – 54.3 (5.2), Combined 23.9 (11.8) – 45.6 (6.2). CO2 emissions 274 – 163g/km. Fuel consumption and CO2 figures are based on standard EU tests for comparative purposes and may not reflect real driving results.

Q U A T T R O P O R T E

www.maserati.co.uk

THE

REVIEW ‘LIFE.

STYLE.’

I turned 30 last month, the big three-zero. And everything has changed. I thought it’d be just another day, getting the collective pat on the back for making it 365 days without bumping into Death. But no – something happened. Suddenly, everything that was supposed to be done by the time I was 30 was now late. Well, not everything, but most things.

I’ve given up smoking and laid off the indulgence. I’ve moved to London. I’m also in a relationship that shares more than saliva and semen. But I’m still not a millionaire and haven’t written that novel.

30 is a funny one: proper manhood. I shouldn’t be wearing Converse anymore. I need to be at the gym for health reasons, not vanity, though I’m currently not there for either. Life has become more cerebral than physical, so I’ve had to polish up my lounge act.

Mistakes are less slap-on-the-wrist and more existential upheaval.

But there’s one final rite of passage I’m yet to take; one unforgiveable anomaly in my life; one crime as the editor of a style magazine.

I have never owned a tailored suit.

As a Brit, that should be a fireable offence. After all, the suit is incontrovertibly, definitively British. We don’t get a lot of things right, but clothing, along with humour, is the stiff upper backbone of the British gent.

We do men’s attire with unceasingly good taste. The limelight may be on female fashion, the catwalk may have been made for yo-yo legs and meretricious frocks, but aside from the Queen, the Blitz and poor dental hygiene, we’re globally known for dapper chappy clobber.

Suits are the most ubiquitous and auspicious garments to ever grace a stitch. Sure, designers around the world make suits, but only a handful of English tailors properly engineer them. Ask a designer – off the record, of course – where he or she actually got a suit made. More often than not, the answer will be Savile Row. Fashion by its very name and nature is transient, but the suit is essentially unchanging. Of course certain tweaks and cuts come and go, but suits are the paradoxical stamp of individual conformity: your suit is idiomatically you, yet it connects you to other men, to a collective masculinity, to western birthright and capitalist expectation.

Ultimately, after facial hair and sex, the suit is probably the largest fact of western manhood. Despite not owning a tailored suit, I understand the sartorial ethos. I get the stigma, the utter abhorrence associated with off-the-peg, reduction-aisle suits. But the truth is, unless someone I’ve known has popped their clogs, I’ve never needed a suit. Having lived the last ten years of my life as a twenty-something writer, I’ve passively turned up to business meetings and formal occasions in a black shirt, blue jeans and black Chelsea boots. It’s been my professional and social uniform for as long as I can remember. Less formal event?

Swap the boots for black Converse.

As a 30 year old, this can’t go on any longer. As the editor of a high-end lifestyle magazine, this has to stop. I’m ready. I’m ready to join the man club proper. I’m ready to have an atelier’s hand in places only women have been. And I’m ready to walk into a room and be comfortably the same, yet completely different.

Speaking of which, this issue your style editor David Minns (who will probably admonish me when he reads these inane sartorial ramblings) gives his advice on how to dress powerfully. Your LA reporter, Alexandra Wright, sits down with Aaron Paul to discuss life after Breaking Bad. Resident motor editor Oli Smith gives the Jaguars F-Type and XJR the run around, Peter Robinson kicks back in Belize, Gemma Phelan reviews top beauty treatments, and you can read more of my gastro-gabble in Table Manner. And of course, there’s your regular dose of style, investment, automotive, travel, food, drink, culture, and plenty more.

Until next time, stay sharp.

L A I T H A L - K A I S Y, E D I T O R I N - C H I E F FOLLOW AL-KAISY ON TWITTER: @LAITHALKAISY FOLLOW THE REVIEW ON TWITTER: @THEREVIEW

THE REVIEW 2014 7

CONTENTS

INTERVIEW 22. AARON PAUL 122. ZOE WANAMAKER

TRAVEL 30. CROATIA 60. ROSA ALPINA 64. SAN LORENZO 68. SOHO HOUSE 90. THE GORE 96. THE NADLER 98. PORTUGAL 104. COURTHOUSE 124. REGENT BERLIN 128. WALDORF BERLIN 130. THE VICEROY 142. THE NIZUC

AUTOMOTIVE

12. JAGUAR F-TYPE 16. JAGUAR XJR 28. MASERATI 134. CATERHAM

TIPPLE 144. WINE CLUB 116. HEALTHY SPIRTS 92. THE BACK BAR

DINING 84. TABLE MANNER 102. HARTMANS

CONTENTS

STYLE 54. BLT 48. UPPER STREET 147. INSTAGLAM

HEALTH & BEAUTY 58. SKIN DEEP 46. HARLEY STREET CANCER CONCIERGE

FINANCE 41. PROPERTY 45.IPO

CULTURE 74. REMCO MERBIS 118. FILM 125. A TASTE OF HONEY 144. WAXING BIBLICAL

OBJETS DU DESIR 140. SKI 136. CAMERA THE REVIEW 2014 9

CONTRIBUTORS

Dr PAUL FARROW TRAVEL & OPINION WRITER

Dr of Neuroscience, MC, game-day player, and all round nice guy.

Dr Farrow has been writing for The Review since we all thought the Hadron Collider was a black hole factory.

GEMMA PHELAN

AMY McNICHOL

OLIVER SMITH

FOOD & TRAVEL WRITER

MOTORING EDITOR

McNichol has worked across six of the BBC’s titles.

She regularly writes for The London Word on all things food and booze related. A former Bangkok dweller and features writer at Thai glossy, Traversing the Orient, she considers herself an expert on (eating) oriental cuisine.

Smith is our very own automotive editor. By day, he is the marketing manager for a restoration company, looking after the UK’s finest pedigree automobiles. By night... well... just don’t give him cigars and a magnum of champagne. The Hangover doesn’t come close.

PETER J ROBINSON

BRENDA KELLY

BEAUTY EDITOR

PRODUCTION DIRECTOR

INVESTMENT WRITER

Aside from reviewing the hottest new beauty products and services, she also runs her own digital marketing agency, DigitalBinx.

Phelan has previously worked at the Daily Mirror and Elle Magazine, and is a lover of red lipstick, vintage fashion and ‘oldies’ tag radio.

Rebel without a cause. Robinson has spent the past five years working in luxury print and publishing. This we feel may of jaded him slightly. He now heads up The Review’s partner video production agency and so you are more likely to find him on set than at an editorial meeting.

Brenda is chief market strategist at IG. A qualified financial advisor and technical analyst, she specialises in forex and fixed income, with over ten years corporate treasury experience. Brenda is also a regular commentator on Bullbearings, Investor Online, Bloomberg, CNBC, and Sky News.

LUCY STOTT

DAVID MINNS

TRAVEL & OPINION WRITER

Stott, the Aquatic Enigma. When she isn’t riding through her doctorate on the crest of an alcoholic wave, she writes for The Review. Do: paint the town red with her. Don’t: try and make physical contact before 11am.

ALAN DIMENT FILM WRITER

Diment is a freelance writer who is kept busy writing for numerous online and print outlets, including the magazine Film Ink. He has had a passion for cinema ever since childhood and was once bought a pint by Keanu Reeves.

STYLE EDITOR

In his capacity as Bristol’s Local Tailor, Minns dresses the discerning man at his studio at Hotel du Vin’s Humidor, the home of Brown in Town.

Something of a renaissance man, he loves nothing more than waxing sartorial over a fine cigar.

EMILY HENNINGS

TERESA HARLOLD

THEATRE WRITER

THEATRE WRITER

Hennings is a playwright and theatre reviewer, who divides her time between London and Edinburgh. She writes for various magazines and newspapers, and can usually be found in the front row of theatres around the country.

Harold has written for Prestige Hong Kong, My Place and Asia Spa. Born in Hong Kong, she moved to England as a child and has travelled back and forth ever since. She has a Flappy Bird high score of 103.

Find out more at theresaharold.com.

JAGUAR F-TYPE Words: OLIVER SMITH

M O T O R I N G : J AG UA R F - T Y P E

I haven’t seen a review of the 3.0 F-Type.

So, telling myself that Jaguar thought we were edgy and cool with a kind of anti-hero take on sports cars, and not a publication who isn’t to be trusted with the V8, they lent us the V6 – not even the V6 S. I’m fine with that. Well, I think I seem fine.

Much like the F-Type, I’ll do different

levels of review. The first is what I call the entry level review: Buy one of these. It’s properly fast and sounds like a race car.

Don’t go for white, because it looks awful.

The second review is more luxurious and fuller, because I trust you with this review and want you to enjoy it: Forming an independent opinion of a car, which has probably had the biggest and most

protracted launch in the world – ever – is not that easy. I jumped in, trying to forget that it was an F-Type. This may sound odd, but I wanted to test the car, not the image. Apart from the colour, to my eye this car is handsome, not pretty, and that’s important. It is sexy, but not friendly looking. A bit like Angelia Jolie. Inside the cabin is very snug. It accommodates

THE REVIEW 2014 13

my legs after much seat and steering column fiddling.

Press the starter button (it’s keyless) and the engine does this kind of theatrical roar as it comes to life. My first reaction is to wince at the thought of the oil pressure not being up (old habits die hard), but soon after you appreciate that it sounds cool. After the umpteenth time, though, it gets irritating. The brakes are ferociously grabby and the suspension is very stiff around town. I’m quite happy with this, as generally it means it’ll be good for driving and not just for posing.

With everything warmed up and the M32 slip road beckoning, pull the switch to put it into ‘race’ mode (the label is a chequered flag)

and shift the gear lever sideways into paddle shift manual mode. A space appears and I clog it. Wow. It pulls like a racehorse round to 7,000rpm and just wants to go. This is no entry-level sports car. This is a fast sports car.

Jaguar, I see your point.

A steady cruise of 70mph is almost impossible; it just wants to go. Off at the Bath junction of the M4 and heading towards Acton Turville, the car comes into its own. The balance is sublime. The chassis is firm with just enough pliability and slip to really reward your efforts.

Why would you need to go faster than this?

The engine is an orchestra and whilst the steering feels a little like a conductor who has had a drink of two before coming on stage, the

whole thing works beautifully. You feel so at home so quickly.

Build quality will rival anything made in Germany and the dynamism will rival more expensive cars, such as the V8 Vantage. As for image, Jaguar has done an incredible job with the F-Type. You get admiring glances and smiles from everyone, which I feel that something from Stuttgart may miss out on.

The F-Type feels like Britain’s prodigal son.

If you have £60,000 to spend on a sports car and you don’t buy an F-Type, then you are an idiot. The only thing that will make you even more of an idiot is if you do buy one, but in white.

I cannot wait to try the V6 Coupe.

TR

Th eHo t e l& Sp aRo s aAl p i n ai sah a v e no fd i s c r e t i o ni nt h eDo l o mi t e s .Di s c o v e rt h e e s s e n c eo fq u i e tg l a mo u r ,p o i s e ds e r v i c ea n de l e g a n ti n t e r i o r s .Ou ra p p r o a c hi sb o t ht i me l e s s a n di mb u e dwi t hc o n t e mp o r a r ya c c e n t sf e a t u r i n gi n f o r ma la n df a mi l yd i n i n ga swe l la s Mi c h e l i n s t a r r e dc u i s i n e .

As it comes sweeping into the car park, I ask myself if the XJR really is the short wheelbase. It is, but it also looks massive.

Looking similar to a pissed-off battleship, this car says, ‘Yes, I own the company and, yes, I have no qualms about my source of income. Kalashnikov anyone?’

Jaguar have tried very hard to shake off the Brummie pub landlord image of the Jaguar

XJ and I can say that, if you still think that, the new XJR will metaphorically smash a pool cue in half whilst striding towards you with a fixed stare, wearing the sharpest suit you have ever seen. Respect it.

First impressions sitting at the helm (this is way more than a car) are that inside it feels snug, not small or cramped, but it lacks the airy feel that you would expect.

This deception in size, however, comes in very handy – more on that later.

My travels for the weekend take me from the Cotswolds to Hampshire and back into Bristol, so an even experience of what it’s like on most roads. The first tick in the box is from my other half, who immediately asks. “Ooh, what’s this, it’s lovely”. A far more positive reaction than her ‘observa-

M O T O R I N G : J AG UA R X J R

JAGUAR XJR Words: OLIVER SMITH THE REVIEW 2014 17

tion’ of “Looks a bit chivvy,” when referring to the F-Type. Perhaps an ungrounded opinion – however, deep-down, we all care what the girls think.

With a supercharged 5.0L normally aspirated V8 producing a lofty 550bhp (when I was a nipper, 100bhp per litre was a big deal) and almost 2 tons of leather and aluminium, this car really is a luxo-barge worthy of that R badge on its flanks. Acceleration is crass. Therefore, when you kick down the XJR, the car doesn’t accelerate, it seems to engage some form of hyper drive that surges you forward at an incredible rate, whilst making a soul-stirring rumble. Nothing less than warp factor.

Going back to the cabin size, the XJR is very clever in that the rear seats provide plenty of space for six-foot-plus adults to lounge in comfort, but up on the bridge, you feel like you are in a sporty saloon – great for whistling

across the country flipping up and down on the paddles. This illusion is only shattered when you try and slow the car down from high speed on A or B roads. No disrespect to the braking or suspension set-up (which happens to be beautifully done), it’s simply a case of physics.

The in-car menus and eletrickery are very well done. Aimed at the more no-nonsense user (no one said elderly), the sat-nav, meridian stereo and climate options all work well, without making you feel like a luddite. No odd navigation or IT qualifications required (I’m looking at you, BMW).

Now, a gripe I have is less aimed at the Jaguar and more towards all of the modern luxury saloons: adaptive cruise control. This is a computer that allows you to set your speed and will adjust it accordingly. If, for example, someone in a topaz blue Skoda Yeti pulls into the outside lane doing 50mph, it will slam on the brakes

and flash a red triangle on the dashboard, asking for driver intervention. This is thankfully a rare example. However, under normal cruising, it does get a little irritating. When someone pulls into your lane, travelling at less than your set speed, your car gently slows to maintain an even distance a long way away.

Surely the whole point of these cars is that, once you have sold your latest consignment of slightly faulty landmines, you can then tailgate people all the way to your bank in Geneva. Yes, you could turn off the cruise control, but I don’t want tendonitis from holding my foot on the throttle for hours.

This minor whinge aside, for sheer road presence, build quality, power and looks, this car has all in abundance. It makes everything else feel a bit like a slightly shit toy. It also has something that German cars don’t: the leaping cat.

Britain is back with the XJR. Properly back.

TR

THE REVIEW 2014 19

CHEMICA BROTHE

AL ER

I N T E RV I E W : A A R O N PAU L

THE REVIEW 2014 23

The greatest show of the last decade may be over, but Aaron Paul’s career is booming. With two new films hitting the big screen, our LA reporter Alexandra Wright sits down with Breaking Bad’s Jesse to discuss crystal meth, Hollywood and snowboarding.

Words: ALEXANDRA WRIGHT 2014 certainly seems to be the year for Aaron Paul. Is that how it feels?

“Yeah, I feel very blessed. ‘Breaking Bad’ was definitely good for everyone involved and has allowed all of us to spread our wings. It’s been great”.

Obviously Breaking Bad has had a huge impact on your career. Will you be sad to see it go? Do you think it was the right time to end the show?

Yeah, I think it was very smart that they ended it. I always thought, ‘Oh no, I don’t want this show to end’. You know I really could have been on that show for years but after I read where they were going with it and how they wanted to wrap it all up I’m very happy that they ended it where they did and yeah it was time to move on.

We must ask, in terms of crystal meth, are you a method actor?

“Honestly, no. I was around that quite a bit, not me personally, but I’ve watched it just destroy close friends in my life and it’s just such a terrible drug. So yeah, I never wanted to attempt any of that”.

You got married about a year ago, right?

“Yeah, it’s the greatest thing. I never imagined life could be so beautiful”.

Has life changed much since then?

“Just the fact that I’ve found someone that I could share my life with and, you know, everything changed after we got married. We knew we were going to get married. I told her I was going to marry her the first night we hung out.

I did. A month later, we got matching tattoos on our ring fingers”.

‘A Long Way Down’ is about to be released in the UK. Was your wife on set much? Did Pierce Brosnan charm the pants off her?

“Have you talked to Pierce?”

We think so too.

“I was talking to my mum on Face Time at the airport. We were shooting during one of the airport scenes and I’m talking to my mum on Face Time in between takes and Pierce comes in and he always says, ‘Hey it’s Uncle Piercey’ and he leans in and he’s like, ‘Who are you talking to?’ and he was like, ‘Oh is that your mum? Hey it’s Uncle Piercey’. And my mum was, she’s like, ‘No!’ and she hangs up on me because she was just, you know, she was in her pyjamas, hair’s pulled back, she’s not all dolled up in a ball gown, so she just hangs up because she couldn’t believe it. She’s said, ‘No he can’t see my like this’. Yeah, she was embarrassed.

But she loves that story”.

What attracted you to play in the film?

“This project came to me just out of nowhere.

I had never read the book. I am a huge fan of Nick Hornby and he creates characters that you just instantly relate to. Even with this, I never thought about suicide but I could just relate to these people. So, I read the script and I fell in love with these four people from such different worlds, who come together and, in a way, save each other’s lives. That’s what I loved about it”.

You were drawn to the message then?

“The core of it is really about friendship and how important friendship is. It’s just so sad because these four characters are just at the end of the rope. They’re standing on the ledge ready to give it all up and they found each other – and found hope”.

We saw the film and loved it. The line “It’s not the pain that kills me, it’s too much hope that kills me”. Do you identify with that?

Me, personally, no. But I could understand what the character was saying. And that’s such a tragic line because the idea of hope that just never comes is just, yeah – it’s very sad”.

Indeed.

You recently finished the film ‘Need for Speed’ too. How was that?

“Isn’t he just… it’s unbelievable what a cool, charming man that he is”.

“I started ‘Need for Speed’ the day after I wrapped ‘Breaking Bad’. I left that night and

started the next morning.

That sounds gruelling. No time to rest then?

“Yeah, which was good, because there was no mourning period, I had to just jump right into another role. But yeah, that film also kind of came out of nowhere. You know, at first glance, I was like, ‘Oh ‘Need for Speed’, I don’t know, another videogame adaptation, I’m not really sure about this’. But the thing about ‘Need for Speed’ is that, in the actual game, there’s no narrative, so they just have to use fast cars and kind of put the audience in the driver’s seat.

They were able to create a really great story that was definitely very character driven, story driven. I read the script and I thought it was great, a lot of fun”.

Are you a car fan yourself?

“I was a driver before and I was a big fan of cars. I have an old classic car myself, so yeah, I was really excited about taking that on. Also, the director didn’t want to use any CGI. He wanted to do all these stunts practically, which is so rare. We’re so used to watching films that are all CGI, and you just know you’re being lied to. You know it’s all make-believe. But with this, you know that all the stunts are actually happening”.

Is there anyone in the industry you are particularly close to and admire?

“Probably Bryan Cranston from ‘Breaking Bad’. He’s one of my best friends on the planet and I would not be the actor I am today without him. Going to work with him every day on ‘Breaking Bad’ was just like going to an actor’s workshop. I just learned so much from him. I think I probably admire him most”.

Any particular advice he gave that you can share?

“He said for longevity in this business just be extremely picky. You’re at a point after ‘Breaking Bad’ where you don’t have to just take a job to be able to pay bills and try and do roles that are opposite of what people are used to.

I’m such a huge fan of ‘Breaking Bad’ and if I wasn’t part of it, I would just only see those people as those characters. But yeah, you’ve just got to try and mix it up and show the audience something different”.

“Yeah, it’s the greatest thing. I never imagined life could be so beautiful”.

THE REVIEW 2014 25

On that note, have you rejected many scripts recently?

Yeah, we’re all very blessed people that have been a part of ‘Breaking Bad’. I think everyone’s experiencing the same thing.

Is there any ever worry that you’ll turn down a script, only for it to be a huge success?

“You’ve just got to live with your choice. If you personally don’t believe in the project or believe in the character, if you don’t want to take that character on, that’s what you believe in. So if it becomes a huge hit, then great for them.

You just got to trust your gut”.

What do you usually do between film and TV projects?

“The last two years has been nothing but back-to-back projects. I jumped on ‘Need for Speed’ not only because it was a fun project

but it was more like a business move. I always tend to gravitate towards the independent side of things, just because that’s where I think the true story telling is being told. But ‘Need for Speed’, with that said, was such a fun movie and a great story, but it was studio film. So doing films like that allowed me to do films like ‘Hellion’, this film I produced that went to Sundance, or films like ‘A Long Way Down’.

And how about away from the set?

“My wife and I love to travel. I would love to get on the mountain, snowboard, she’s incredible, so much better than me. I think I’m pretty good, but she likes to do all the tricks and stuff. I just like to go fast on the mountain”.

Do you get recognised on holiday? How do you deal with it?

“I try to take it with stride. Without fans, this business wouldn’t exist and sometimes it gets

a little suffocating, but yeah, I always try and give time to the fans and give back whenever I can”.

So, what next for Aaron Paul?

“I’m doing a couple of films right after this whole press tour. I’m doing a show for Netflix. It’s a cartoon that I’m executive producing and also a voice. We pitched it to Netflix and they decided to pick us up, which is so crazy, but it’s a cartoon called ‘BoJack Horseman’, and it’s about a horse who used to be on a show called ‘Horsing Around’ and now he’s addicted to horse tranquilisers and he’s an alcoholic and he’s trying to get his career back on track, but he has zero morals whatsoever.

It’s wrong on every level possible, but it’s hilarious and I play his human house guest, Todd, who just never leaves. It’s so fun”.

Yeah, that does sound pretty bizarre and funny.

“Yeah, you’ll love it, you really will”.

TR

GranTurismo Sport

Words: PETER J ROBINSON

I don’t think I have ever looked so good stepping out of something. Walking out of business class from LHR to JFK is a close second, but even then you know you’re heading into passport control with the great unwashed.

The Maserati Gran Turismo Sport lives in the rarefied atmosphere of the layer cake.

M O T O R I N G : M A S E R AT I

My first real super car experience was a jaunt across nonchalant France in a California a few years ago. Paris, Bordeaux and Le Mans were all taken in over the space of a week and it really forged my appreciation for the marque. We would only have two real days with the Maserati and so like many fleeting relationships, I didn’t know if it would take hold in time. What can you do in two days? Well, arguably that is enough time to remove the well-placed tracking device and fake your own death in order to keep it, but perhaps that’s a

little full on.

I stood on the balcony for a good thirty minutes doing my usual market research with the car parked below. Basically I’ll stand there, coffee in hand, seeing how many of the local lawyers and advertising execs turn their heads. I can assure you that it is far easier to tally from that vantage point than it is whilst driving. The Maserati ranked highly. After all, it is achingly beautiful. The paint work was in Blu Sofisticato, this being the launch colour for the marque, available only on the sport

model. A striking combination of regency and racing pedigree.

The Gran Turismo Sport has one of the most vicious looking front ends of any car ever built. Don’t stare, just carry on walking. Remember that guy at school that could pick up any girl? Well, the Turismo is him, on speed. You’re looking at a 4.7 litre V8 delivering 460hp. To say it is quick is an understatement; it is worldendingly quick. Its subtle and debonair Italian lines indeed give it a refined allure.

It blends elegance and immediacy in a way

THE REVIEW 2014 29

that I haven’t quite managed to describe just yet. From certain angles, it looks like it could be taking the Italian PM to an evening soiree, then from another it looks like it has just left the scene of an assassination, smoking gun concealed in the glove compartment.

The whole time we had the Maserati, I continued to see it in different lights. Around town it was a precision tool whilst I played point and counter point with gaps in traffic. On an open stretch of an A road, all I could think about was power. We all have our angels and demons but

there is a reptilian glee in all of us as we plant the accelerator on a V8 and smoke up the road.

A sort of wide-eyed, adrenalin-fuelled, one man mission to G-Force. My musings on the GT may seem somewhat sycophantic but I can assure you, all will be forgiven the moment you drive one.

However, let’s not put the Turismo ‘squarely’ into the racing category alone. Let us consider pedigree. I have to the best of my knowledge never seen the GranTurismo in a rap video.

This tells me that it is the motoring aficionado’s

choice. Not fuelled by ‘dollar bills’ and a penchant for Grey Goose but perhaps a case of bullion and a Partagas Piramides Le 2000.

The ride position is poised. You feel connected to the car in the same way you would a well-cut suit. It very quickly becomes an extension of your synaptic being. Almost everyone that sat in it or came for a drive had to be crowbarred out by a burly member of the security team. I only found myself needing security on one occasion driving the GranTurismo. I pulled out slowly on a very quiet side street in Long Ashton and

found an old lady in a Nissan Micra quite irate that I had thought the 150 metres of distance between us was enough. I confess that I did act like an Italian with a temper and I doubt she knew what some of the four-letter words even meant. However I did think she understood the unspoken language of a wet sump-lubricated, 520 nm torque V8 engine note heading into the distance. I don’t think my driving would have been quite so ‘direct’ had the driving position not been so forthright. The steering wheel has thumb placement areas, almost as if the

previous driver had embedded them whilst overindulging. This isn’t me waxing lyrical, it is designed to evoke a more muscular look and enhance handling during more aggressive drives.

The GranTurismo comes with two gearbox options, a six-speed, automatic ZF set up equipped with MC Auto Shift software or a sequential, six-speed gearbox with a twin-disc clutch. Obviously with this power and control comes stopping ability in the form of dual cast Brembo six-piston callipers and a four-piston

unit bringing up the rear.

The Maserati was a captivating drive; a chameleon that took me from extreme to extreme.

From cruising effortlessly and in sumptuous comfort to racing from the primordial ooze increasingly faster into the distance. My wideeyed fixed glare being the only constant as terrain upon terrain raced past my peripheral vision. If we run an Arrive & Drive event this year, we can guarantee that those of you that receive an invite now know our preferred partner.

TR

THE REVIEW 2014 31

Decadence in Dubrovnik Words: LAITH Al-KAISY

Croatia’s fairytale city, Dubrovnik is every bit as enchanting as Paris or Venice. Indeed, the city has slowly become a go-to destination for the au courant, as well as the rich and famous. Our editor, Laith Al-Kaisy, took a seven-day tour of the city to see how the post-war mindset and investment has helped cultivate some of the most indulgent experiences in Europe.

THE REVIEW 2014 33

Dubrovnik Palace Straight ahead, beyond the French doors and over the balcony, the edge of Dubrovnik gently falls into the Adriatic Ocean. It’s too dark to actually see, but it’s there. You can hear the water playfully slap the brusque, arid rocks that peg the land’s end. The salty breeze is just enough to ruffle the palms.

Above, in the ebony sky, you can play join the dots with constellations and shooting stars. Ink-blot shadows leap around the void like a nocturnal species of their own. And the incandescent moon follows every move, protecting the island with militant heed.

Last time I was here, it was a fleeting, drug-

addled haze. Croatia was a hangover cure, a comedown from a four-day romp at Serbia’s Exit Festival. Those were my uni days, where sybaritic holidays like these were as vague and distant as my next bag of weed. But as I step out onto the balcony, the memories begin to sheepishly tug on my sleeve. It may be dark, but that doesn’t matter, because the things that make Croatia so utterly sublime aren’t necessary visible or tangible – they just ‘are’.

Dubrovnik Palace is the perfect introduction to a city that needs no introduction.

Likewise, the hotel itself is one of the most

well-known in the region, lying recumbent on the westernmost tip, the appendix of Dubrovnik. The area is soporific and sparse, which is fine for me. I prefer the slow acquaintance of travel, the geographical foreplay, not the reckless, head-first, kneedeep stuff. There’s a small beach, a couple of shops, and a few restaurants nearby. Walk an extra 500 metres or so to find anything that resembles proper civilisation – and then, that’s only in the evenings.

The hotel is five-star, but five-star Dubrovnik, which is never going to match the glitzy heights of London or New York. But

the suite is certainly spacious and more than enough for someone who is used to top-end hospitality. The design is clean and neutral, very much adhering to the largehotel aesthetic: light wooden floors, matching veneers, king size bed, comfy armchairs.

I much prefer this to chaotic abandon of boutiquey accommodation.

But don’t kid yourself: the large balconies that stare endless into the Adriatic are what you’re paying for here. Indeed, it feels more like an apartment than a hotel room: secluded with no other people or balconies overlooking you.

Below, the beautifully-crafted poolside meets the makeshift shore; you can thaw out your Britishness in the mid-afternoon sun, which hangs intensely in the ultramarine sky. There’s one of those Club Tropicanaesque bars too, so you can sup on some award-winning cocktails whilst working on your George Hamilton.

There are three restaurants to choose from, but Ponta overlooks the ocean and is closest when sunbathing. Lunch options include fresh seafood, meats and salad. It’s not cheap, but then high-end in Dubrovnik isn’t cheap. However, these prices can be

relied on for quality ingredients, prepared with the idiomatic passion typically found on these islands.

In terms of service, the staff were there when we needed them, out of sight when we didn’t – as it should be. Dubrovnik Palace gluts the appetite for prestige and charm, and fulfils its role as a solicitous yet unimposing host.

One piece of advice about Dubrovnik: don’t stay at just one hotel, but be sure to check-in at this indulgent and placid retreat. Stand on the balcony and let the memories create themselves.

THE REVIEW 2014 35

Villa Dubrovnik There’s something abjectly lazy, predicable and anti-journalistic about defining Dubrovnik in one word, but I’m going to do it anyway: laidback. This is a community of people who are abundantly vivacious, familiar, carefree and generous. Totally, irrevocably, missionary-sex horizontal. Dubrovnik is unlike any other city, which is why I have grown to love it so much – not just for what it is, but for what it’s not.

The city is instantly prepossessing, a definite tourist destination. And despite being inertly paced, the people are hard working and passionate; a place where a hard day’s work not only feeds the family,

but the soul. It’s an ethic that is somewhat passé in the UK, but means the economy in Dubrovnik is fully functioning. Farming is abundant and good, as is fishing and seafood. No shops are boarded up, there are no homeless people on the streets, and the houses have people living in them.

Everyone has forged a niche, a destiny for themselves, not least Villa Dubrovnik.

I can count my favourite hotels on one hand. Villa Dubrovnik is one of them. Situated between the Old Town (reachable by complimentary private boat, which travels back and forth every hour) and the east side of the city, this hotel typifies what The

Review is all about: seeking out the best products and services in the world, yet always considering the balance between quality and cost.

Rooms here range from €300 a night for a superior room, to €1300 for the royal suite. This is quite frankly a bargain. Let’s start with the service. There’s no pomp, no condescension, no fuss, and no one acting like they’re doing you a favour. This is straightforward, impeccable service with a smile. The concierge, whose name now escapes me, was typically Mediterranean: all gesticulation, and pouring with local knowledge and one-liners. The check-in

staff were as relaxed and likeable as everyone else in the city.

Villa Dubrovnik strikes a rare chord that’s only found in coastal luxury retreats: relaxed sophistication. In most places, one outweighs or hampers the other, especially in Dubrovnik where people can’t seem to care less about sophistication.

The private beach is probably the most beautiful place I’ve ever sunbathed: the peace of the ocean, nothing but thoughtlessness and the elements, and the copper sunlight parted by boats that sail in its path. Waiters are on standby to tend to your every need, be it food, drink

or anything else. Be sure to jump into the sea and swim round to the nearby rocky alcove for absolute, paradisiacal seclusion.

The first thing I had to eat was lunch, overlooking the azure ocean. The sea bass was cooked fresh and opaque, and served with a salty tapenade and other Mediterranean bits. An early-evening snack at the rooftop prosciutto and wine bar is the perfect end to an afternoon of basking: a selection of regional meats, alongside cheese and local red wine. Breakfast at Restaurant Pjerin was the best I ate in Dubrovnik – gooey scrambled eggs on a bed of bacon and courgettes. Dinner was

expectedly pricey (€200 for two) and sadly not as good as the other meals (though it was still decent).

The bedroom was exceptional, properly modern and designed with the utmost respect for space and colour. Though small, the balcony is all you need to soak up the residual sun and fall into the cool night breeze.

We stayed at Villa Dubrovnik for just one night, but the day was so effortless, so empyrean that it actually felt like longer. And one unforgettable night was enough to understand why this extraordinary hotel is considered the best in Dubrovnik.

THE REVIEW 2014 37

Kazbek Gemma, your beauty editor, who’s travelling this article with me, wants to go night swimming. I don’t blame her – a few days ago, we were in London, where the summer has come to an abrupt end and the wet-nosed aftermath of autumn has arrived. Here in Dubrovnik, however, it’s almost midnight, and the air is still thickset and warm.

We’re at Kazbek, a “castle hotel” on the city’s west coast. This side of Dubrovnik is where you want to end your stay: less touristy and more lackadaisical. The building is certainly impressive, standing proud behind a majestic wall and iron gating.

There’s a certain grandeur about it, the kind of pomp I don’t see anywhere else in Dubrovnik.

If you want proper luxurious privacy, this is where to come, with just twelve double rooms and one suite. This means that nothing is ever too busy. It’s virtually people-free and everyone that is here keeps to themselves. Poolside is quiet and affable, with a mere 20-or-so loungers spaciously scattered around a Caligula-like bath. In fact, it’s the only hotel near the Old Town with an

outdoor pool – so if you’re only staying at one hotel, this may be enough to sway you.

The bedroom is fine, but not memorable, and not a reflection of the rest of Kazbek.

You could even say it’s too understated for a hotel of this ilk. Still, the room is immaculate and inoffensive.

When staying at Kazbek, it’s all about Kazbek. There is virtually nothing nearby,

which includes decent bars and restaurants.

Although we didn’t eat dinner here, we did do everything else. Breakfast was made to order, with eggs and bacon, pastries and jams. Poolside lunches and drinks are best though: ring your personal buzzer to alert a waiter, who will come and take your order.

Kir royals aplenty, and charcoaled chicken skewers and fries. Outstanding.

The selling point here really is the pool and the architecture, which exudes serenity and splendour. Kazbek is a hotel full of character, more in line with the uptight elegance found in urban cities (perhaps this is because it was founded by Swedes).

Regardless, it can’t have been that uptight: we still managed to have an ‘alfresco’ night swim, in every sense of the word.

TR

THE REVIEW 2014 39

F I NA N C E : C R O W D F U N D I N G

Crowdfunding People coming together to invest in property is nothing new.

Join forces, share the risk, share the returns. That is how it has always worked.

But now a new real estate investment model has emerged, prompted by changes in legislation which mean that, for the first time, funds could be raised online from sophisticated investors and retail clients alike.

Words: JAMES FERGUSON

Crowdfunding - financing a venture by raising investment from a large number of people via the internet – has already been used to help launch an array of innovative products and services.

Sites like Indiegogo and RocketHub have caught the imagination of millions of web users and given creative ventures a global platform to appeal for investment.

Last month, rocker Neil Young raised nearly $5 million in two weeks to launch his ultrahigh quality music player, the Pono.

The same week that the Pono appeal went live, Kickstarter, the world’s biggest crowdfunding site, announced it had successfully raised $1 billion for more than 28,000 projects since it

launched in 2008.

More than half of that amount was pledged in just the last 12 months and the second highest amount of pledges came from the UK, with British backers stumping up a combined $54.4m.

The Crowdfunding Centre, run by The Social Foundation, says that more than £1,700 an hour is currently being crowdfunded in the UK. Many crowdfunded enterprises are technology-led, but a number of specialist property sites have sprung up across the Atlantic too, and the UK’s first regulated crowdfunding platform dedicated to property development, Property Moose (www.propertymoose.co.uk),

launches on 7 April 2014.

The appeal is simple. So is the process.

Crowdfunding sites harness the combined power of a pool of like-minded individuals to build a diversified property portfolio.

A share in a property can be bought for as little as a five hundred pounds, with no need for a mortgage, valuation or solicitors fees, and you can invest up to ten per cent of your net assets. Property Moose take care of all the due diligence, completing valuations and surveys where necessary and each property is acquired with no mortgage to reduce risk.

Each property is acquired within the wrapper of its own UK limited company and, when you invest in a property, you receive a share

THE REVIEW 2014 41

in that company, so your money goes directly into the property you have specifically selected.

All the costs, rental income and sale proceeds are shared and distributed by the platform, which manages the whole process on your behalf while you monitor your investments through a secure online portal.

There is no chance of costs soaring due to abortive attempts at buying a property, and as you are investing in shares in a limited company you can liquidate your cash at any time by selling your stake to a willing buyer.

You also benefit from the expertise and knowledge of seasoned property professionals who pick the properties and offer them as fully-managed investments.

Members browse through an online marketplace of preselected potential investments, and even when they decide to invest in a property, their cash is only committed once the project is fully funded. This new way to invest comes at a time when returns generated by the UK property market are growing

rapidly.

January saw the fastest annual increase in national house prices for three and a half years, according to the Office of National Statistics, which recorded 6.8 per cent growth in the previous year. The biggest increases, unsurprisingly, were recorded in London where prices are now almost 23 per cent above their pre-2008 peak.

Rents are similarly soaring, particularly in the capital, and ensure that annual rental returns far outweigh the interest on offer from banks.

But with noisy accusations of a new property bubble already being made and memories of the housing crash a not so dim-and-distant memory, the prudent investor will recognise that a note of caution is still in order.

And that exposes another fundamental benefit of crowdfunding.

As with all investments, diversification is one of the golden rules to building a successful and sustainable portfolio. Not only does it help spread risk, it also helps to ensure healthy returns.

For new property investors, adding property to your portfolio by crowdfunding helps diversify your interests with one of the safest asset classes around. For existing property investors, crowdfunding makes it possible to invest smaller stakes across a wide range of properties, meaning it’s easy to build a diversified property portfolio.

Investing across a range of properties helps lock in returns, as well as allowing you to hedge risker projects against safer bets.

Experience tells us that, over the medium to long term, rent and property prices increase in line with inflation, so those with a diverse portfolio can maximise this inflation protection.

With the UK suffering a lack of housing stock that seems destined to keep pushing up prices and rents for the foreseeable future, it is hard to imagine the market losing momentum.

Those on the lookout for a rewarding, riskfree alternative investment model will find that – to misquote Margaret Thatcher – you can lead from the crowd.

TR

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F I NA N C E : I P O s

Investing in IPOs Last year, 222 US companies went public, helping to raise $55 billion in what was the best year for the US IPO market since 2000. This enthusiasm for IPOs has continued into 2014, where we have already seen the strongest start for US IPO listings since 2000. In the UK, it also looks like IPO fever is back, with a number of well-known names already having listed this year including the likes of Poundland, AO and Boohoo, with plenty more on the way. So, how do you go about assessing whether investing in an IPO is right for you?

Brenda Kelly, Chief Market Strategist at IG, gives her top six tips.

Words: BRENDA KELLY

Beware Hype The hype surrounding the listings of wellknown brands is not uncommon – just look at the volume of column inches devoted to the Royal Mail and Twitter IPOs last year.

This hype can be all-consuming, to the point where investors who had never considered trading in these shares, and know little about the companies involved, decide to take the plunge. It is crucial when investing in an IPO to carry out the necessary research and take a well-balanced view of potential risk and reward. In short, try and ignore the hype and only invest in something if you feel it is right for you.

Getting ahead A grey market is the unofficial trading of a company’s shares, usually before they are issued in an IPO. As such, it not only provides an opportunity to trade ahead of the general chaos of opening day, but also helps gives an indication of how traders and investors are valuing a company before it floats. While they cannot guarantee certainty, there is no

denying that they have in the past helped investors identify a more accurate price than many pundits or advisors.

Know your sector Knowing a company and its financials is one thing; understanding the nuances of their wider sector and the challenges it faces is quite another. As well as researching a company itself, you need to think about the sector in which it operates. Is there a chance the sector as a whole is approaching a ‘bubble’? Could this be about to burst? And how might that impact this potential IPO? All of these are questions that need to be asked in advance of any investment.

Location, location, location It can be of no surprise to learn that different exchanges can have different rules and (obviously) timings but the complexity this can add to an investment in an IPO on opening day of trading should not be underestimated. Make sure you understand the nuances of dealing with different exchanges before you go ahead

and trade.

Think about what makes a company valuable and the potential for growth Stocks rise on future expectations. If there is reason to believe a dividend may be offered in the post IPO, then bear in mind that this opens the company to both value and income investors. Take a look at the sector peers, does this company have a chance against the competition?

Don’t rely on one source for all your information Many of us have a favourite trusted source we turn to for thoughts on investments. This could be a family member, a website, or a journalist whose opinion you respect. But my advice would be to never rely just on one source. There’s no reason nowadays, when we all have access to the internet pretty much wherever we are, to not take the time to check a few different places for a variety of perspectives. It could make the difference between a great investment and a bad one.

TR

THE REVIEW 2014 45

Harley Street Cancer Concierge Words: TAYA PANG

In 2011 more than 331,000 people were diagnosed with caner in the UK. Coping with cancer is one of the most difficult things that anyone will have to deal with. Finding appropriate care and treatment can be a life consuming process, not only for the person with cancer but also their family. We visited the Harley Street Cancer Concierge to find out about their groundbreaking approach to cancer care and treatment.

Co-Founders Darren Rowe and Alan Mackenzie were introduced in 2011, when Alan’s wife was referred to him to discuss personalised treatment options.

Securing the right types of treatment and meeting with the relevant doctors is a job worthy of an army of assistants. Given that there are 200 different types of cancer, each with different causes, symptoms and treatments, this is a monumental task. Having dealt with this logistical minefield, Alan knew there needed to be a smarter, more refined process to secure ongoing treatment and care for his wife. Together, they began to build a highly skilled team, specifically devoted to helping cancer patients and their families. The company remains totally independent, ensuring that each patient is referred to the most appropriate consultants and clinics for their cancer.

Darren Rowe is the Co-Founder and Managing Director of HSCC. He spent much of his career in the commercial side of oncology.

Prior to HSCC, Darren was the UK General Manager of an American personalised oncology company, based at Johns Hopkins University Hospital in Baltimore.

“Alan and myself were sitting in a clinic whilst his wife was having surgery. They had travelled down from Scotland in the hope of finding the best treatment on Harley Street.

Whilst we were talking it became very obvious that they had found it very difficult to find the right doctor who was offering and had access to the right type of treatment, the right type of technology. They found it very frustrating. Even though they had the resources, it became a full time job almost.

What he was telling me wasn’t new; I’d seen it numerous times over the past few years. So we realised there was a better way of helping patients navigate their way through treatment. I had a huge network of specialists I knew from around the world, particularly in London and America, and so the idea really came into our minds that evening. That was about two years ago.

The whole service is designed to help people find the right treatment, the right doctors and to connect them very quickly, whilst at the same time supporting them through the entire process. Unlike some of the bigger clinics in the US, the private sec-

tor in the UK is quite disjointed – although in London, it’s excellent. The treatment quality is outstanding. Some of the doctors that work there are internationally recognised. You couldn’t ask for a better level of service. But what you find is the treatment is often made up of different clinics, different hospitals, all working relatively independently. It can be quite difficult for a patient to navigate through that process.

Cancer treatment can change very quickly, almost on a daily basis and that can have a huge knock-on effect for patients’ family members, in terms of organising accommodation and transport, schooling and child care – things which one doesn’t really think about immediately.

We have established an internationally well-known group of advisors who come from different parts of the cancer treatment field. Oncologists, surgeons, pathologists and researchers – people who are at the very top of their game, working at some of the most prestigious institutions around the world. These people are actively involved in research that is really changing the way cancer is being treated.

Harley Street is a melting pot for the bright-

est doctors in the country, as far as I am concerned. If you look at the technology that is available and the treatment choices, they are far more varied on Harley Street than anywhere in the country. The doctors on Harley Street are the most senior doctors in the country. And as I said, they have access to treatments which most doctors just don’t have.”

Professor Justin Stebbing is one of HSCC’s consultant advisors and arguably a leader in the field of cancer research and treatment.

“In my normal day, I’m a professor of cancer medicine and oncology at the Imperial College London. I’m very lucky in that I have worked in what I consider to be the finest hospitals in America and Europe.

Something that has been missing from a lot of the care given thus far from places like the Marsden, to Oxford, to Johns Hopkins is what we call joined up care. This is where patients feel like they are perfectly looked after, even if the outcomes aren’t perfect. What I mean by that is, the one thing disease can do, particularly the diagnosis of cancer, is make you feel like you’ve

lost control. You only remember certain proportions of what physicians, health care workers, surgeons and radiotherapy experts tell you. It can be bewildering and confusing. It can be some of the most distressing times of anyone’s life.

So what HSCC do, essentially, is make that care joined up. They integrate between different specialists and different people, provide comfort for the patient, provide an extra pair of ears to listen, an extra pen and paper to write things down. Someone to really work with the support staff. We try as best as we can to make the medical care of that individual and their family as joined up as possible.

It’s not just about looking after their medical condition and the cancer, it’s about the whole patient, dieticians, beauticians, aromatherapists, homoeopathists. It’s about integrating everything together. Wherever I have worked up until now at HSCC, that has been missing. What I find interesting about HSCC is that, not only did they hold the patients hand and lead them down the path of least resistance, their work is incredibly invaluable for the doctor treating an individual.

When I have patients that have a HSCC care package, I know that patient will be looked after, that appointments will be made and the individual will know what they are for.

We are at an inflection point in oncology.

When I started my career, 25 years ago, I would say we cured about 40% of the people. 10 years ago it rose to 50%. Now it is at 60%. That means living to old age and dying of something else; it doesn’t mean the old definition of five-year survival. That’s not just because of one thing, that’s because of better surgery, radiotherapy, hormonal therapy, targeted therapy, a revolution in genomics, proteomics and mobile health. Everything is changing, the world is changing. We are making exponential developments in genome sequencing and our understanding of what we are treating.

Because of that, the cure rate is going up.

But in order to get there as efficiently as possible, in a personalised medicine environment, it requires a lot of coordination.

It requires someone in charge and someone to take charge.”

TR

The Harley Street Cancer Concierge can be contacted on: + 44(0)844 809 9995 or online at

THE REVIEW 2014 47

Upper Street Words: TAYA PANG

Let’s face it, we are all self-confessed fashion gurus in our own right. We all know a pair of shoes to match every outfit is a necessity, in order to really stand out at any occasion. Imagine being given the opportunity to design your own unique pair of shoes. Gone are the days of frustration, trailing from shop to shop to find the exact desired shoe. Not the correct shade or colour; not the right heel height; ‘these would be lovely, if only they were completed to an entirely different specification’; not flowers but stripes. The list is endless. However, going home empty-handed and feeling deflated because the current fashion trends do not fulfill your needs is not ideal, especially when you have party dates.

My wonderful partner handed me nothing more than a 4-digit code and a web address: Upperstreet.com. Imagine my surprise when I learnt this site allows you to put the finishing

touches on any outfit, with made-to-order shoes and the best bit – they are designed by you. I could tell by his smugness that he had chosen the perfect gift, and whilst I didn’t want to gush like a school girl, my huge smile ruined my poker face.

A surge of excited energy overwhelmed me. So uncontrollable that heart palpitations began as my imagination went into overdrive. I couldn’t believe that, within minutes, I was out of the fantasy stage and was able to sit at my computer and physically piece together my dream shoe.

Stage by stage, stitch by stitch, my perfectly elegant garment that had forever eluded my wishful grasp, until now.

Upperstreet.com has made the whole process amazingly simple and easy to use. Press on the ‘start designing your shoes’ tab and away you go. Before you know it, within minutes, you have the style you want, whether it be ballet

pump, pointed court, round toe court, platforms, peep toes – you get the idea.

Every possible angle of the shoe has been considered. Step by step, you can choose the upper shape of your shoe, then the detail on the front, back and sides, with or without straps, adding and discarding ideas as you go. This is truly an opportunity to allow your indecision to flourish, ladies!

Once your shoe is complete, the fun really begins, as you choose from the extensive array of colours and options: leather, suede, patent, snakeskin, metallic, animal, satin or bridal satin. The guys at Upperstreet.com really haven’t missed a trick, as there is literally something for everyone. Are you content with your choice of colour? Would you like embellishments? Voilà!

Within minutes, you have the finished article on screen in front of you. After admiring your own faultless design skills and pondering on a

STYLE : UPPER STREET

new vocation as a shoe designer, simply add to your shopping basket and purchase.

After you give Upperstreet.com your finished design, the customer service is second to none.

You receive communication confirming your order will be sent straight to their workshop for the handmade process to begin. If you were not excited enough to receive your shoes in the standard 3-4 weeks delivery time, they ensure your excitement continues by sending a surprise email confirming your one-of-a-kind shoe is in production, and a breakdown of how your shoe is evolving, making your design a reality.

Then, that all important email: your beautiful shoes are on their way to you by courier.

Not available at the given delivery time? Not a problem, simply text a suitable date to the courier and you will be amazed. Your beautiful shoes arrive exactly at the time and date you requested. Once the parcel is in your hands,

a little nervous excitement overtakes you as you unwrap your new shoes, hoping they are as high spec in reality as they were onscreen.

Once the bubble wrap is off, you are faced with a sophisticated black box, elegantly detailed with the stately Upperstreet.com logo, tastefully finished off with a vibrant pink ribbon. As the familiar palpitations you first had when given the prospect of creating your own unique shoes return, every step of the unwrapping process becomes more and more exciting. Finally the bow is untied and you are greeted with black tissue paper; it really is like Christmas and birthdays all wrapped up in one.

With each removing layer, the ever-increasing nerves are present, waiting to see the finished product. At long last the wait is over. As intuitively presented on its suede bag as a tea cosy sits on a tea pot, the vision is now a reality.

What more could a woman want? A hassle-

free, high-end, top-quality finished product.

Upperstreet.com, in its entirety, deliver an efficient service at every stage. What’s more, they even track your delivery, contacting you when you have received them to ensure you’re content. Pure gold service; a cut above any I’ve experienced before in the field. They are, without fail, a team to recommend for that perfect gift.

I’m sure you will agree, my partner earned 1000+ man points for this wonderful, imaginative gift and the best part of it all, his imagination when choosing the gift allowed mine the scope to do what any girl dreams of doing.

Shoes in hand (or on feet), I stand proud and can say I have the best shoes in the world, even if I do say so myself. They are absolutely unique.

A win-win situation: he’s happy, I’m certainly happy, and most importantly, my shoes are pretty.

TR

THE REVIEW 2014 49

.BLT. The formidably styled and fiercely sartorial, Lord of the Trad clan, David The formidably styled andThis fiercely sartorial, of Fox the Trad clan, David Minns. issue, DavidLord visits Brothers & Co.Minns. This issue, David talks about his man crush on Sir Michael Caine.

Pictures: MANY Photography: MANY

FOOD : EBRINGTON ARMS

A friend recently introduced me to the new owners of Fox Brothers & Co., the last remaining cloth mill in the south west of England. Accepting an invitation to visit the showroom at their mill in Wellington, Somerset (given that I live just an hour away in Bristol), I was keen to learn more of Fox’s provenance.

The mill itself is no longer in its original location, but driving through the country lanes en route, one can see the original Georgian red-brick buildings in the distance – and how majestic they are too.

Fox once employed 5000 staff. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the company employed Wellington, as it was, at the time, the largest employer in the area – not dissimilar to Clarks, also in Somerset, whose shoe empire built the village of Street. a Before I’d even entered the reception of the mill, I could hear the clatter-clatter of some original looms, weaving some of the finest cloths in the world. To the front of the mill is tailor Brian Smith’s workshop. Brian was master cutter for Huntsman for many years, but now works his sartorial magic in the surroundings of this mill, which he is very familiar with (tailor’s nirvana?). And there, in the window of Brian’s workshop, was the cloth that had eluded me my entire tailoring career: the Prince of Wales check flannel. Its mix of autumnal-coloured yarns, ever pleasing to the eye, almost brought a tear to mine.

And the PoW is not the only true British classic that Fox Brothers produce, as their archives proved. To say I was in my element, perusing the tomes of cloths produced over the past hundred or so years, would be putting it mildly. The selection of wonderful worsteds and flannels (for which Fox are renowned) seemed endless, yet so of the moment. It is encouraging to see a business, founded in 1772, not only flourishing and upholding such timehonoured tradition, but also being so relevant to modern style.

Of course, suits are currently enjoying something of a renaissance, and have been for a number of years, but there’s nothing quite like following in the footsteps of some of our greatest sartorial icons. Here are just some of Fox’s discerning and well-known patrons.

Cary Grant: Bristolian, Hollywood icon and greatest sartorial inspiration of The BLT’s patrons. Grant favoured Fox’s plain worsteds. Picture Grant and you envisage Fox Brothers cloth.

Sir Winston Churchill: esteemed prime minister, political heavyweight and cigar aficionado, Churchill favoured Fox’s chalk stripe flannel cloth. Churchillphiles can not only partake in smoking Churchill’s eponymous cigars, but also acquire his favoured chalk stripe cloth, for use in their very own version of his classic three piece suit.

The Duke of Windsor: king, sartorial hero of mine, and once bearer of the title HRH Prince of Wales. Edward VIlI may not have been the namesake of this beloved cloth, but he certainly did much to promote it. So, whether you are a renaissance man (like me) or simply a classic dresser, there is surely nothing more hallowed than sporting a suit made of cloth of such provenance.

THE REVIEW 2013 3

THE

.BLT.

The formidably styled and fiercely sartorial Lord of the Trad Clan, David Minns. This issue, Minns takes power dressing in his stride.

Pictures: MANY Words: DAVID MINNS

B LT : P O W E R D R E S S I N G

It is befitting, if you’ll pardon the pun, that I scribe this ode to power dressing from the uber-hip Hoxton Hotel, where I am surrounded by the stylish, the powerful, and the movers and shakers of my hometown.

You see, when it was suggested to me that power dressing might be a good theme for this issue of The Review, I ironically thought it a dreadful idea, ostensibly because it conjures images of the gauche businessman of the 1980s in ill-fitting, chalk-striped suits – certainly for the majority of my peers anyway.

But it conjures, for me, images of the greatest power-dresser of all time: Gordon Gekko, one of my sartorial heroes. And, whilst I am still very much inspired by the style of this much-maligned 80s icon of the silver screen, there is a new breed of savvy dresser who have reinvented this outdated stereotype.

For the past 10 years or more, we have been enjoying something of a sartorial revival. Tailors are sought after and the craft flourishes, the likes of which we’ve not witnessed since the 1960s, when celebrity tailors abounded. And it is the purveyors of one of the most popular 80s sartorial styles, the deconstructed suit, championed by Giorgio Armani, who lead the charge in today’s power-dressing stakes: the Italians.

Take dandy Lino Leluzzi of Italian tailoring house Albazar, for example, who has more flamboyance than you can wave a pair of pinking shears at. Double-breasted jackets in pastel shades, cut to perfection, and cashmere overcoats and chain wallets (yes, chain wallets, but I’d proffer that you must have Latin blood to pull this off) – he makes Gekko look like an adolescent sixth form pupil!

But what makes a power-dresser? Importance? Self-importance?

Audaciousness? All of these things certainly set the power-dresser apart from his peers, but if we were to consider the connotations for a moment – head turner, self-assuredness – then I’m sure we could bring that right up to date by looking at what the great and the good are sporting at this moment, which displays their power credentials.

First and foremost, one must be confident in what they are wearing – no half heartedness, no trying to impress and certainly no commissioning a bespoke garment in a boating stripe, which you rocked in the 1970s whilst studying at Cambridge just because the cloth is stocked by your tailor, or moreover, for sentimental reasons. Power dressing is the realm of the unashamedly sartorially inclined – and he only.

To get us out of the gate, one must first consider what it is acceptable to wear in one’s sector, and to a greater or lesser degree, which colours are complementary. For these are the things which make the power-dresser stand-out from the crowd: (suiting) cloth colour, which complements one’s complexion, beard or hair colour; a suit cut to perfection; and accessories, which let both the wearer and the observer know that one has given just enough due care and consideration to what they are wearing.

Now, given that there are many tailor-made suits out there these days, it may be difficult for the casual observer to identify the power-dresser from the wannabe – but here it goes.

LINO LELUZZI

Cloth The power-dresser will almost certainly have had their suit made for them. Off-the-peg numbers from fashion brands will not cut the mustard. The suit will be cut from a cloth that speaks either of someone’s understanding of the seasons, or their personal dedication to the things which matter; weave, handle, shade, and for some, the manufacturer of the cloth, e.g. Loro Piana, Fox Flannel, Dormeuil or Harrisons, to name but a few of the

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favourite of Brown in Town’s own customers.

Colour A colour that is either a) indicative of one’s trade e.g. navy blue or charcoal grey for the legal profession, navy blue for the banking profession and pale shiny grey for recruitment consultants (this is obviously an inflammatory sweeping generalisation and is not indicative of those recruitment consultants on my books, but you get the general idea), and/or b) a colour which is unequivocally flattering, leaving one in no doubt that he chose the cloth with the self-assuredness of someone with a lifetimes worth of experience, or simply, a God given gift.

Cut

00’S GECKO

In layman’s terms, the void between the wearer and the garment which afford the wearer the all essential drape of a garment and which provides the perfect silhouette. I appreciate that the skintight-alright style has enjoyed something of a heyday thanks to the likes of Daniel Craig’s Bond and messrs O’Leary and Barlow, but you can be assured there are no contenders in the power dressing arena from Camp Cropped Jacket. The cut of someone’s jib can be broken down in tailoring terms by the following: closely tailored, classically tailored or relaxed jib. And what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, so one is advised to take their tailor’s advice on such things.

Shirts Aside his braces, probably the overriding sartorial impression that Gordon Gekko made on us was that blue shirts with contrasting white collars and cuffs are for bankers, and bankers only. This style of shirt has its roots in the 18th century when our undergarments became our outergarments, the shirt was born and was required to be white and, above all, clean. This indicated that you had staff who could clean your shirts for you. Once the shirt was part of our sartorial lexicon, the lower classes started wearing coloured shirts, which did not require so much cleaning, but there were those of the upper classes who delighted in this newfound freedom of colour and so experimented with colour also. But how to ensure they were easily identifiable by their peers, and not confused with the layman? Clean white collars and cuffs – detachable at one point, but still worn to this day by the legal fraternity, naturally.

Accoutrements And once one has commissioned their 2pc double breasted suit, made of Fox Flannel and with a faint chalk stripe – the gaps between each stripe of which are proportionate to the wearers girth, and the colour of which matches either the wearer’s eyes, beard or hair colour, as favoured by our very own Winston Churchill – they can then concern themselves with accoutrements, without which the power dressing Gordon Gekko would not be so (fondly) remembered; braces, preferably in red.

80’S GECKO

There are also cufflinks and inordinately large timepieces to consider, but this stretches beyond my area of expertise and so I refer you to our friends at Bonhams, the auctioneers, who will be happy to facilitate your specific requirements and probably a rather powerful vintage motor car in the process.

Power dressing, as you may have gathered, is possibly not the M.O. of the BLT. Powerful cars, however, are another matter which we will leave for another day. Tally ho!

TR

Deep Skin

Words: GEMMA PHELAN It’s usually around the end of February, after several months of cold, rain and wind that my skin just gives up. No matter how many creams and potions I apply, nothing can alleviate the dry dullness that’s become synonymous with these winter months. I needed an intervention.

Spa Illuminata, located just off Park Lane, is a tall Victorian building that looks like a highend corner shop. If it wasn’t for the large gold lettering, I would have walked straight past. Once inside, it was obviously nothing of the sort. The decor gives the illusion of high ceilings being held up by Roman-esque pillars; the floor and fixtures are all marble with a tall archway in the far corner, which I assumed must lead to the treatment rooms below. Reception staff were immediately attentive and, after I’d filled out my forms, I was taken downstairs for my treatment.

We descended the marble stairs into the comforting warm aroma of jasmine and eucalyptus. The treatment room was of ample size with soft lighting and soothing music playing at just the right level. Kathryn, my therapist, had suggested the Cinetic Progressif treatment, which promised to take facial rejuvenation to a whole new level. The treatment uses a combination of Micro-currents, Ultrasound and LED futuristic technologies,

for visible results after just one treatment. As you can imagine, I was pretty excited about the prospect of having a new face in under two hours.

Kathryn got to work exfoliating my dried skin using a poignant smelling scrub, the Marmite of skincare products. I’d describe the smell as a combination of mossy wet dogs and whisky. Strange, I know, and I’m still trying to decide whether I loved it or hated it.

Either way, the scrub was effective: I could almost feel my skin take a deep breath as the lower layers were exposed to the air. Once the skin was prepared, I was treated to a relaxing mid-treatment hand and foot massage using Cartia, Fluide de Beaute. It was at this point I drifted off into blissful oblivion.

Back in the room, it was time for the electromitt (not the technical name). Kathryn smoothed the silver mitten across my face using small circular motions, concentrating on the right hand side first. The feeling was not unpleasant and I could only occasionally feel a slight current vibrating through my skin. With the right hand side complete, I was given the option to see the difference between the two sides of my face. I feared this was going to be one of those flea-circus moments where I was going to have to lie about what I could see. Boy was I wrong! I

looked like Madeline Ashton mid-transformation – “I’m a girl”. The skin on the right side of my face was visibly tighter and all of my features had moved upwards by a quarter of a centimetre.

Following the electro current treatment, a generous helping of Carita, Beauty Diamond was massaged into my skin. Carita, Beauty Diamond is an indulgent night cream, perfect for hydrating and repairing the skin when it’s at its most receptive. The whole treatment worked wonders, revealing an incredibly soft, radiant and visibly younger looking complexion. Cinetic Progressif is the perfect treatment for weddings and other events where you need an instant boost or taken regularly to keep your skin looking youthful and vibrant. I can imagine it could get quite addictive, and I’m already planning my next visit.

Because of its location and lack of a day spa and pool, Illuminata is mainly used by working women who come for one off or a series of treatments aimed at achieving a certain result. If you’re the kind of woman who knows what she wants, what results you want to see and would rather avoid all the fuss that comes along with it, then head to Illuminata Spa during your lunch hour. It will make your week.

B E AU T Y : S PA I L L U M I NATA

Skin Caviar Luxe Eye Lift Cream The scent of Skin Caviar Luxe is subtle and the cream is light and non-greasy, easy to apply make-up on top of. It doesn’t irritate sensitive skin, instead keeping the entire eye area nicely hydrated all day. You only need to use a small amount of the cream per application, unless, like me you sometimes can’t help but use these creams for full face application.

Skin Caviar Luxe seemed to slightly improve the smoothness of the skin around my eyes, but I didn’t notice anything revolutionary and the small corner lines seem to be mostly unchanged. La Prairie anti-ageing creams are believed to be some of the best on the market. I’m not so sure Skin Caviar Luxe Eye Lift Cream is some sort of miracle cream, but for the feeling you get when you open the the shiny outer tin and wrapping to reveal your cute little midnight-blue pot of joy, its well worth the money.

Braun SkinSpa Finally, an excuse to get rid of your shaving gel, blunt razors and that half empty tube of hair removal cream you’ve had in the bathroom draw for the past year. The Braun SkinSpa has. it. all. Close-Grip-Technology makes the epilator tool one of the most effective I’ve used, removing hairs as short as 0.5mm.

You can feel the power of the machine as it picks up speed in your hand. Nought to sixty in under 3 seconds. Plus, switching between attachments couldn’t be simpler and more fiddle-free.

The shaver tool is equally as efficient at removing hair, almost as close a shave as a razor. All functions can be used in the shower or in the bath, and the SmartLight technology makes sure no hair goes unnoticed.

The only downside is, although the exfoliation attachment exfoliates four times better than a manual scrub, the size of the head means you can’t quickly cover as much ground as you would with a mitt or a body scrub brush. Not so great for those who like to keep their beauty regime brief.

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Rosa Alpina Words: PETER J ROBINSON

Having skied most of Europe over the past five years, some places twice, it was time that the team headed to pastures pinker.

The Hotel Rosa Alpina resides in San Cassiano in the Dolomites, the epitome of Italian charm. If Peter Sarstedt’s ‘Jet Set’ needs a new bolt hole, San Moritz is out, San Cassiano is in.

The small town of San Cassiano is located at the foot of Mount Lavarela. With a population of under 1000 people, it is a welcome change from the hedonistic attitude and footfall of its more meretricious cousins. We shan’t name names. San Casiano is more of a sybaritic escape for the great, the good and the indomitable ‘foodie’.

Chef Norbert Niederkofler has spent 20 years at the Hotel Rosa Alpina’s St Hubertus restaurant, turning it into a two-Michelin starred, gastronomic tour de force. Like

the surrounding Dolomites, his restaurant reaches vertiginous heights with sublime cuisine. It combines Alpine and Ladin fla-

“the staff really go out of their way to make you feel at home.” vours with expert skill and precision.

New for the resort this season is ‘A Taste For Skiing’ – a showcase for typical South Tyrolean produce. Gourmet dishes, created by Dolomitici and European Michelin-starred chefs, will be on the menu at ten local mountain refuges.

Having driven from Innsbruck airport, we were in need of refreshment on our arrival.

The wonderful team at the Rosa Alpina bypassed the usual check-in nonsense and sat us on the terrace for a glass of warm cider and a selection of amuse-bouches from Chef Niederkofler. The atmosphere was serene with Mount Lavarela watching over us, cigar in hand.

Stefania Belle, the hotel resident manager, kindly came out to greet us and ask us if there was anything we needed during out stay with them. Having spent a good few nights at the Rosa Alpina, it became clear that the management team at the hotel got to know every guest personally.

The hotel itself has a timeless charm etched with contemporary accents throughout.

If I had to compare the Rosa Alpina to an existing establishment, it would have to be

T R AV E L : R O S A A L P I NA

the Mont Cervin in Zermatt. It has a warm family atmosphere that you usually expect from guest houses high in the Alps.

The hotel boasts 51 rooms – all are generously appointed with traditional local antiques and are incredibly spacious.

Dressed for dinner, we were invited to join Norbert in the kitchen for a tasting of his mountain-inspired menu. Norbert explained he was first taught in Germany, then moved through Switzerland, USA, Austria, and then back to Germany. He was trained by chefs Jörg Müller, Eckart Witzigmann and back in Italy by Nadia Santini. Norbert is unflinchingly down to earth. For a man that has reached his lofty position in the Alpine cooking scene, he is gracious and welcoming, even to a group of writers in his busy kitchen. He serves up truffled encase-

ments, the lightest ravioli and traditional local meats to name but a few. The onslaught of Gault Millau food served to an 18.5 rating is vertiginous.

Having met the great man and toured his kitchen, we were politely ushered into the restaurant. I opted to linger behind a moment longer to see what Norbert and his team were plating up at the far end of the kitchen. I watched as they delicately placed each item on the plate and, like artists, painted their canvas in the way only Michelin star restaurants can.

Norbert noticed me briefly and beckoned me over. He signalled for service and whipped one of the purple delicacies out of the pan, handing it to me on a table spoon.

It is a revelation. What I first think is a dessert turns out to be beetroot gnocchi served

on beer soil with a cream of daikon cress.

My eyes rolled back in my head and then came forward with the realisation that I was still in the kitchen and must not fawn too much, for the best was yet to come.

The restaurant is named after St Hubertus, the patron saint of hunters. Fitting, really, given that the restaurant’s menu is based on a project geared towards increasing culinary identity in the region and promoting alpine food culture. Not to mention sustainable agriculture and its social implications. Is it any surprise that, in Italy, such a great importance is put on dining?

The restaurant is alpine-inspired through and through – stag, elk, anything with antlers really, adorn the walls. This penchant for antlers would become an unforgettable fixture later that night. If you have

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never been to an alpine region and are a bit squeamish about taxidermy, good luck to you by the way.

The majority of the team opted for alpine linchpins, beef tenderloin and suckling pig.

I opted to try Norbert’s signature menu, ‘The Mountain Kitchen’.

Highlights were the tartar caviar, which looked like a plated scene from a carnival and tasted divine. The veal tripe did initially concern me. Having never opted to try entrails, I should’ve of known better. They were first class, a gamey texture with a rich taste beyond compare.

The meal was served with a flight from Christian Rainer, the maître d’ and sommelier. Matching wines to a seven-plus course meal is an art. You do run the risk of opting for wines that are too punchy and inebriating the guests. Or going in on the defensive and serving something that is not equal to the food. Christian, however, is worthy of an international accolade.

With the meal drawing to a close, it was time for one final piece of dinner theatre.

A dessert flight served on huge antlers. This was Willy Wonker meets alpine tradition: candyfloss, chocolate lollypops, and gin ex-

plosions (you will have to see for yourself).

A night well spent in the company of good people and fine food.

This, however, did not make for the most gracious skiing the following morning. We were met in reception by Stefanie from the Alta Badia tourist board, who would kindly guide us that day. The Rosa Alpina staff dutifully take all their guests skis up to the ground floor from the ski room every morning. Heaven forbid you should lift a finger.

A minibus then drives you the few hundred yards to the bottom of the slopes.

A short lift up and you are in the Alta Badia

ski region with access to the Sella Ronda circuit and 1200km of slopes. The amount of open slopes this time in late March boggles the mind. The Alta Badia region has 53 ski lifts with access to piste for all levels. I am told that this region is popular with families, given the diverse range of skiing. Marco from the Scola De Schi Dolomites joined us that afternoon and showed us that even with blue bird sky. There were still great stretches of firm piste. If you are looking for a guide in the region, it is worth arranging a day with the Ski Dolomites team. In order to fully appreciate the magnitude of this

vast ski region, I do (for once) recommend a top ski guide. We also opted to take some snowboarding lessons with them. I definitely got the hang of it and Carlotta was great at lifting my 13-stone frame off the deck, but my ego couldn’t take it for long. It isn’t as easy as it looks.

After a long day of skiing and boarding, there was something comforting about knowing the hotel’s transfer van was a call away. Sure, the walk to the hotel was 5 minutes, but if they were coming anyway, why not. Later that night, we all arrived en masse at the Rosa Alpina Spa for a sauna and a

steam, not to mention a host of treatments.

Three days really aren’t enough, I assure you.

The hotel also offers a grill option for dining, at its Wine Bar and Grill. Should you want a little more space, there is the glorious Penthouse with its own fireplace, kitchen and chef.

Rosa Alpina has covered all the bases here: two leading restaurants, a fantastic bar, sublime service and a staff that really go out of their way to make you feel at home.

Book now for the 2014 season to ensure maximum bragging rights.

TR

THE REVIEW 2014 63

San Lorenzo Mountain Lodge Words: PETER J ROBINSON

For over 25 years, Giorgia and Stefano Barbini typified the world of fashion and haute couture design. Both owners of their respective fashion houses, they embarked upon an ambitious project to lovingly restore a sixteenth century farmhouse they found in the now Italian, but former Austrian, region of South Tyrol. The exact name is San Lorenzo di Sebato.

When Stefano and Giorgia came upon the 42 acres of pristine woods and meadows that was to become San Lorenzo Mountain Lodge, there was little ‘lodge’ to speak of.

The property had been formally owned by

“Giorgia prepares all meals in a manner befitting of a Gault Millau rating” the local clergy and was used as a battue hunting lodge. Stefano tells us that the deer often come down from the tree line into the gardens. Taking pot shots seems a little unfair from that distance perhaps.

The building itself was nothing more than

ruins when they started. This was very much a ground-up build, but one that would require immense attention to detail in order to restore it using traditional methods. The roof shingles, for example, aren’t machined; they are hand cut from solid wood and deteriorate twice as fast as the manmade equivalent. Such is the nature of maintaining this property’s delicate balance with nature and rustic romanticism – everything must be carefully preserved in order to look after the local land and feel of the property.

One thing that required serious ecoplanning was the integration of a private

T R AV E L : S A N L O R E N Z O

golf course into the landscape. That’s right, a golf course. The lodge sits at an altitude of 1200 meters, so when we were told it had golf facilities, we couldn’t quite fathom it.

True to his word, in 2012, Stefano worked with American golf course architect Ron Kirby and Paolo Gueltrini, a young designer, to bring his idea to life. San Lorenzo’s green is almost an identical replica of the famous “Valley of Sin” from St Andrew’s Old Course.

The green was specifically created from manmade fibres in order to avoid using complex chemicals to maintain a real green.

If, of course, you choose to take in the other

local courses, the green-side helipad is there to whisk you away to a variety of famous and exquisite golf courses. If this wasn’t enough, the lodge has its own spring, so uses its own water. Expect to see Greenpeace holding their annual think tank here.

The chalet is clearly a labour of love for its owners. Every detail echoes their style and design heritage. Valuable antiques have obviously been painstakingly preserved, whilst modern objects have been cautiously fitted in, so not to upset the balance of nature and modernity. The furniture and textiles used all help to perpetuate the wholesome and

native atmosphere.

The breakfast room and dining area keep their original structure within the stübe where all meals are served. The stübe is a traditional wooden panelled parlour with a bed atop a large kiln-like edifice. Even the heating in the lodge is traditional, as the smell of fir wood fills the air. If you are opting to hire the lodge as we did – fully catered – you are in for a treat.

Giorgia prepares all meals in a manner befitting of a Gault Millau rating. Her menu is incredibly warm and rustic – never before has the term ‘home cooked’ been so beauti-

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fully actualised. Rocket with juicy Italian tomatoes and strips of beef; artisan cheese wrapped in the local speck, the hanging hooks of which can still be found in the entrance hall. This is the sort of cooking that would keep me coming back again and again. We joked on the first night about the local poppy seed cake being used to send the children off to sleep. This symbolism wasn’t lost when Giorgia lovingly cooked a poppy seed dessert on our second night. All the meals are served with Stefano as sommelier, showing his passion for local wines as he pairs them from his cellar. This is a man that loves to entertain friends and family. Within 30 minutes of being in their company, we all felt like part of the Barbini troupe.

After dinner it was time to retire to the drawing room, a side room fitted with luxurious

furs, lounge suites and chairs by Baxter and Flamant. Grappa was obviously the aperitif of choice along with several espressos.

The lodge has four bedrooms, three of which are double and all have breathtaking views over mountains and meadows. One room actually has Stefano’s family bed in it, passed down from generation to generation. All the bedrooms are connected by a central landing complete with open fire and soft furnishings. I’m sure if we hadn’t been having such a good time everywhere else, we would have taken to the upstairs area quite nicely. There is also a bunk room for four little ones connected to one of the bedrooms through an adjoining bathroom. Upstairs you will also find a spa built with ancient wood and quartz, Finnish sauna, Turkish bath, chromotherapy lamps, an emotion

shower and an indoor whirlpool for four people. Oh, and Stefano hand crafted the wooden rocking recliners himself. Is there no end to the Barbini creative flair? No. Outside, through the heavy wooden garden door, there are more surprises: a seating area with flame bowl and a ten-person whirlpool overlooking the majestic Dolomites and the valley below. It even comes complete with a heat lamp to dry your robe.

The following morning, I awoke early to see the sunrise over the majestic mountains and take a stroll up the lane to take in the atmosphere. The Dolomites are a visual place of wonder; at day’s end the sun sets and the sky glows pink in every direction.

With the team packed into the van, it was a mere 15-minute drive down the mountain to work off some of our indulgence. Not

before a beautiful breakfast from Giorgia, of course. Local poached eggs and the most delicate croissant I’ve ever tasted.

The Kronplatz lift area boasts a half pipe, slalom run, board park, a range of runs for all levels and wifi on every lift and bubble. I appreciate the need to unplug whilst away, but how else can you post a boastful picture for all to see, whilst you are skiing in March.

“I don’t know if you know this, but I am just having such a better time than you right now”.

Obviously all this glorious weather began to take its toll on the snow, but luckily Stefano had offered to guide us with all the zeal of a rural convert, and so took us to the other side of the mountain that had retained its shade. If you really are a skiing fanatic and go every season with family or friends, the

Dolomites should be on your list. If you are happy to rise early, then the conditions are great for morning skiing way into late March.

Having had lunch with Artur Costabiei from Kronplatz, it is clear that this development is one of the most technically advanced ski areas in the world. Their new development budget is hearty and no doubt international tourism will go through the roof over the next five years. I urge you to consider a trip before it becomes everyone’s new winter escape. Perhaps even look into the local property market. Stefano even shared a local toast with us, which shall remain private, of course (please write in for full details).

Later that night, after a well-deserved soak, we were treated to a ride on Stefano’s Ferrari. Not quite the prancing horse I had in

mind, rather a Dutch number by the name of Berkel. That’s right, a painstakingly restored Berkel and a side of the local Speck.

Cue the familiar sound of Prosecco-charged glasses and the scene was set.

The San Lorenzo Mountain Lodge has more to offer in a day than anywhere I have ever stayed. Everything has a story; nothing is there for the sake of it. The property and surrounding land is a thing of true unadulterated beauty, romantic to the core and in need of some form of Unesco World Heritage plaque. If you are planning your 2014 ski break and looking for a property that will truly stay in your heart for many years to come, look no further. Spend a week with Stefano and Giorgia Barbini – truly beautiful people in a part of the world that is indescribably enchanting.

TR

TR

THE REVIEW 2014 67

SOHO H

Words: DR. PA

HOUSE

T R AV E L : S O H O H O U S E

AUL FARROW

THE REVIEW 2014 69

After a huge meal, Lucy and I were in the sort of mood that have defined us since the beginning of our relationship. As you can probably tell from her review of Hartmanns, Lucy was pretty excited, and the plethora of wines she had sampled had given her a buzz that not even the blusteriest of Berlin rain could dampen. I, on the other hand, am my father’s son, and after a good long meal and plenty of wine, I like to do what any self-respecting grouch does: go directly to my bed and mull over what I have just consumed.

However, another defining factor in our relationship is Lucy’s complete and utter dominance over our joint decisions. I say ‘joint’, but there is rarely anything joint in our decision-making process. What she says goes. She is kind though; she often allows me the luxury of believing that my input is taken on board whilst ever so subtly using jedi mind tricks to get exactly what she wants and when she wants it. I know her game; I’ve just stopped fighting it.

And she wanted to party. She had that fourglass glint in her eye that is only satisfied by the addition of at least four more glasses. Normally I would have resisted harder, but in this particular instance, she was right. We were in Berlin for three nights only and we had just checked into what was clearly the coolest place on Earth: Soho House. The place just oozed cool from the moment we walked in.

There was a Damien Hirst on the wall, the people at reception swore within moments of us entering the establishment (in a polite, convivial manner) and when we saw our room (or, more accurately, our loft) we both had exactly the same reaction: this was a place to party.

Fortunately I had a few friends in Berlin that were definitely the sort of people to jump

at the chance to abuse the Soho House’s hospitality, so I gave them a call. Infuriatingly, they were hard to convince. None of them had heard of Soho House (a testament to its exclusivity) and none of them were likely to enter the required pay bracket that would mean they were even likely to hear of it in the future, let alone book a room there. They were fools, I thought. Utter fools.

I persevered, and within 15 minutes of guilttripping I managed to drag them across town against their better judgement. But it was worth it. I will always remember the transition in their demeanour from going to meet them at reception to when they entered the loft. From faces full of begrudging resentment to wonderment and appreciation. They saw the turntables in the middle of the room, the fussball table by the balcony. They saw the bottles of champagne and spirits, the sofas and the food. Our resident DJ Tommy Dee threw on some hip hop and we proceeded to do as much damage to the place without actually causing any damage. We’re not that rock and roll.

The resultant party lasted until roughly 6am and in that time I feel we utilised the loft’s ample facilities to the best of our abilities. However, the problem with having so much fun in our room was that we didn’t have a whole lot of time to sample some of Soho House’s other attractions, such as its glamorous bar and rooftop pool. During the revelry, I would periodically state (roughly once an hour) that we were wasting a glorious opportunity and that we should make our way upstairs to have an impromptu pool party. I am not sure what I thought Lucy and I were going to use as swimming costumes (although that wouldn’t have bothered my intrepid fianceé, her being

quite the exhibitionist… often to my chagrin), but I was willing to give it a go nonetheless.

As the moon sunk and the sun peeped its unforgiving head through the venetians, I decided that it was time for the fun to stop. After a quick round of egg sandwiches, which saw all of the eggs and bread get instantaneously devoured in a cataclysmic display of culinary calamity, it was time to bid auf wiedersehen to our Berliners and bed down in preparation for our final day in Germany’s most vibrant city.

After six hours sleep, I awoke in a panic.

Check-out was in 5 minutes, and Lucy and I had not yet packed or rang downstairs to arrange a late check-out. After the guys at Soho House generously gave us another 30 minutes to compose ourselves, I made my way from the bedroom into the main area of the loft. The carnage was everywhere. It was emanating from the walls and devouring the floor. The fantasy of last night had turned into a horror of a morning, but at least I had the amazing bathroom facilities and toiletries to perk me up. That sounds like a sentence I have been paid to add, but I can honestly say that the shower I had that morning was one of the best of I have ever had. I am not sure if it was the shower itself, or the fact that I was momentarily transported away from my enormous hangover and into the lap of luxury, but I would wager a mix of both. Either way, it was glorious.

In summary, Soho House is extremely cool.

If you want to be handled with kid gloves and lavished in pomp and ceremony, then Soho House is not for you. If you want to go to a hotel, keep a low profile but still have a night to remember, book yourself a loft.

TR

w w w. s a n l o r e n z o m

m o u n ta i n l o d g e . c o m

THE REVIEW 2013 73

REMCO MERBIS

Remco Merbis is a Bristol based creative director, filmmaker and photographer. Originally from Rotterdam, The Netherlands, Remco has been running award-winning digital design agency Pixillion for the last 14 years working for clients such as the Royal Geographical Society, Technology Strategy Board, Encounters International Film Festival, National Trust and Creative England. Remco embraced photography in 2013 and has been building his portfolio since. His main interests are in fashion and portrait photography, with some travel and documentary thrown in the mix.

Tailor David Minns asked me to take some pictures for the website of Brown In Town, his shop in Hotel Du Vin in Bristol, which opened a week after the shoot. I love how we got all the details in and how the colours work together in this shot.

THE REVIEW 2014 83

C U LT U R E : R E M C O M E R B I S

Tabitha Taya. One of a series of studio portraits. Tabitha is the founder of LivingMRKH, an initiative designed to help progress the knowledge of Mayer Rokitansky Kuster Hauser Syndrome (MRKH) which defines the absence of a uterus, which affects 1 in 5,000 women. I love doing portrait sessions with a story attached to them.

THE REVIEW 2014 75

After having explored various photography directions everything fell into place on a long summer evening when I went out with fashion blogger Becky May. The portrait/fashion angle, the collaboration with the model, using available light, the styling, it all felt right and that shows in the end result.

It’s one of my favourite shoots. Becky and I have done about 8 more shoots since.

I love doing portraits. I’ve met so many amazing and lovely people through my photography. Brand guru and self-styled Lord Shoreditch Steve Edge took me around his neighbourhood for a session. This was the last picture we shot, in Electricity Showrooms on Hoxton Square, and it’s the one we both selected.

THE REVIEW 2014 77

I regularly shoot tests with the new faces of modelling agencies. Over the course of a few hours we usually shoot a series of outfits and hair and make-up styles. This is Molly, represented by Storm, London, who came to the studio last month. The models usually do their own styling, but on this particular shoot the fabulous Debbie Hampson was in charge of hair and make-up.

Graphic Designer Kateland Clarke is a regular collaborator. This one is a favourite from our third session. She has a fantastic face and a different hair style every time we meet. We always take our time to try new things which is invaluable for my progression.

THE REVIEW 2014 79

Pembrokeshire. The Gentlemen’s Hour. A man prepares to go into the waves. I loved the wooden board and the setting and I managed to get a shot before he disappeared from my view. It’s getting these spontaneous opportunities that I love about travel photography, which contrasts nicely with the fashion and portrait shoots I do where things are more considered upfront.

Rotterdam, The Netherlands, on a very rainy day in November. We couldn’t postpone the shoot, so we worked with what we had. I have a list of things I want to try and shooting through glass using reflections was on it. Model: Daisy.

Styling by Durf Styling and Inge Baars.

Landscapes and architecture and some street photography are favourite subjects too, so when I travel the camera is always in my bag.

This particular shot was taken in Rotterdam, which is heaven if you’re into bold and daring architecture. It features both the old and new at the Wilhelminakade on the south bank of the river Maas, when one of Europe’s

THE REVIEW 2014 81

Zion Flex, Testimony MC Artist from Bristol in my studio in February 2014.

The mood, styling and lighting all came together in this one.

Table Manner Words: LAITH AL-KAISY

I have never given anything ten out of ten.

Not food, not sex, not a book, not a film, not an album, and certainly not a restaurant. Imagine the existential impasse, the cultural cul-de-sac of grading things immaculately. What would be left, except to die the perfect death? To me, nine out of ten is the highest possible accolade. If you get a nine, that’s an idiot’s ten. But don’t be fooled – it’s still not perfect.

Perfection can only be judged once you’ve

tried everything else. When I’m on my deathbed, only then will I go back and revise all the ‘eights’ and ‘nines’, because only then will I have a complete experience, a complete understanding of the options, the contrasts, the betterments, the final frontiers of exceptionalism and taste.

Until then, everyone should be happy with a nine. I certainly am.

Grading is a funny old thing. I hate doing it, which is why you’ll never see a rating

system on these pages. My opinion isn’t quantifiable by stars or numbers, and neither is your intelligence. What I have decided to do, however, is give a few awards to the best and worst dishes over the past gastronomic year. I realise that lists are equally ubiquitous and meaningless, but it was jolly good fun looking back at the last 365 day of food nevertheless.

So, here are the meals I’ve either scoffed down or scoffed at.

Top Dishes

Worst Dishes

Assiette of lamb, Seven Park Place, London A journey on a plate, comprising loin, neck and tongue. My dish of the year.

Heritage tomato salad with warm goats cheese, The Boundary, London A close second, this is one of the freshest, simplest and best-conceived dishes I have ever tasted. Frederick Forster is doing outstanding work at The Boundary.

Razor clams, Cantine du Troquet, Paris Beautiful seafood that is cooked perfectly and served like your mother made it – rustic and plentiful.

Seafood risotto, Proto, Dubrovnik Risotto isn’t an exciting dish, but this is probably the best plate of food in Croatia.

Lamb sweetbreads, Iberica, London Innards, off-cuts and viscera are rarely done this well.

Iberica is an outstanding yet underrated tapas joint.

Squid, Ocean Grill, St Ives A restaurant so abjectly bad that it’s hard to pick just one worst dish.

Scallops, the Rib Room, London Not a terrible dish per se, just a terrible let down.

Razor clams, Hutong, London Cold, slimy and chewy – like eating a discarded Eskimo condom.

Sea cucumber, Shang Palace, Beijing Being the only man on a table of five women, I ate this sea slug with a smile. In truth, a piece of me died that night. This is no reflection on the restaurant, which was stunning.

D I N I N G O U T : TA B L E M A N N E R

Brompton Asian Brasserie, London, SW3

The problem with Brompton Asian Brasserie is its reputation. Hype is a funny thing. It blinds and persuades us. It makes us think and act against our better judgement. If you’re someone who knows about restaurants, then you’re never going to sit down in Brompton Asian Brasserie without preconceptions. After all, this is Novikov’s little sister. Yes, Novikov – the gastronome’s favourite namedrop.

The problem with hype is that I automatically go against it. It’s inexplicable and reactionary; an involuntary reflex. For instance, if everyone raves about a film, I will avoid it.

Seriously. I just can’t stand the whirlwind of propaganda surrounding a product or service, seeing it create hysterical anticipation and encouraging swarms of people to queue and beg to be the next to experience it. The most recent example is Burger & Lobster, which, in true egalitarian spirit, doesn’t accept bookings. You can watch hoards of people queuing outside at all times of year, desperate to get a table and losing their dignity in the process. But who would honestly queue for an hour to get a table anywhere?

It’s ludicrous and demoralising.

Do people undergo some sort of joint lobotomy? This is London. If somewhere is full, walk 100 metres and find a restaurant that is just as good, if not better. I still haven’t

been to Burger & Lobster, simply because I have been put off by the inane, cattle-like mania surrounding it. Plus, it’s just beef and shellfish, not Mila Kunis’ naughty bits, despite what the insufferable buffoon who sits next to you at work says.

Brompton Asian Brasserie is as you’d expect: typically Arkady Novikov, otherwise known as an oligarch’s wank. Yet somehow the ostentation gets lost in a characterless sea of boring, socialist grey, and vaunts all the excitement of a rollmop.

The menu is extensive and intelligently put together with dishes that people actually want to eat: tempura, dim sum, sushi, plus things from the grill and wok. No superfluity, no pomp.

For once, we made a quick decision about what to eat and were palpably excited.

However, the waiter was quick to kibosh this, slashing our dinner in half because he reckoned we’d over-ordered. I appreciate the honesty, but it struck me as a little bizarre that he would encourage less eating, rather than more. Perhaps he forgot, in a moment of reckless altruism, that his tip was a percentage of the order.

Never mind, we took his advice. And he was right about the salt and pepper squid, though despite being plentiful, it lacked any real kick up the arse. The seasoning was fine, but the crunch was missing and the poor little mollusc was overdone and

rubbery, which is inexcusable.

The scallop with pork crackling was well judged, but far too small for two people, which means the waiter cocked up on this one. What we did taste, however, was seafresh meat, perfectly charred on the grill for that unmistakable taste of barbequed shellfish. This came with brittle, salty crackling that snapped and oinked on impact like savoury popping candy, or Porky Pig doing the cancan on my tongue.

Exceptional.

Grilled lamb cutlets were apparently served in lime and ‘Thai flavours’, which is a bit like describing Sunday lunch as ‘roast beef with English flavours’. It was fine, although you’ll never convince me that lamb should be used in Thai dishes. That said, if you like your sheep done ‘fusion’, that’s with a willy and a boob job, then don’t listen to me, you’ll probably love it.

Try as I might, I just can’t like Brompton Asian Brasserie. This all comes back to Burger & Lobster. It’s all a fad, a gimmick, because if you happen to find yourself in Knightsbridge with an aching to pay £75 per head, there’s no sober, mentally-stable reason you’d choose a restaurant that’s piggybacking on the name of an overrated restaurateur who gets away with so-so food, shit decor and self-parodying clientele.

There are just too many better places to be seen wasting your money in.

THE REVIEW 2014 85

Boisdale, London, E14

How do you turn the cold-nosed, soddenfooted misery of Scotland into a fine dining experience? Despite eating my way through the UK, until visiting Boisdale in Canary Wharf, I hadn’t eaten in a Scottish restaurant, or a Scottish-themed restaurant, or even at a Scottish person’s house. I have no connection to Scotland, beyond casual alcoholism and a fondness for porridge. I have no friends or family who are Scottish, or who live in Scotland. I’ve never even shagged a Scottish girl, which is strange considering Scotland is on the same island as my bed.

Everything I know about Scotland is a received cliché; a red-faced, ginger lie.

Boisdale does nothing to overcome these untruths. What Planet Hollywood is to Tinseltown, Boisdale is to Scotland. The carpet is tartan, the walls are red, and disembodied stag heads are mounted sporadically around the restaurant. Eastern bloc waitresses prance around with their best highland jig, mini-kilts, and apparent fancy for all things north of Hadrian’s Wall. Then there’s the live band. Tonight it’s Jackie Graham singing 80s soul. This should be a joke. This shouldn’t work. This should be terribly

un-PC and distasteful, the type of offendeveryone, unsubtle, hyper-ironic humour found in a Lloyd Kaufman film. But it’s done with such love, such innocent misjudgement and such genuine eccentricity that it’s actually somewhat endearing.

The menu is an ode to the Highlands; classic cardiac arrest. A glance at the starters is enough to see that it’s terribly overpriced too. Still, it’s a fun selection of food that caters to both anxious and adventurous eaters (though what Iranian beluga is doing in the mix is anyone’s guess).

To start, scallops with cauliflower puree and chorizo – that’s a proper ménage à trois of flavours right there. As a lonesome, antisocial food writer, seeing simple ingredients put together like this is the equivalent of getting your leg over at the office party. It’s what makes the job so damn sufferable.

The dish was an absolute joy, as was the haggis with mashed potatoes and neeps, served with a ‘noggin’ of Chivas Regal. Haggis is definitely a critic’s dish. The more repulsive something is, the more we love it. Offal, innards and glands are our plats du jour.

The haggis here was a sheered sheep turned inside out: the meat was coarse, muscular and meltingly delicate – Scotland encased in

a sheep’s stomach.

Rack of lamb is probably my favourite cut of meat. I order cutlets so often that, if I saw another writer doing the same, I’d call it anti-journalistic, lazy and a disservice to the reader. In this case, I should have ordered something else, not because it wasn’t a decent, blushing rack of lamb, but when you’ve been binging on the stuff all over town, your idea of the perfect rack becomes harsher and more refined. Nowadays, a sheep basically has to write a thesis on Wittgenstein to make any sort of impression.

The partridge, the special of the day, was plump and proud. Partridge isn’t my thing on any menu in any restaurant, but proved a resounding hit with the lady, who stripped it down to the carcass like a vulture in the desert at sundown.

Boisdale is an anomaly in Canary Wharf.

I have no idea who comes here, but it was properly busy with actual people, who were all happy and chatty and masticating with convivial abandon. There is nothing ‘fine’ about this place. Boisdale has no room for gastronomic pretensions, so leave your expectations, snobbery and self-importance with the financial twerps in Canada Square, and embrace a night in a parallel dimension.

Hutong, London, The Shard

Culturally speaking, we probably don’t see eye to eye. Your favourite play is Waiting for Godot, mine is Faustus. You like Karouac, I prefer Burroughs. Most of you would choose the Mona Lisa, but I’ll take Duchamp’s moustachioed version.

Yet there is one cultural point that we probably can all agree on: a collective, rational dislike for the Shard – the architectural offence, the phallic eyesore that can be seen from just about anywhere in London. This monument to nothing, this heinous Lego hard-on is slowly becoming the be-all and end-all of the city; a place where locals and tourists arrive, slack-jawed and doe-eyed, to marvel at twenty-first century anti-culture.

It’s not clever and it’s not pretty.

For such an imposing structure, the Shard is tiny inside. You go in and there are more people fluffing and frisking you than there are guests. Everyone is a suspect, everyone is vetted, as if we’ve all just arrived on an inbound flight from South America without passports and an arse full of cocaine. It’s all hi-vis smiles and hi-vis jackets.

The absurdity thankfully ends on the

thirty-third floor, when the restaurant staff take over. Hutong is quite simply stunning; a modern temple to Chinese cuisine. The design and forensic attention to detail is wholly befitting of the Shard’s aspirations and grandiosity.

If aesthetic and status is what you’re paying for – which of course, it is – then Hutong is already worth triple the cost of your local Chinese takeaway. The lighting is crack-den dark. The panoramic windows give a beautifully dystopian and futuristic overview of London. The interior is raven and sleek, with exotic plants punctuating the void. And actually, it’s more authentic to modern-day China than anything you’ll find in Chinatown.

Can anyone really make sense of a Chinese menu? Let’s face it, when getting takeout, we all order the same old crap, so when presented with high-end versions of the dishes we know and love, it’s hard to know what to choose. As my brother would say, “Don’t go off-piste”.

We started with roasted Peking duck, which was as good as any Peking duck I’ve ever had – that includes restaurants in Beijing

and Xi’an. It was served the proper way too, with the skin and fat used to make the pancakes, and the actual duck meat taken away and turned into a stir fry. The razor clams were lamentably bad: cold, rubbery and slimy, like licking the floor behind a slug. That’s what you get for picking a wildcard dish.

Crispy shredded beef was miles ahead of your local Golden Dragon: brittle outside, chewy inside, with a candy-like chilli sauce.

The dim sum platter included crab, scallop and pork. Each parcel was precision thinness; a humble rice membrane crammed full of delicately steamed meat. The noodles were forgettable, an afterthought, which is quite frankly criminal for restaurant of this calibre.

Hutong is a very good Chinese restaurant, but also a very expensive Chinese restaurant.

However, you’re paying for knowledge and quality ingredients here, not bulk-bought, frozen chicken balls with microwaveable sweet and sour sauce. You’re also paying for the Shard, which may look like the Wizard of Oz’s midlife crisis, but actually offers one of the best views to break bread in the world.

THE REVIEW 2014 87

Babbo, London, W1S

It’s impossible to hate Italian food. That’s one of life’s incontrovertible truths. What’s to hate?

Italy is peasant food at its best, and we are all peasants at heart. When stripped of pretension and materialism, all we have is food and drink.

And after all, dinner is the great metaphor for life. Everything is salt of the earth, chicken in a pot, a spoonful of sugar, and spilt milk. And if food is the great metaphor for life, then Italy is the bottomless metaphor for food.

Food, for Italians, is the very essence of existence. Pasta, bread, oil, olives, wine – it’s all sustenance for the soul, mouthfuls of ambition, and the protein of providence. Italian families are bound by food; it is the centrepiece of their days, their celebrations, and their lives. Daughters spend years learning the craft, and sons will search for women to fill the foccacia-shaped holes in their stomachs that their mammas leave behind.

Italian food ultimately comes down to one thing: passion. You can taste passion, no matter

SEVEN PARK PLACE DINING ROOM

how simple a dish is. Pasta served with a knob of butter shouldn’t be one of life’s unshakeable pleasures, but it is. Pasta should get boring, but it doesn’t, simply because there’s an abstract ingredient that transcends egg, flour and water.

If the secret to a good Italian restaurant is passion, then we should get rid of Italian fine dining, because it is a contradiction in terms.

Italian portions are rustic, generous and hearty, not neat and fancy.

I knew Babbo was going to be good. You only have to consider the name. Babbo means father, which couldn’t be more adorably Italian if it wore cashmere and laundered money.

Nothing about Babbo is excessive. The room is elegant and warm, and the waiters are amiable and effusive.

To start, I ordered crispy squid; she ordered saffron risotto. The dishes arrived. She took one bite and pulled a face that told me she didn’t want to take another. We swapped dishes.

Moments like these are what make this job so fascinating. Here is a dish detested by one per-

son and lauded by another. For me, the saffron risotto alone is enough to tell me everything I need to know about the chef, Carlo Scotto.

Both clever and ambrosial, it goes from sticky to floral to sweet parmesan, and is one of the best things I’ve put in my mouth this year. The squid was just right too: tender and chew-free, with a light and fluffy batter. When the squid you serve is better than your Michelin-starred rivals, you’ve got to be doing something right.

The lamb came with little ceremony, but the combination of buxom meat with smoked aubergine puree, spinach and sweetbread was enough to get me whet. By adding the aubergine and deep-fried courgette, the chef instantly turned an otherwise standard dish into a historic Mediterranean symphony.

This is unimpeachable cooking in first-rate surroundings. Babbo proves that you don’t need the air and vainglory of typical Mayfair restaurants to serve some of the best food in London. All you need is an Italian chef who misses his mother.

Tom’s Kitchen, London, E14

I’m sick of it. I’m done with the white-linen, silver-service pretension. I’m over having my chair pulled in and out every time I stand up and sit down. I don’t need a waiter to put a napkin on my lap each time I leave it on the table, or buzz around waiting to clean up every crumb that falls out of my fat, unsophisticated gob. I will sigh with relief for every sentence I get through without being interrupted with “Sir, this meat was raised in a convent and fed on a nun’s teat”. And I certainly won’t miss those glacial, surly glances from waiters who’d be better off cast in La Cage aux Folles than working in a restaurant.

I’m just sick of waiters. Here’s a novel idea: why not leave me alone to enjoy my food? Is that too much to ask?

I was at Lasserre last month, which is one of the most famous restaurants in Paris, if not the world. I counted more waiting staff than customers. At times, three of them were all bumbling around our table, seemingly doing nothing but shuffling things about and grinning their best French grins. It shrieked of fandangle and frippery.

I remember looking around and clocking the

diners who were there for lunch; the type of people who don’t think twice about spending 400 euros a head on a weekday afternoon; the type of people who enjoy the figurative public handjob.

Aside from food poisoning, not much causes such seething fury as over-attentive or obnoxious waiters. It’s just plain rude. And to make matters worse, we play into the waiter-knowsbest game, because ultimately, he or she is in control. Waiters set the pace of the night and mediate between your belly and your meal.

Refreshing it was, then, to visit the newest branch of Tom Aiken’s restaurant, Tom’s Kitchen, in Canary Wharf. There’s a proper middleclass, middlebrow, pull-up-a-haystack feel to the restaurant. It treads a fine line between being too posh for scumbags and too folksy for tossers, which means it’s just right for the rest of us.

Don’t forget, Aikens is a Michelin-starred chef, and Tom’s Kitchen is his foray into informal, steak-and-chips dining. Where most chefs fail at this, he gets it just right, not least of all the service. The girl who served us was brimming with charm and enthusiasm, and there wasn’t a modicum of servile, phoney familiarity. She

was chatty but not imposing; knowledgeable but not condescending. Clone her.

The menu is taut and seasonal which, for a place with so many covers, is really quite disciplined. The fois gras parfait with brioche and shallot chutney was beautifully pressed, unctuously smooth and smacking of iron.

Scallops came opaque and sweet, with a buttery squash and sage sauce.

Duck with celeriac mash and spiced pear is a perfect comfort meal. Dishes like this sit shrewdly on the menu, an adroit mix of hearty grub and fine dining. Most importantly, it tasted good, as did the rib-eye steak. A restaurant may have a list of beef as long as a cow’s tongue, but you only ever get served a good steak or a bad steak. This one was faultless.

The only disappointment with Tom’s Kitchen is that we sat down at 6pm and had to leave at 7pm, in order to watch Kiwi rockers The Datsuns in Islington. No time for dessert, but enough time to know that Aikens and his staff are running this restaurant the way restaurants are meant to be run – with genial service, quality ingredients, and a menu that’s so rock and roll, we probably didn’t even need to go to Islington.

TR

THE REVIEW 2014 89

The Gore I decided that, before putting pen to paper, I would see what Joe and Jayne Everyday had to say about this South Kensington bolthole. Then I remembered that members of the public that post hotel reviews online are as mad as a box of badgers.

“Bring your purse to the bar.” What, as oppose to arriving penniless, ordering a raft of drinks then asking to pay the beleaguered barman in kind? Fiona from Sterling – no, no, no.

A personal favourite: “You can fill yourself up with complimentary coffees and teas from the marvellous and ingenious, no-mess Nespresso machine”. Well, ‘Jontyc’, coffee is a longstanding beverage, one that doesn’t warrant marginalisation in favour of Nespresso, I assure you. Some people should stick to their day jobs.

The Gore was established as a hotel in 1892, with the current owners or conglomerate taking over in 2006. The entrance on Queens Gate is typical of ‘embassy row’, as I call it. Fly the flag, paint it white, etc.

The staff are as lovely as one would expect from a London hotel and of course exude the Ural charm. The concierge was a particularly helpful chap. An engaging concierge is always a must in central London’s touristcentric establishments. Arguably, the Gore invites a different calibre of tourist, as it is the official hotel of the proms, being a stone’s

throw from The Royal Albert Hall.

Mahogany meets stone floors, tapestries, Farrow and Ball paint, antiques – really everything you would expect from a Jayne Austin novel. However, the Chubb lock wasn’t something I had expected on the inside of the door in our ‘wonderful’ double.

If you are going to have the antique door handles on the bathroom detailed, let’s not forget the Chubb lock! It can, of course, be a lock provided by any manufacturer, but no one wants to see a piece of lump metal that has clearly been placed using minimum ef-

T R AV E L : T H E G O R E

fort by the tradesperson. It did mean that our Edwardian bunker would be safer than most.

The Gore has fifty rooms altogether, ten of which are feature. Those might have been nice to stay in.

Whilst my partner took a relaxing soak in a beautifully-tiled period bathroom, I considered moving the furniture, so that I could get close enough to watch the TV. Having given up, I decided that I would go to the business centre to print out three single documents I had forgotten to bring with me. The desk featured a late-2000 PC, with a wonderful

view over the sweeping staircase. I had plenty of time to appreciate it during my 30-minute mission to print documents. I am not a technophobe, you understand; technology is an important part of my working life. More so than most. So, a quick tip for the lords and masters of the hotel: a new desktop or iMac is recommended. Or a secretary capable of shorthand with a typewriter, all faster and more suited to a period hotel.

I have to say, the old desktop did make me wonder if they had specifically decided to let it age, given the concept that anyone who is

well-to-do can’t be seen to be tech savvy.

Regardless, I had my documents. After several drinks in the local area with friends, we retired to the hotel and, of course, slept like logs. Well, I did. I always do.

The following morning saw an early start, a spot of eggs Benedict in Bistro One Ninety and out into the Big Smoke.

Irrespective of my sometimes over-critical eye, the Gore is a hotel with substantial heritage and pedigree; a fine choice for those looking for a boutique-influenced establishment within close proximity of Kensington.

TR

THE REVIEW 2014 91

The Back Bar

In the first of a four-part series, the team at the fabled Rummer Hotel in Bristol will be reviewing a selection of whiskies from The Whisky Exchange. This issue, Chelsie Bailey leads Daniel Vidowsky and Borbala Csorvasi in a tasting of the historic Glenfarclas 15 and 20 year old. Read it here, or click the page to watch the video.

Glenfarclas 15 year old, 70cl, 46% £41.25

“I should never have switched from scotch to Martinis”. Bogie was only 57 when he died.

When he was sick, he was frequently visited

by Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy who heard him speak the immortal words the night before his death. Obviously smoking killed him, not the sauce. Livers were issued during the 1900s, made only from carbon fibre, so there was little to no change of falling from a taxi, spread eagle on the pavement.

The Glenfarclas distillery was granted a license some 63 years before Humphrey Bogart was born. Presumably before that they were making moonshine in the forests around Ballindalloch.

The distilleries original owner was Robert Hay, who sold the operation to John Grant in 1865. Today, it is still run by his descendants.

Far be it from me to open up the discussion into heritage branding and change of ownership.

There are 50,000 casks maturing on site in the traditional dunnage warehouses, with stock from ‘52 to present day.

Are you thirsty now? Are you making excuses to leave the house for thirty minutes to see if they serve it in your local? Well, they don’t.

Glenfarclas is a special drop. No doubt you can find it in certain highbrow establishments, but certainly not in the local battle cruiser.

This issue we are taking both the 15 year old and the 20 year old ‘105’ out for a walk.

The15-year-old already ranks as Chelsie’s favourite Speyside, and Glenfarclas is Dan’s favourite distillery so no bias here. The tasting notes are sherry, oak, cherry, stone fruits, raisins, dry dark fruits and apricots. This is not the first time the 15-year-old has been likened to a Christmas fruit cake. We are briefly tempted to see if the kitchen has any, but feel we might be straying wildly off topic. No one came for cake-tasting.

The nose is clearly full bodied and warm, well-balanced and full of punchy vapours – honey, sherry, orange.

DRINKS : WHISKY EXCHANGE

Both the 15 year old and 20 year old Glenfarclas are available from www.thewhiskyexchange.com

The majority feel this to be an armchair whisky enjoyed and savoured. Dan is convinced he could mix it convincingly into a cocktail, whilst everyone thinks that’s unfair for such a fine dram. One thing is for sure: if anyone can do it and stay true to the whiskies heritage, it is the team at the Rummer.

Glenfarclas 20 year old (105), 70cl, 60%, ÂŁ181

Color: Golden sherry Nose: Thick and warming, perfectly balanced; candied cherries, nutty, heather honey, sherry and warming vanilla Taste: Full and creamy texture; orange, raisin, sherry, vanilla and spice Onto the 20 year old Glenfarclas. The first comments are wood, leather and attic.

Clearly this is a whiskey forged for Tom Ford then. The 105 is obviously aged five years longer and so the colour is darker and the sherry notes are more prevalent towards the end rather than on the initial attack. It is a smoky blend hitting the mid-pallet and is a full punch sweeter than the 15. The first actual tasting notes are owl impressions, as the 105 hits the gullet. This is indeed a 60% and so delivers a mighty clout.

Spice, pepper, smoke, wood, leather, a variety of construction items and salad adornments are chosen as fitting notes. The choice is then taken to add water to the 105 to release some of the more subtle layers: raisins, dark fruit, coconut. The consensus is that adding a drop of water is a help, not hindrance. Moving on, we get toffee, and hints of chocolate adding a nice layer to the whiskey. Rounding out the flavour is a firm oakiness carrying a dollop of floral peat.

Once again, this is a slow sipping whiskey, and a complex one at that. Really take the time to appreciate it.

Color: Coppery amber Nose: Complex and inviting; toffee, spice, smoke Taste: Biting dark fruit, oakiness, construction equipment.

TR

TR

THE REVIEW 2014 93

The Nadler, Soho Words: JUSTINE ROWE

This understated gem of a hotel is located just off Soho Square. The Nadler strikes the perfect balance between form and function, and is undoubtedly the best you can get for your buck within a two-mile radius.

Style

Minimalist – the way we like it. There’s nothing superfluous here, just tasteful and clean design; a blend of business and pleasure. The colours are warm and elegant, which is exactly what you want from a hotel that can accommodate any occasion.

Room

The superior room is perfect for couples. We had a nearby event and the hotel was ideal for supping back a few wines whilst getting ready for the night ahead. The bed is, above all, comfortable and grown-up, and there’s a smart TV with web radio and connectivity to your mobile phone.

The bathroom is oil-slick black, debonair throughout. Lots of space and toiletries provided. Most importantly, however, it was spotless.

Dining

No on-site catering – but come on, you’re in central London, surrounded by some of the finest eateries and bars in Europe, so take full advantage of them. Food can also be ordered in – just speak to the specially-appointed hotel ambassadors, who will be happy to accommodate your requests.

Service

Other than a nice chap who delivered an iron, I didn’t see anyone other than the check-in staff, who were amiable and effusive – one of them even offered me a cupcake.

Value

Exceptional. For the location, service and room, you feel like you should be paying at least £50 more. But the savings made by not having a restaurant and bar are passed on to you. So take that £50 and put it towards a slapup meal.

T R AV E L : T H E NA D L E R S O H O

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Alentejo

Alentejo is a region that remains unspoiled by other tourists: sparsely populated and baking hot, it is a place that invites you to savour relaxing in spa hotels and on boats, eating Alentejo’s distinct bread dipped in locally produced olive oil from traditional pottery dishes, and drinking the plentiful variety of developing wines. Relax, eat, drink; the building blocks of a perfect break.

Words: CATHERINE WILCOX

Any landscape that achieves nearly three thousand hours of sunlight every year is an impressive alternative to the steel grey sky of the United Kingdom. And the rolling hills of Alentejo are spread liberally with vines, olive trees and cork oak woodland.

The rivers, lakes and beaches provide an ideal setting to soak up many of those 3,000 hours. The manmade Lake Alqueva, on the eastern border with Spain, has 83km of exploration opportunities, with hundreds of little islands to be explored by boat and bicycle and a plethora of watersports on offer.

It also connects many of Alentejo’s cultural

“The intense heat creates the ideal environment for smooth red wines of varying complexities and characters but consistent quality.” and historical hotspots, while also safeguarding against the risks of drought.

In the remaining non-sunlight hours of the year, Alqueva’s night sky comes highly recommended; the starlit canopy reflected on

the perfectly still waters is a uniquely peaceful experience. The Alqueva area was the first to be given the accolade of ‘Starlight Tourism Destination.’ This can be attributed to the region being sparsely inhabited and therefore largely free of light pollution – while equating to a third of Portugal’s landmass it holds just 5% of the population.

The country’s oldest city – Evora – is the jewel in Alentejo’s crown. UNESCO awarded the ancient settlement World Heritage Site status for its golden age architecture, a Roman Temple from the first century AD, and the Manueline signature nautical ropes that

T R AV E L : P O R T U G A L

adorn most public buildings. While rebuilding the city in the 1600s, Franciscan monks used the contents of the local graveyards to build the intriguing Capela dos Ossos – a chapel almost entirely constructed from human bones. It stands as a symbol of human equality in death, showing no distinction between races, religions or riches. Alongside these historical monuments, the city has many artisan boutiques, which are full of locally crafted jewellery, clothes, shoes, hand-painted pottery and more products made of cork than one could ever imagine.

The abundance of cork in the region allows

for many inventive uses of the material. One of Alentejo’s recent bloom of spa hotels – fittingly named Ecorkhotel – uses it to insulate their modern, minimalist exterior walls and decorate the interior ones, too. Alentejan people joke that you can’t open a new hotel in the region unless it has a spa attached, and there are certainly many to choose from.

L’And vineyard resort is less than an hour from Lisbon airport and provides the perfect antidote to your flight; we had our noses filled with the scent of eucalyptus, our muscles massaged with luxury products and a glass of the local produce in hand,

while sat by the outdoor pool, within just a few hours of touchdown – a fast track to relaxation! The resort also offers a uniquely luxurious way to sleep under the stars, with a skylight over the beds, which in summer can be opened to the air.

As soon as you enter Alentejan scenery, the bustle of Lisbon is forgotten; remarkable when you consider the proximity of Evora to the capital. This played a great role in the city’s selection as the favoured hideaway of Portuguese royalty when the plague was ravaging the capital. The Convento de Espinhiero was the monastery in which

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kings and queens would stay, and it now continues to provide a haven for the wise and wealthy as a five star hotel. In times past, it was the stage on which miracles and curses played out, allegedly altering the course of Portuguese succession. The hotel has fully embraced its history and character, including rooms named after the kings who stayed in them, religious statues in every corner, and a monthly mass in the consecrated 200-seater chapel.

The Moroccan chef’s experimental take on traditional Alentejan cuisine and the hand-harvested olive oil make a meal in Divinus restaurant unmissable. Traditional food in the region revolves around pork and the local speciality of mashed bread – more elegantly referred to as ‘migas.’ For an authentic Alentejan meal, the famous

and family-run Fialho is the first restaurant any local will recommend, but the newer Dom Joaquim serves an exquisite dish of traditional pork cheek and chestnuts with a walnut and apple chutney, which still makes my mouth water. For keen or inquisitive amateur chefs, many venues across the region offer cookery lessons, which presents a great opportunity to learn what goes into the food and to take a bit of Alentejo back to the dinner table at home. Or it’s just a good morning’s entertainment.

At Herdade do Esporão ,the restaurant and sun terrace look out across a vast expanse of the winery’s 160 hectares, and the cuisine naturally goes hand-in-hand with the local wine industry. The industry in Alentejo is a young one, but it grows every year, with vineyards experimenting with new blends

and developing their existing products continuously. Alentejan white wines can be crisp and fresh or rich and oaky, and many producers are creating rose blends due to high demand. The intense heat creates the ideal environment for smooth red wines of varying complexities and characters but consistent quality. The heat also means the wines pack an ABV punch, and Portuguese authorities have increased the percentage of a bottle of table wine to accommodate the hotter summers of more recent years.

With such a laidback pace to Alentejan life, and such an abundance of ways to relax and revitalise, it is an ideal destination for a sophisticated getaway with friends, a classier kind of hen holiday, or a splash of sunshine for a long weekend.

TR

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Hartmanns Words: LUCY STOTT

I am not a restaurant critic. But my fiancé, Paul, is. I am a scientific researcher (hence my rather direct prose) within the fish biology discipline (specifically trout – important later). In return for agreeing to marry Paul, he sometimes allows me to be his restaurant reviewer date (a benefit that just about makes up for the forthcoming matrimony). And the reason you are reading my review is because during our meal at Hartmann’s, Berlin, I felt so compelled by the food (the wine?) that I grabbed his voice recorder during our meal, rudely snapped my dishes (photos which I still look at weeks later) and duty-bound myself to the task of fluffy food talk.

I’ll start by getting the boring stuff out the way. Hartmann’s has a lot of good press and a Michelin star. It’s run by the affable Stefan Hartmann, who is one of the leading ‘new German cuisine’ chefs in a small (or intimate as all the other professional reviewers say) basement of a typical town house in an area called Kreuzberg – think Notting Hill but more Germans. Inside: white walls, white linen, white people. It’s a warm, romantic atmosphere with young, friendly staff and a little peephole into the kitchen round the corner, which I don’t know why, but I always take as a good omen.

Now to the nitty-gritty: the food (and the

reason why you’re reading my utterly biased opinion). The food is really, really great. Nod your head when asked if you’d like to try Stefan’s seven-course tasting menu with paired wines, then sit back and enjoy.

As some sort of recompense for my weekends of wine, wine, a cigarette or two and more wine, I consume an abnormal amount of beetroot and can’t get enough of the blood bulb. So, when the first course of beetroot three ways came up, I was very pleased. And it’s testament to Stefan’s cooking that Paul, who has started to shy away from the beet since I started side-dishing every meal I cook with them, also ate every last red smudge of it.

Next up, guess what? Rainbow trout. Had a private detective reported back to Stefan that his latest restaurant reviewer ate beetroot all day whilst staring at tanks of my dear trout?

A big fillet of my fish-of-choice safeguarded by two towers of salsify and big juicy orange sapphire jewels of trout caviar that burst on my tongue (according to the voice memo).

As if Derren Brown had subconsciously ignited my desire for pâté earlier in the day by having me walk past an anti-foie gras demonstration near the Brandenburg Gate, a plate of the plush paste turned up next served with jellies, poached pear and delicate sweet bread. I was beginning to think I could predict what the

next course would be – and so forecast some ‘baby’ lamb.

And as if by magic, baby calf (close enough) was the next course – specifically a calf thyroid from a calf that had been allowed to suckle for longer than usual (delicious bitty!) thus producing a more succulent and musty taste.

And a great conversation topic for us, as unbeknownst to Paul and unlike the actual sweetbread served before, this sweetbread was a big juicy gland and the best I have ever tasted.

Out next comes perfectly mashed carrot and swede (a million times better than Mrs Mother’s) and a strong portion of venison that was able to pop its head up above the last four courses, amongst some brussel sprout leaves that some poor bugger had spent all afternoon separating.

Lastly the sweets – a sesame seed dessert, which didn’t require memo-ing but kudos for not flopping out a slice of cake, and then a plate of truffles and mini cheesecakes, which is quite honestly the last thing you need, but eat nonetheless.

If this is how you do a restaurant review, then that’s great. But I suspect I got one of the best out of a big and potentially bad bunch of restaurants and chefs in Berlin. Very well done Stefan and well done Hartmann’s.

TR

The Courthouse Words: Justine Rowe

The Courthouse Hotel oozes with character and charm. The Grade II listed building retains many of its original features and every room is filled with history and memories of a forgotten time. In the past, the Great Marlborough St. Magistrate’s Court set the scene for many famous cases featuring celebrities, including John Lennon, Mick Jagger, Oscar Wilde and many more.

Anyone interested in the history of The Courthouse is advised to venture down to the Carnaby Brassarie below, which boasts an array of photos of people associated with or brought to trial at the old Magistrates Court.

A stone’s throw away from Oxford Street, The Courthouse is ideal for visitors wishing to experience the capital’s shopping delights, such as Liberty’s, Bond Street, Regent Street

and Carnaby Street. Regardless of what you are looking to do in London, The Courthouse is perfectly positioned for travel across the whole city.

The rooms was ample size with a queen sized bed, comfortable sofa and seat combo and full wall dresser. The beige decor was pleasant if not slightly clichéd. I do like a room with a terrace or balcony, but unfortunately this room had neither. The bathroom was a little smaller than I would expect for a room of this size, but it was clean, functional and well equipped with towels and toiletries. I must say, based on the room alone, I struggle to see why this hotel is five star rated. Take away the history and location and there is nothing that’s particularly exceptional or interesting about the experience.

The hotel does have a spa and a number of bars and restaurants, so spending time in the room alone is not your only option. The Sanook Spa offers a sanctuary away from the bustling streets of west London, the ideal conclusion to a day of shopping or exploring the city. Enjoy a dip in the pool or book yourself in for one of the many treatments available.

The Courthouse is a great hotel for guests wishing to stay somewhere convenient with a wealth of restaurants and bars onsite and close by; particularly true in summer, when the rooftop bar really comes into its own.

However, if you are looking for something that delivers over and above in terms of five star decor and experience then I would recommend you look elsewhere.

TR

The Regent Words: LUCY STOTT

After our swift getaway from the House (party) and a brief interlude in an overpriced tourist pizza place on probably the most famous strasse in Berlin, Unter den Linden, we flopped into the warm embrace of the Regent Hotel. Its welcoming charm and subtle elegance eased us into a state of mild relaxation and acted as the perfect antidote to a night well revelled. A sort of Bloody Mary made of bricks and chandeliers.

The building is sleek and refined and has an air of tradition that pervades its interior. Its antique-laden lobby overlooks Berlin’s most impressive square – the Gendermenmarkt -

The building is sleek and refined and has an air of tradition that pervades its interior. and the whole establishment is dripping with chandeliers, art and traditional Biedermeier furniture. We were clearly out of place. I decided to allow Paul the pleasure of sorting out the details of our stay as I rushed to the

room to peel off my smoke-infused party garments and dive into our marble bath. I would come out a woman worthy of such finery, or I would not come out at all.

The 195 rooms and suites are draped in a similar decor to the lobby. Greens and golds adorn the walls and fine wooden furnishings and embroidered upholstery are sprinkled throughout. Add to that a shower that you wouldn’t mind meeting Norman Bates in and a 20-inch thick mattress and you are left with the very definition of luxury. I have to (quite geekily) mention one of my favourite features – a fold out drawer on the mahogany

T R AV E L : R E G E N T H O T E L

desk with a built-in suite of international plug sockets and USB ports for charging. Stylish and practical.

After sinking a few mini-bars (our headaches were too severe for the cocktails at the Regent’s bar) we had to head out again for more ‘client’ meetings (underground club night – this is Berlin after all). When lodging here, try to meet the sales manager, Josefine, she gave us directions, tips from her own phone on where to grab some good, ‘cool’ food (the Regent contains a Michelin-starred and world-renowned restaurant, but more of that in the morning) and was extremely

pleasant and helpful. So, fresh-faced and newly enlightened, we set sail into the Berlin night for another evening of debauchery research.

When you wake from your third night of nocturnal Berlin-ing, what you really need (and rarely have the chance to get) is a breakfast from the only two Michelin star restaurant in Berlin, the Fischers Fritz. And, dear readers, being the most selfless of man-and-soon-to-bewife reviewers around, we dutifully broke our fasts such that we could relay the experience to you. Freshly squeezed juice, any tea you could request, South American coffee and a cake

stand of pastries, breads, cheeses and hams all before we’d even ordered from the a la carte.

We decided that we wanted two dishes and, in the interest of maintaining our waist sizes, the waitress gave us a reduced portion of each.

Blueberry pancakes followed by eggs Benedict proved to be exactly as delicious as we had anticipated, and no mean hangover cure.

Unfortunately, as is often the case with these city jaunts, it was very soon time to leave, and we hadn’t even tested the health club and spa.

Perhaps the Regent will invite us back one day, and if they do, we promise we won’t drink so much next time.

TR

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Grapes of Wrath

We put our resident booze hound, Gemma Phelan, in charge of reviewing a wine club. So, over the next four issues, she’ll be sampling some of the best bottles from Berry Bros. & Rudd.

It wasn’t an easy option, as there are some fantastic wine clubs out there, but Berry Bros. & Rudd seemed the best fit, as Britain’s oldest wine and spirit merchant. It has traded from the same shop since 1698 and offers outstanding wines from a variety of regions.

Words: GEMMA PHELAN As a member of the club, Phelan receives twelve bottles every other month, with ability to swap, skip or add cases at a moment’s notice. Here’s what she thought of the most recent delivery.

2012 CH, Guirauton Blanc, Graves A dry, medium-bodied white wine from a tiny Chateau just to the south west of Bordeaux.

Beautifully, light and vibrant with a refreshing zesty, citrus character. Perfect with seafood dishes, salads or light cheeses with its zingy aroma of lemon zest and elderflower.

Guirauton Blanc is a splendid lunchtime wine, drink with a healthy helping of springtime sunshine for extra enjoyment.

2012 Malvasia, Tasto di Seta, Castello di Luzzano This dry, light to medium bodied white is produced at Castello di Luzzano, unique for its fortuitous proximity between Oltrepo Pavese and Colli Piacentini. Perfectly matched to pasta and fowl, the iron rich terroir affords the wine a sweet exoticism, characterised by silky softness. Far too easy to drink, I would suggest drinking with friends to avoid drinking the whole bottle solo.

2012 Albarino Igrexario de Saiar

Produced in the Rias Baixas region on Spain’s eastern seaboard this dry, aromatic white wine is infused with the saltiness of sea breeze, juxtaposed with the sweetness of peach, green apple and tropical fruits. Best served lightly chilled with seafood dishes, it’s the perfect tipple to transport you away from the daily grind to sun drenched shores afar.

DRINKS: WINE

2012 Beaujolais les Gravelles, Alain Chatoux A dense, dry, medium-bodied red wine with purple colouring and a mesmerising black fruit aroma. Its lighter tannin structure makes this wine perfect with duck, pork or chicken, and can be served at room temperature without the need for decanting. This exceptional and unique Beaujolais is great to help you wind down so sit back, relax and enjoy.

2009 CH, Caillou les Martins, Lussac St Emilion From the Bordeaux region of France, this wine is made from and 60:40 mixture of Merlot and Cabernet Franc grapes. The vines are planted on a mainly clay soil, which yields a generous, robust wine with warm, rich and oaky spices. This deeply-coloured 2009 vintage is a gorgeous accompaniment to roast beef or roast lamb, stews and hard cheeses.

2012 Mestizaje Tinto, Mustiguillo

A glorious blend of the Bobal variety coupled with 8 months in French oak sets this, dry medium to full-bodied wine apart from the rest. The nose is crushed raspberry, cassis and cinnamon followed by a palate of spice with hints of sousbois, which combine to make this red complex and exciting. An extremely smooth wine with an excellent alcohol-acidity balance, perfect with pasta and lamb. This wine is sure worth the wait.

Visit bbr.com for more on the wine club.

TR

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.BLT. The formidably styled and fiercely sartorial, Lord of the Trad clan, David The formidably styled andThis fiercely sartorial, of Fox the Trad clan, David Minns. issue, DavidLord visits Brothers & Co.Minns. This issue, David talks about his man crush on Sir Michael Caine.

Pictures: MANY Photography: MANY

FOOD : EBRINGTON ARMS

A friend recently introduced me to the new owners of Fox Brothers & Co., the last remaining cloth mill in the south west of England. Accepting an invitation to visit the showroom at their mill in Wellington, Somerset (given that I live just an hour away in Bristol), I was keen to learn more of Fox’s provenance.

The mill itself is no longer in its original location, but driving through the country lanes en route, one can see the original Georgian red-brick buildings in the distance – and how majestic they are too.

Fox once employed 5000 staff. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the company employed Wellington, as it was, at the time, the largest employer in the area – not dissimilar to Clarks, also in Somerset, whose shoe empire built the village of Street. a Before I’d even entered the reception of the mill, I could hear the clatter-clatter of some original looms, weaving some of the finest cloths in the world. To the front of the mill is tailor Brian Smith’s workshop. Brian was master cutter for Huntsman for many years, but now works his sartorial magic in the surroundings of this mill, which he is very familiar with (tailor’s nirvana?). And there, in the window of Brian’s workshop, was the cloth that had eluded me my entire tailoring career: the Prince of Wales check flannel. Its mix of autumnal-coloured yarns, ever pleasing to the eye, almost brought a tear to mine.

And the PoW is not the only true British classic that Fox Brothers produce, as their archives proved. To say I was in my element, perusing the tomes of cloths produced over the past hundred or so years, would be putting it mildly. The selection of wonderful worsteds and flannels (for which Fox are renowned) seemed endless, yet so of the moment. It is encouraging to see a business, founded in 1772, not only flourishing and upholding such timehonoured tradition, but also being so relevant to modern style.

Of course, suits are currently enjoying something of a renaissance, and have been for a number of years, but there’s nothing quite like following in the footsteps of some of our greatest sartorial icons. Here are just some of Fox’s discerning and well-known patrons.

Cary Grant: Bristolian, Hollywood icon and greatest sartorial inspiration of The BLT’s patrons. Grant favoured Fox’s plain worsteds. Picture Grant and you envisage Fox Brothers cloth.

Sir Winston Churchill: esteemed prime minister, political heavyweight and cigar aficionado, Churchill favoured Fox’s chalk stripe flannel cloth. Churchillphiles can not only partake in smoking Churchill’s eponymous cigars, but also acquire his favoured chalk stripe cloth, for use in their very own version of his classic three piece suit.

The Duke of Windsor: king, sartorial hero of mine, and once bearer of the title HRH Prince of Wales. Edward VIlI may not have been the namesake of this beloved cloth, but he certainly did much to promote it. So, whether you are a renaissance man (like me) or simply a classic dresser, there is surely nothing more hallowed than sporting a suit made of cloth of such provenance.

THE REVIEW 2013 3

10 low calorie reasons to spend an afternoon at your local Words: AMY McNICHOL

Beer garden binges without the guilt

DRINKS : LOW CAL CONSUMPTION So now, did you see it? Huh? Did you? I hope you threw yourself underneath it, limbs outstretched. I did. I was cautious at first. I mean, it’s been a while, you know. This weekend, however, my pasty flesh remembered what’s like to feel it. When delicious and delicate butterfly kisses of warmth flickered over my skin for the first time in months, my brainbox became awash with thoughts of beer gardens.

Many a summer afternoon is whiled away slumped on wicker furniture, pint in hand.

The scent of charred meat wafts across a courtyard of punters, tickles my nostrils and, before I know it, I’m wolfing down a burger.

Heaven, right? But if you plan to indulge in a whole string of lazy, steadily-supping Sundays, the wrong bevvy choice could tinker with your waistline.

It’s not new news that out of the plethora of alcoholic beverages available, beer gives you a belly and wine is pretty calorie-heavy (according to Drinkaware.co.uk a 250ml glass of 13% ABV red contains 228 calories). Spirits, however, don’t have many calories, as the sugar is fermented out. With a sensible mixer, these top tipples will propel you through a glorious afternoon in a beer garden and ping you out the other side without a whole lot of

weight gain.

Dust off your sunnies and fill your summertime with this little lot - not all that naughty, but oh so nice!

1

Name: Element 29 vodka Type: Salted caramel vodka

2

Name: Sipsmith gin Type: London dry gin

The story: At the beginning of their gin-tastic adventure, their aim was to bring back small scale, hand crafted gin production. With the help of essential team member Prudence (a 300l copper pot still), they’ve done just that.

Sipsmith is London’s first copper distillery to launch in London for nearly 200 years and now they are sitting pretty at the centre of the noughties’ gin craze.

Recommended perfect serve: The folk at Sipsmith reckon their London dry is rich and balanced enough for the perfect G&T but they also boast it’s smooth enough for a cracking martini. Figure out how you should order your martini here. [hyperlink to Sipsmith feature on martini ordering – it’s dead interesting!

Pick some up from: Waitrose. £27.75 for 70cl

This little gem takes its name from copper, the twenty-ninth element in the periodic table, which gives it its smooth taste. Distilled in the Black Country, this is a wheat vodka and, rather impressively, claims to be the world’s first refillable voddy. As far as booze bottles go, these are pretty attractive, frosted little numbers and popping back to Selfridges for a refill is a pleasant experience.

Waistline damage? Intrigued by the distillery but worried about the calories in the salted caramel version? Never fear, Element 29 do a version without fancy flavours too.

Recommended perfect serve: Straight. With or without ice, whatever tickles your taste buds.

Name: Pink Pigeon rum Pick some up from: Green Box Drinks, The Type: Mauritian rum Whisky Exchange, Brixton Cornercopia and Selfridges. RRP £25.95 for 70cl or £29.95 for The story: This rum, with the cracking name, the salted caramel. Refills: £22 is made in the oldest existing Mauritian

3

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distillery which has been functioning since 1928. Pink Pigeon is distilled from the molasses of locally grown sugar cane. It’s actually distilled four times for a light, smooth and elegant taste and is bottled onsite affording it the title of a single estate rum.

Recommended perfect serve: Delish in a vanilla daiquiri. Shake 50ml of Pink Pigeon rum, 15ml of freshly squeezed lime juice and 10ml of sugar syrup with ice and strain into a martini glass.

Pick some up from: Berry Bros. & Rudd, Whisky Exchange, Gerry’s of Soho. RRP £29.95

4

Name: Kings Ginger Type: Fiery ginger liqueur

The story: By all accounts this tipple was formulated in 1903 for the actual king of England at the time, Edward VII. So the legend (read: website) has it, the Royal Physician commissioned the liqueur to rejuvenate His Royal Highness after his many chilly trips zipping around in his open top car. The taste is initially sweet, followed by a bite of ginger and a sharp sensation of lemon.

Waistline damage? Who could be concerned with calorie counting with all that appley

goodness sloshing around inside them? And of course, we are of the same thinking as the Royal Physician in that ginger is medicinal.

Recommended perfect serve: Combine 50ml of The King’s Ginger with 150ml of Aspall Suffolk Cyder and 150ml of apple juice.

Garnished with lemon, a cinnamon stick and fresh blackberries, this combo manages to be both refreshing and warming. Serve it hot or over ice.

Pick some up from: Berry Bros. & Rudd, Amazon, Master of Malt, Whisky Exchange for RRP £22

5

Name: Suntory Hakusha 12 year old whisky Type: Single malt Japanese whisky

The story: Brought to life in the southern Japanese Alps, a landscape drenched in untouched forests, mountains and pure waters, Hakusha is one of several whiskies produced

by Suntory across two distilleries in Japan.

This particular drop has hints of sweet pear and butter cookie yet remains crisp on the palate.

Waistline damage? Roughly 140 calories for a double shot.

Recommended perfect serve: Delectable in a highball cocktail. 1 part Hakushu whisky, a soda and a sprig of fresh mint.

Pick some up from: Selfridges RRP £69.99

6

Name: Elephant gin Type: London dry gin ABV 45

The story: Launched in support of African elephants, this new kid on the block has an ethical cause at its heart. 15% of profits are donated to foundations which work to preserve African wildlife. The taste and quality have in no way been shoved to the back of the pile in favour of a good cause however.

Many of its ingredients were tracked down by adventurous spirits trekking the length and breadth of Africa, and while most gins boast between eight and twelve botanticals, this one has fourteen.

Recommended perfect serve: Wonderful with plenty of ice, high-quality tonic and a slice of fresh apple to bring out the spirit’s floral and herbaceous notes.

Pick some up from: RRP £29.49 for 50cl at The Whiskey Exchange, Selfridges and Speciality Drinks.

7

Name: Patron Silver Type: Tequila

The story: Despite it being the world’s number 1 exporter of 100% Algave tequila, this stuff is produced in small batches as Patron are so hell bent on safeguarding the quality of their booze. Each bottle of smooth, sweet, slightly citric tequila is hand numbered as it leaves its birthplace, the Hacienda del Patron in the highlands of Jalisco, Mexico.

Calorie count: Around 120 per double shot.

Recommended perfect serve: Double shot over ice topped with diet tonic water and a wedge of lime.

Pick some up from: Selfridges. Will have to be a special treat though at £64.99 a pop.

8

Name: Cleveland Bay vodka Type: British vodka

The story: This is an artisan vodka made from the humble British spud and is already giving some of its eastern European counterparts a run for their money in London bars. It is distilled in the world’s smallest commercial copper pot stills and a carbon filter finish takes some credit for its silky smoothness. It boasts citric notes and a smooth finish.

Calorie count: 110 per double measure.

Recommended perfect serve: The Russians, famed of course for their incredible vodka, sup their national drink straight. Well, here’s something a little ballsy: the recommended serve of Cleveland Bay vodka is simply: ‘over ice’. This advice from Cleveland headquarters suggests a real confidence in their tipple.

Oh yeah, this British beauty is kicking it with the Russian big boyz!

Pick some up from: Masterofmalt.com. £44.45 for 70cl or see clevelandbayvodka. co.uk to see which London bars stock it.

9

Name: Amber Glen Type: Scotch whisky

The story: Whisky connoisseurs get ready for a new range of the stuff. Amber Glen are launching a selection of classic blended and supreme single malt whiskys. Primarily geared towards the growing global Scotch export market, this brand might stay a well kept secret. All the more reason to track some down and sup up asap, right?

Recommended perfect serve: With whisky stones. Frozen stones which work to cool your whisky just as ice does. Instead of melting and diluting your tipple, they leave the rich and complex flavours completely unaf-

fected. Amber Glen have produced their own, available soon.

Pick some up from: Up and coming alert!

This baby is available in early 2014.

10

Name: Mason’s Gin Type: Dry Yorkshire gin

The story: Lovingly prepared by a very small, new producer and distilled in 200 litre batches, Mason’s really is a craft gin. It is made in copper alembic stills and balances juniper with citrus flavours and top secret botanicals.

Calorie count: A double measure with a standard serving of Fever Tree tonic is 193 calories, or 143 if you use the light tonic water.

Recommended perfect serve: A splash of Fever Tree tonic water, a shaving of pink grapefruit peel and some cracked blacked pepper.

Pick some up from: www.masonsyorkshiregin.com Although reasonably pricey at £39.99 for 70cl, every single bottle has its batch and bottle number hand written on it. That gives you an idea of how far from Gordon’s this baby is.

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THE REVIEW 2014 117

COMING SOON Alan Diment gives his picks for this quarter’s film calendar. To bother watching anything else would be a waste of popcorn.

Words: ALAN DIMENT

APRIL Calvary

The Raid 2

Locke

Writer and director John Michael McDonagh’s last film, The Guard, was a real gem. He has reunited with the marvellous Brendan Gleeson for this darkly funny tale of a priest in rural Ireland who receives a death threat during confession. Chris O’Dowd, Kelly Reilly and Dylan Moran are among the parishioners.

The Raid was a bone shattering, head crushing smash in 2011. Now, Indonesian cop Iko Awais goes undercover to bring down rival crime syndicates in Welshman Gareth Evan’s eagerly awaited follow-up. Expect fists and feet to fly, not to mention baseball bats and hammers.

That Tom Hardy, what a chameleon! Here he tries on a Welsh accent in this searing drama set largely on the M6. A car bound businessman makes a series of phone calls whilst cracking up on his drive home. Written and directed by Steven Knight, who also penned Cronenberg’s Eastern Promises.

FILM : COMING SOON

MAY FRANK

The WIND RISES

The Two Faces of January

Loosely based on the late comic Chris Sievey’s cult musical creation, Frank Sidebottom and co-written by Sievey’s one time keyboard player, Jon Ronson. Michael Fassbender is the eccentric musician who refuses to remove his large papier-mâché head, much to the bemusement of Domhnall Gleeson and Maggie Gyllenhaal.

The month of May will bring not only the return of the mighty Godzilla, but also the mass onslaught of X-Men. Make time for this beautiful, final film from master animator Hayao Miyazaki, an Oscar-nominated biopic of the Japanese aircraft designer Jiro Horikoshi. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Emily Blunt and Stanley Tucci are among the vocal talent in the English language version.

Oscar Issac, fantastic in Inside Llewyn Davis, plays the mysterious but helpful stranger in 1960s Athens, who comes to the aid of a conman and his wife up to their necks in murder. Viggo Mortensen and Kirsten Dunst play the couple in this adaptation of the novel by Patricia Highsmith, creator of Tom Ripley.

THE REVIEW 2014 119

JUNE VENUS IN FUR

OCULUS

CHEF

After his film Carnage, the perennially controversial Roman Polanksi adapts another play for the screen. This time out it is a two-hander by David Ives in which an actress attempts to convince a theatre director that she is perfect for the lead in his new production. The delightful Emmanuelle Seigner (AKA Mrs Polanski) and Mathieu Amalric star with the story relocated to Paris from New York.

She plays a baddie in the much anticipated Guardians of the Galaxy but, for now, Whovians and other devotees of Karen ‘Amy Pond’ Gillan will have to make do with this spooky offering. Gillan is an American woman attempting to clear her brother of a murder that was possibly caused by supernatural forces living in an old mirror. Yeah, whatever, it’s Karen Gillan!

Robert Downey Junior and Scarlett Johansson are back with their Iron Man director, Jon ‘Swingers’ Favreau, for this foodie comedy. Favreau, who also wrote the film, stars as the titular chef attempting to reignite his creativity and patch up his life by going into the food truck business. Sofia Vergara plays his ex-wife whilst Dustin Hoffman and Garry Shandling ramp up the star roster.

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THE REVIEW 2013 3

Zoë Wanamaker Words: EMILY HENNINGS

Words: EMILY HENNINGS

The Royal National Theatre of England recently celebrated its fiftieth birthday with a special evening dedicated to showing just a glimpse of the talents that have graced the venue over the past 50 years. The National Theatre began NTLive in 2009, broadcasting live plays around the world for those who were unable to make it to London. Now, five years later, it shows no sign of slowing down with an ever-growing demand for plays to be broadcast live from the venue. The National now broadcasts to over 500 venues in over 24 countries.

One success was ‘The Cherry Orchard’ by Chekov, directed by Howard Davies and adapted by Andrew Upton. I caught up with actress Zoë Wanamaker to discover what National Theatre Live really means to the actors that are involved in it.

Wannamaker was introduced to the National Theatre in 1982, when she was asked to perform in ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ directed by Peter Hall. “I’ve always

had a great time working intensely with the people at the National Theatre,” she admits.

“During every Artistic Director’s reign – the stage management, the backstage and front of house staff – there is always something going on.”

The pull of the National Theatre has played a big part in Wanamaker’s life. And as an actress who has been involved in film, television and radio, the National holds a certain magic, leaving the actress wanting more. NTLive is a big step forward in the world of theatre. She tells of a “horrible added pressure” to being broadcast live around the world, as it takes the intimacy of the actor-audience relationship away, and subsequently has a huge affect on the actor’s personal performance. She added that it was very alien having the intrusion of a camera watching her whilst she was performing and that she was very aware of them throughout the performance.

“My personal experience with NTLive was

horrible,” she reveals. “I think I am not alone in having a real horror of performing pieces created for the theatre for film.

It is a frightening experience, as you know this is being set in stone and is possibly a performance you would never do on film.

So it’s neither fish nor fowl.”

The live broadcast made Miss Wanamaker self-conscious, but as even she concedes, “That’s the nature of the beast. I think it is exciting that people across the world, who can’t physically be there, can watch Shakespeare or Chekov. But I think, for me, it works better for opera – but that is a personal view. Nothing can replicate sitting in a very large room and feeling an audience riveted to the stage, all sharing the same experience.”

Zoë Wanamaker is juggling a range of different projects at the moment, although, despite my best efforts to pry, she can’t really talk about them yet. Keep your eyes open for those.

TR

C U LT U R E : NAT I O NA L T H E AT R E

A Taste of Honey Words: EMILY HENNINGS

It is 56 years since Shelagh Delaney’s first play ‘A Taste of Honey’ was performed at the Theatre Royal Stratford East, and it was a play that could not have been more controversial. A gay friend, a black boyfriend, a pregnancy out of wedlock, and the chance that the baby would be black too, therefore causing the risk of utter shame on the rest of the family. Today in 2014 though, it doesn’t have the same shock element.

The play is set in 1950s Manchester, where a mother and daughter, Helen and Jo, are moving into their new home – a tiny room, with a shared bathroom at the end of the corridor. Lesley Sharp and Kate O’Flynn play the dysfunctional mother and daughter roles in this performance with as much vigor as Delaney originally wrote them.

Sharp plays the oh-so-unreliable, oh-so-fabulous mother, Helen, a woman who has drifted through life relying solely on her looks and what she can offer. Jo, her ever disapproving

daughter, played by Kate O’Flynn, is a young girl with very little to say to her mother that isn’t rude and critical. The mother-daughter relationship shows a huge shift in power and status: Jo appears to be the only grown-up, until she falls pregnant and suddenly realises that she has been foolish and is completely clueless when it comes to dealing with it. Indeed, she is quick to judge her mother, until she is suddenly in desperate need for love and affection. “I tried to hold my mother’s hand once, but she pulled it away,” she says.

This is a play marked by frustration. Whether it’s the lack of money or the post-war blues, Delaney captured something special. Lest we forget, this play was her first, written when she was just 19 years old. Delaney wrote a letter to theatre director Joan Littlewood in which she asked for advice and offered her new talents to her theatre. The fact Delaney was so young is what makes this such an exciting piece; it is far beyond the years of

the average 19 year old. But maybe I am not giving her enough credit; it is perhaps just a very mature play for someone so young.

When the play was first performed, it was scandalous. A daughter who has fallen in love with a black sailor, and then goes on to have his baby out of wedlock once he has left her; a gay friend wanting to marry quickly in order to hide his sexuality; and a vulnerable girl whose mother sleeps around with wealthy men, and whose father who may or may not be dead.

Sharp and O’Flynn are a credit to themselves, as this is a difficult script to make your own. The characters are so clearly defined that there doesn’t seem a lot of room for the actors to maneuver – yet they do.

I wonder what Shelagh Delaney would think about her play being performed after all these years at the National Theatre. With these actors on board, she should be best pleased. National Theatre, February 2014.

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THE REVIEW 2014 125

The Waldorf Astoria, Berlin Words: Dr PAUL FARROW

The weather was gruesome, the sky was grey and the streets seemed bare and bleak. But even the most ferocious of tempest could not temper my spirits as I waited for my fiancée to arrive into the bus station over the road from the Waldorf Astoria. I had come from Heidelberg, a postcard, pictureperfect city in the south of Germany – and my place of residence – whereas Lucy had come from London. Now, the weather in the south of Germany is notoriously clement, so it was clear who had brought the weather with them. Let the drizzly weekend commence.

As I stood in the cold, waiting for the shuttle bus from Berlin Tegel airport, I was approached by a homeless man, hoping for a Euro or two. Having lived in Germany for two years, mein Deutsch is still ropey at best, so it is fair to say that our dialogue was initially quite limited. As I clawed my increasingly waterlogged pockets, I apologised and stated in my best (yet still quite poor) German accent “Ich spreche kein Deutsch.” Without missing a beat, the man responded that that was no problem, since he spoke near-perfect English. It is a measure of the German people that even their homeless are mulilingual.

After a few minutes, Lucy arrived and we made our way over to the Waldorf Astoria.

Walking into the foyer, you’d be forgiven

for thinking you had walked into a bygone era. Fantastic pillars encircling a grandiose ballroom-esque reception and a room that glittered and gleamed with gold and marble. The only thing missing from this image of art deco were women with pearls and cigarette holders and men in suits and stetsons.

The concierge that came to escort us to our room was fascinated by our accent, trying to locate its origin specifically. He was close, but technically neither I nor Lucy are from London (although it becomes much easier to say you are from London, rather than explain where Swindon or Hartley Wintney are). It transpired that he was a devout Sunderland FC fan and had longed to go and see them play some day. As I write this, Sunderland have just lost 3-1 to Manchester City. Perhaps he should be grateful that he didn’t go today.

As we went in, it was clear that the class we had encountered in the lobby had made its way through the entire building. The room was dark and elegant and we had been left a couple of little cakes to welcome us into our stay – treats that were more-than-welcome after the arduous journey from Heidelberg to Berlin (which takes 6 hours and costs over 100 Euros; good work, Deutsche Bahn!)

I was taken on a guided tour of the hotel

and it was clear that the Waldorf has big plans. In the coming weeks, the newly refurbished Zoo Palast Cinema was hosting an awards ceremony and a red carpet was to be extended from the hotel lobby to the cinema entrance. Cannes eat your heart out, although the hotel manager was not exactly sure what they were going to do about the oncoming traffic that the celebs were inevitably going to have to cross. But hey, who wouldn’t stop their car if Jennifer Lawrence was walking past.

After a sound night’s sleep and some obligatory hotel romancing, we made our way downstairs for breakfast. And oh my, what a breakfast. It is a running joke in my relationship with Lucy that I have an eating disorder. I wouldn’t go that far, but I would certainly say that I have an unhealthy relationship with food. I spend most of my life telling myself what I can’t eat and then periodically gorge. After seeing the spread at the breakfast buffet, today was clearly a day to gorge.

After rounding off our breakfast with several glasses of Buck’s fizz (but made with the German sparkling wine ‘Sekt’ instead of Champers), we made our way merrily to the exit and bid farewell to the Waldorf Astoria, a place where elegance and style collide with comfort and relaxation, and onto the next stage of our Berlin adventure.

TR

T R AV E L : WA L D O R F B E R L I N

SUITE

PEACOCK ALLEY

OF ALL THE GIN JOINTS

THE REVIEW 2014 129

The Viceroy Riviera Maya Words: PETER ROBINSON

Having landed in Mexico on our journey back from Belize, the expectation level for our last night was fairly restrained. The Viceroy Riviera Maya was our least-researched resort.

I couldn’t tell the team what the accommodation would be like or what to expect in terms of scenery. This is not down to a David Brentsized lack of professionalism, but more a case of wanting the last night of our trip to have an air of surprise to it.

Usually these trips are confirmed, agreed, signed in triplicate, embossed, sent for the royal seal, buried in soft peat for three months, unearthed and filed away somewhere. This trip was no different; I had just chosen to leave the micro management hat at the office in an effort to open myself up and be genuinely surprised on our last night in the Caribbean.

As a hardened snow sports enthusiast, I rarely find myself swapping snow for sand. The yellow stuff just doesn’t perform the same way when faced with a set of skis. Also, as I approach my early thirties, my physique is more geared towards a DC ski jacket than barechested with shorts (to be self deprecating in

the extreme).

Regardless of my proclivities for powder, I’m not a complete debutant; I can sit down on a sun lounger with a thick book I assure you.

Having landed somewhat jaded at the Cancun private terminal, after a night of various cocktails in Plancencia, I was in desperate need of a Bloody Mary, a shower and a good old fashioned lie down. We had collectively had a full night’s sleep (if you add up the three hours each), which meant for very little communication during our 40-minute transfer.

The Riviera Maya is effectively an 86-mile corridor next to the north-east coast of the Yucatan Peninsula in the state of the Quintana Roo, Mexico. Think Italian and French Riviera and you are on the right track – dignified and upscale. The Viceroy resort is hidden away in the small village of Playa Xcalacoco, just outside Playa Del Carmen. In my ten years of luxury globetrotting, I have never experienced a location quite like it.

The resort consists of 41 villas, set amongst the intimate and serene Maya tropical forest. We arrive, air-conditioned, but weary to an open

air reception. If our editor hadn’t outlawed exclamation marks in The Review, this ‘reception area’ would get a serious one, in a bold font.

Until this trip, I had never stepped foot in anything that could be considered a rainforest.

In the back of mind, the ‘Out of Africa’ theme tune was playing on repeat. As the gentile concierge approached me, I forgot for a moment we were in the western world and tried to think of what the local greeting was in this remote part of the Amazon. A cool towel and chilled aloe vera water: wideeyedly amazing.

With our bags speedily whisked off to be delivered in advance of our arrival, we were chaperoned along the path that ran through this dramatic jungle setting to the spa area. It was a little bit like discovering a Mayan temple in the middle of dense foliage during the days of her majesties colonial rule. Minus the safari suit, you understand. At this point, we were introduced to Jose Colli, the resorts shaman. Yes, I said shaman. The region’s indigenous heritage still thrives and is rich in everything Mayan: residents, temples, recipes and Shaman.

We were asked to face each other, hold hands

T R AV E L : T H E V I C E R OY

and close our eyes, as Jose performed a very beautiful and deeply calming blessing ritual.

This involved the burning of copal (an aromatic tree resin that looks like amber), moving the smoke plumes over us while chanting, “Ah yum hunab ku evam maya ema ho” (“The peace and nature of the cosmos will be in all of us”) to release us from stress. If you spend your day under high stress or arrive with the blood alcohol level of a Belizean sailor, the blessing is your elixir of calm. It genuinely left us all feeling calmer than Hindu cows; we were horizontally relaxed.

Body and mind calmed, we were shown around our jungle villas. Tucked away among the waxy fronds and tropical palms of the surrounding jungle, the thatched palapa-roofed villas are perfectly private. Private sun decks frame the plunge pool, hammock and day bed. At this point, I was beginning to wonder whether our airline would allow us a few days’ grace. The outside shower would convince them to give us a later flight, surely.

With our luggage stowed and linen donned, it was time to explore the jungle. Don’t be

surprised to see the occasional spider monkey in the canopy above. A short meander along the jungle path leads you out to the lagoon pool, surrounded by double sun lounger and, of course, shaded by palm trees. For me, there are several grades of property, ranging from shindig to corporate. The Viceroy Riviera Maya is a honeymoon-level destination, the sort of retreat where ritualistic relaxation becomes second nature in minutes.

Unlike the nearby massive-package-style properties, this intimate island hideaway has a ‘no kids under 16’ policy. I know, bliss. We aren’t anti-family. Your family are great; mine are great. Let’s just not take all the screaming offspring away with us to a serene retreat.

If, like me, you are only able to spend a few hours on a sun lounger before needing to explore, you are made. The resort runs right onto pristine white beach and onto the 600-milelong Mesoamerican Reef, which makes for fantastic snorkelling and scuba diving. Forgot your snorkel? Don’t worry about it. The hotel has flippers, snorkels and masks for you at any time.

Having spent the afternoon kicking back and watching the waves crash in from the Coral Bar & Grill with a Corona or two, I almost forgot that the trip was coming to an end. We then realised that the Wayak spa was going to close shortly and decided to hightail it. Luckily, they offered to reopen it for a private session for us. The team at the Viceroy take service to a stratospheric level, unknown to most mortals.

The spa is full-service, offering massage, facials and fitness whilst staying true to their Mayan origins by combining the use of ancient Mayan traditions and Mexican herbs with potent healing benefits for both body and soul.

Fully relaxed and bathed, courtesy of an alfresco shower, we headed for our final team dinner on the pristine beach at the Coral Grill. Tables and chairs are placed in the sand as you enjoy an elegant, multi-course meal of lentil soup with pico de gallo, a roasted salad with lemon dressing, and family-style platters teeming with local catch (boquinete fish, octopus, squid, shrimp), meat (beef, chicken) and vegetables (a twice-baked sweet potato with cinnamon, cloves and other spices) that the chef cooks up

THE REVIEW 2014 131

right outside.

This is not your typical barbecue. Chef Jetzabel Rojas Barragán has created a menu that offers contemporary interpretations of Mexican cuisine with Mediterranean influences. If you’re looking to dine under silver, the resort’s La Marea restaurant is your formal option and

offers equally-beautiful views.

Several glasses of good red later, we departed and strolled back to our villas, pacified. There was one final twist, of course: the staff had turned down the room, scattered flower petals around the pool, lit candles and created the ambient mood reserved only for couples. I

wonder how many people come to the Viceroy Riviera Maya and then, 9 months later, can’t return with their newborn in tow. All the more reason to enjoy this quintessentially luxurious resort as intended: a body and soul calming escape. I salute both the staff and the management: bravo, ladies and gentlemen, bravo.

TR

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‘Would we like to test drive your new motorcycle’, I considered. The part of me that wants to set the world on fire thought. ‘That could be fu’. My better angels shouted down my demons at this point.

Having only ridden a motorcycle once in my life, it seemed ridiculous to even contemplate the idea.

I had flirted with the concept of a crotch rocket in my first year of college. I imagined a silver racing bike with my initials on it somewhere. Then I realised I’m not the son of a Russian oil baron, and even if I were, I would still have looked ridiculous.

Add to this my mother’s aversion to motorcycles, due to an accident she had in the 70s, and I was destined for four wheels forever more. Little did I know that these weren’t just any high-octane crotch rockets; these were Caterham designed

and built crotch rockets: E-bikes and a model that offers to be on road, off road and possibly a snowmobile. Caterham are in transformer territory.

As much as I regret it, we didn’t opt to test the bike range for this issue. We’re predominantly car people, and when we were presented with the Caterham range to choose from, we couldn’t see past our saliva to the bikes.

The chaps at Caterham suggested that the Supersport R would be a good place to start. Now, I have never driven a Caterham marque before – perhaps opting to use it as an everyday motor for a week wasn’t the most inspired choice. However, this was indeed a rare opportunity to act like the manchild that I am, so I embraced the opportunity.

The Supersport R ride position is as you’d expect:

lower than the depths of Hades. And whilst I consider my frame to be fairly average, getting in and out required a considered approach. The racing harness is a Caterham basic feature – and god knows, with 180bhp in a car that weighs 535kg, you need one.

Having secured myself in the car and closed the ‘doors’, all that was left was to drive the 150 miles back to the office. As is the standard practice for any motoring writer, I left the Caterham office forecourt in a typically calm fashion, hoping not to leave the staff wondering how long it would be until the police were looking through dental records to confirm my remains. The gear changes were stiff, as is to be expected in a model built for both track and road. Once the kinks were

7

Super

134 Summer 2012

AU T O M O T I V E : C AT E R H A M ironed out though, the grin on my face heading up through second and third was immeasurable.

I did things in traffic that day that I would not be comfortable doing in any other road going vehicle.

When I finally arrived into Bristol an hour or two later, I drove straight to the office to let the hero worship begin. As always, our surly security guards like to sit and stare and hold onto their power for as long as possible before pushing the little red barrier button. Unfortunately for security staff egos everywhere, the Supersport R is just short enough to fit under most barriers.

This began my weekend of open-top lunacy, seeing how many security barriers the Supersport R could fit under. The answer: every one attempted.

A lot of them have a certain amount of give as well.

When we weren’t trying to enter Sellafield in the Batfink mobile, we decided that the only place worthy of a car with such power-to-weight ratio would be cheddar gauge. The West Country’s new, unofficial racetrack. Obviously speed limits were observed, walkers were given right of way, and absolutely no one was overtaken for dawdling excessively. A word to the wise, the Caterham will not slide in first unless you really push it. In second, however, it becomes a force to be reckoned with. I did, at one stage, mount a roundabout on exit (I am sorry Caterham). I may have misjudged the volcanic power of the Supersport in the first day or two.

So, was it sensible to swap out my sensible work car for a week with the Caterham? Well, when driving solo, the passenger seat and foot-well served perfectly as a storage area. The Caterham does have a boot, but if you are opting to drive with the roof down (god knows why you wouldn’t), it’s really just the wet weather storage area.

But seriously, who buys a Caterham as a day car? I’m sure there are a mad few, but this beast is best suited as an occasional day use car and a weekend mainstay. The Supersport R represents that illegal kind of track fun, the kind that comes with an ankle bracelet and a penchant for Dutch pornography.

TR

ONF ORM 135

TECH

ROUND UP

As the ranks of the independent filmmaker exponentially expand and the funding market for new films grows, the team at Black Magic are carving out a serious piece of market share for themselves.

Words: AMBER EDDILSTON What better way to kick-start our inaugural tech review than by featuring a giant-killing piece of kit. The influx of DSLR filmmakers has heralded a new wave of creativity flooding into the market. The next generation of cinematographers walks amongst you.

The 5D – and whilst this is by no means conclusive – led this charge in my humble opinion. Those of us wanting to produce work without a bank loan or a budget for a RED epic were given a serious tool to set to work with. And of course, with this new toy came no shortage of peripherals from excellent third party producers. So, this issue we look at two of the best cameras on the market for the independent filmmaker without a studio budget. The Canon 5D Mark III and Blackmagic 2.5K EF Mount Cinema Camera.

Black Magic 2.5 Camera The Blackmagic design cinema camera has a beautiful design, featuring a machined aluminium chassis and is one of the world’s finest digital film cameras. It has features that are as attractive as its appearance, such as 12-bit RAW uncompressed and compressed ProRes and DNxHD file formats, high resolution 2.5K sensor, interchangeable optics, 13 stops of dynamic range and 12-bit RAW uncompressed and compressed ProRes and DNxHD file formats. It includes a sun shield, power supply, carry strap, UltraScope waveform monitoring software and a full version of DaVinci Resolve Software for Mac OS X and Windows. It basically comes fully loaded.

The camera features a high resolution sensor with wide dynamic range, making it perfect for independent film, television commercials and episodic television production. DaVinci Resolve software for Mac™ and Windows™ is included, so you can work at the highest quality and get the best results. The Camera is both affordable and a complete solution because it includes a built-in recorder and monitoring, so it’s perfect for displacing videoonly cameras, for work such as sporting events, weddings, music videos and more.

Building one of the finest cameras in the world requires attention to every detail. The camera’s premium quality design features a machined aluminium chassis, interchangeable optics, high resolution 2.5K sensor, 13 stops of dynamic range and 12-bit RAW uncompressed and compressed file formats. Every aspect of the image path has been totally optimised for quality, so this means you always get the quality you need for the most demanding work.

The only thing left to consider is your rig. For the Blackmagic there are a handful of great companies offering a range of peripherals. www.blackmagicdesign.com

Wooden Camera Quick Kit Pro Quick Kit (BMC, Pro) includes a quick release cage for the Blackmagic Cinema Camera EF, MFT, and 4K cameras that provides pass-through lightweight 15mm rod support at the correct lens height. The cage baseplate can attach to any tripod plate or ARRI standard bridgeplate such as Bridgeplate (19mm) or Bridgeplate (15mm Studio). www.woodencamera.com

Zacuto EVF Zacuto is transforming the form factor of DSLR cameras for video with the electronic viewfinder. The Zacuto EVF is a 3.2” high resolution monitor that is used in conjunction with all the Z-Finder models. This electronic viewfinder is compatible with all cameras with an HDMI output including DSLR’s like the Canon 5d Mark II, Mark III, 7D, Nikon D800, D4, Panasonic GH2, Panasonic AG-AF100, Sony FS700, Sony FS100, Sony F3, Canon C300, Scarlet, Red One & Epic. This electronic viewfinder allows you to operate the DSLR camera or any camera with an HDMI port, with the correct form factor for video with the camera “in-line” to your rod system. www.zacuto.com

Zacuto Marauder The Marauder is the first of its kind, a foldable DSLR run’n’gun rig. It’s small enough to fit in your back pocket but when unfolded, it’s an extremely stable DSLR camera support. www.zacuto.com

Canon 5D Mark III Canon’s EOS 5D Mark III had a lot to live up to. For a start, the original Canon EOS 5D was the first DSLR to really bring full-frame digital photography within the reach of enthusiast photographers. Then came its replacement, the Canon EOS 5D Mark II, which kick-started the current trend for shooting video on a DSLR. So naturally, as the 5D Mk II clocked up its third birthday in September 2011, the rumour mill slipped into overdrive with lots of speculation about the likely specification of the 5D Mk III. Even its name was a subject of debate, with Canon EOS 5DX and EOS 6D being other suggested alternatives.

The ISO range has been extended from the 5D MK II and is now 100-25600, making it perfect for shooting in low light, weddings, studio or out in the field. It has HD professionalquality video and a newly designed 22.3MP CMOS sensor.

Canon DIGIC 5+ Image Processor and shooting performance up to 6.0 fps provide exceptional clarity and sharpness, even when shooting rapidly unfolding scenes. Additional technological advancements include an Intelligent Viewfinder, Canon’s advanced iFCL metering system, High Dynamic Range (HDR), and Multiple Exposure mode – all of which that help make the EOS 5D Mark III the perfect multimedia tool for the professional photographer.

So, whether you are looking to move up to a dedicated film camera in the form of the Blackmagic or taking the first step to a Canon 5D III, both these workhorses come with our recommendation. www.canon.com

Redrock Micro ultraCage Black eyeSpy Shoulder Mount Rig for DSLR The ultraCage eyeSpy for DSLR is an ideal shoulder mount rig for handheld shooting when using DSLR cameras with built-in viewfinders for monitoring. The ultraCage eyeSpy rig offsets the camera to be positioned so the camera’s eyepiece is easily used and viewable.

The ultraCage eyeSpy can be configured in a number of ways to exactly meet your needs and shooting style. Choose the amount and type of counterbalance (weights or use an external battery brick), follow focus, and other accessories. The ultraCage offers a unique powered cage through the optional powerPack accessory, which attaches via 1/4-20 mounts to the cage and delivers advanced power to all your camera-top accessories. www.redrockmicro.com

UltraCage Studio Rig for BMCC At the heart of the ultraCage Cinema Bundle for Blackmagic Cinema Camera is the ultraCage Black Professional Series BMCC, providing the core baseplate and camera cage. The ultraCage maximizes stability, adds top and bottom rails, tripod attachment, and multiple points for accessory mounting. The rear chassis cage creates a robust top- and bottom-rail setup and 48 additional mounting points, so all your camera-top accessories have a secure and convenient home on your rig.

The ultraCage Black Professional Series top handle can be configured for single, single with double-clamp, and double top handle to strike that perfect balance between strength and light weight.

The ultraCage Cinema Bundle also comes in an optional powered cage configured by adding the Redrock powerPack accessory. The powerPack is compact and attaches directly to the ultraCage and delivers regulated power to the Blackmagic Cinema Camera (Redrock pigtail cable required) and up to 2 additional accessories. www.redrockmicro.com

Objets du Désir

All track pro 110 The new Alltrack Pro 110 introduces a revolutionary fusion of on-trail precision, freeride versatility and a committed 100mm fit for aspiring experts. New Sensor Grid shell technology and OptiSensor 3D liners enhance forefoot wrapping for increased energy transmission, comfort and support. Thinsulate insulation provides warmth. Grip soles and arches provide increased traction and durability. Featuring a new ski-hike mode, Alltrack are the new reference of “all mountain free” boots, delivering maximum hiking range-of-motion and unprecedented downhill performance. www.rossignol.com

Experience 83

The Experience 83 is an incredibly versatile all-mountain ski for expert to advanced skiers. With the heart of a high-performance carving machine and an effortless freeride feel, this powerful one-ski-quiver delivers amplified performance in all snow conditions. Auto Turn Rocker, Extended Sidecut and Cascade Tip combine for easy maneuverability, playfulness and effortless speed control.

Traditional camber underfoot delivers powerful edge grip and confident stability. Experience more whether blasting through chop, ripping through trees or carving trenches on hardpack on this award-winning new breed of high-performance all-mountain skis.

40% Off-Trail/ 60% On-Trail www.rossignol.com

The Experience Pro Carbon The Experience Pro Carbon is an all-mountain pole with a durable, ultra-lightweight 20% carbon shaft and bi-injected grip. www.rossignol.com

JUDGE Snowboard Boots Featuring Dual Zone closures, the best BOA Focus boot ever made just got better. Material and functional upgrades for 2014 make this boot a top choice for everyone, from beginners to aspiring pros.

AEROTECH Ventilation System™, BOA Coiler, Focus closure system 3D tongue, Articulation, Molded backstay, Internal ankle harness New Unilite with Rubber outsole, Black liner and Remind Insoles™ Also comes with an invite to the transformers four wrap party. www.dcshoes-uk.co.uk

DCLA 14 This jacket features classic sport styling and all-season hi-tech features.

10K/10K waterproofing & breathability, Insulated [80g Body & 40g sleeves, Critically taped seams, Media pocket, Interior mesh stash pocket, 3-way adjustable hood andMesh lined venting. No cuddly toy. www.dcshoes-uk.co.uk

Devun A redefined, all-mountain performer packed with DC’s best premium technologies, including Micro Camber. This board is lightweight, ultra-responsive, and powder-approved by the undisputed king of B.C. backcountry. www.dcshoes-uk.co.uk

The Nizuc Words: PETER ROBINSON

Let’s set the tone for our first day in Cancun.

The Nizuc Resort & Spa was originally designed as a Cancun hideaway for Mexico’s president, so there are two elements that are guaranteed: style and privacy. Basically, the Mexican equivalent of Chequers – minus the rain and Buckinghamshire countryside. The resort is located on Punta Nizuc, a short 15-minute drive from the airport, but still a decent distance away from Cancun City, which I affectionately refer to as the battle zone.

The hotel sits on 29 acres between a lagoon and has a protective mangrove forest And of course, a beautifully kept private beach.

When we arrived somewhat jetlagged on a balmy afternoon in December, we entered with all the pomp and ceremony of a Bond villain.

The main entrance definitely has the ‘nemesis’ vibe. If I wasn’t such a typical Brit when it comes to the sun, I would ensure I arrived in chinos and a double breasted jacket at all establishments. Sadly, this would also require someone to walk in front of me with a sunshade.

The entrance is grand. A giant flame bowl adorns the courtyard and a marble facade protects the building’s entrance walkway. Think Mayan and Asian traditionalism. The middle of the walkway features a floor level waterfall

feature that sets the tone. As always, we stroll into air-conditioned bliss. It is a little like entering a Mayan temple until you hit the reception area and realise that western glamour is not lost at the Nizuc. The resort houses 274 suits and 29 garden pool villas with panoramic ocean views.

Having accepted the jetlag, we were driven via golf cart to the resort’s master suite. It measures over 1630-foot and conveniently connects to the ocean deluxe suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows open onto a 600-square-foot terrace, featuring an infinity pool – a touch that really sets the Nizac apart in terms of bragging rights. The king size bed was wrapped in fine Egyptian cot-

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ton linen, along with blackout curtains, perfect after some local tequila. The large bathroom featured a freestanding deep soaking tub with separate rainfall shower and enough L’Occitane products to set up a concession.

After refreshing ourselves with a swim on the terrace, it was time to step out into the night.

The resort has several bars and restaurants. The staff at the Bar A-Kan are particularly great.

Also make sure to see the Havana Lounge, a mint julep and a fine cigar are the order of the day. When you finally finish that hand-rolled cigar, we suggest the Ramona restaurant.

The following morning, we made our way to the resort’s gym, situated at the 30,000-squarefoot spa – the first ESPA branded spa on the Riviera Maya. I think we managed a solid 45 minutes before showering and making our way to the restaurant for what became a glutinous breakfast: tacos, omelettes, salmon, pulled pork, fruit, pastries, and of course a Bloody Mary or two. We sadly only stayed at the Riviera Maya for one night, but you really need to spend a week here to fully appreciate the property. The Nizuc gets our vote.

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WAXING BIBLICAL With Noah about to hit the big screen, Alan Diment looks at the religiously-thematic aspects of director Darren Aronofsky’s oeuvre Words: ALAN DIMENT 2014 will see a raft of films inspired by Biblical tales. Among them will be Son of God, a retelling of the Christ story, and Ridley Scott’s Exodus, with Christian Bale donning his Moses sandals. First, we have Noah, directed by Darren Aronofsky, a lavish version of the Genesis story, dealing with water levels that make the recent floods look like a leaky tap. Russell Crowe, as Noah, will lead a menagerie of survivors onto his purpose-built ark, including his wife and adopted daughter, played by Jennifer Connelly and Emma Watson. Noah has already experienced some turbulence during production, with the massive ark set built in Oyster Bay, New York, being torn asunder by Hurricane Sandy.

There is around $125 million of Paramount’s money riding on this voyage, so pleasing the sizeable Christian audience in the US is crucial. Preview screenings of Noah, held for Christian groups, have resulted in more grumbling than hallelujahs amongst the congregation. Complainants have said that the film strays too far from its source material.

Some even objected to a scene in which Noah gets drunk, even though just such an incident appears in Genesis.

Paramount has reportedly recut the film six times in an attempt to please the evangelical brigade. Now, the studio is to place a disclaimer on the film’s marketing material effectively stating that, although the film is inspired by the Bible, if you want a more faithful account, then you should go and read the Good Book.

But the problems do not end there, with the news that Noah has been banned in several Arabic countries for conflicting with Islamic teachings by depicting a messenger of God. The union of Darren Aronofsky, a stubborn artist with his own uncompromising vision, and a big budget epic was never likely to be straightforward. The director claims to have been obsessed with the story of Noah ever since the age of thirteen, when he used him as the basis for a prize-winning essay. For Aronofsky, the ark builder is the ultimate victim of survivor’s guilt, being saved by God, whilst the rest of humanity (save for Noah’s family) perishes beneath the deluge.

Aronofsky may not have created a film of this scale before, but there are themes found in the Noah story that tie in with the director’s

previous work. The central character is driven by a personal obsession (building the ark in this case) whilst attempting to comprehend his role in the vastness of the universe. Then there are the more supernatural elements, which Aronofsky has really gone to town on. Not only are there vast numbers of CGI animals and raging flood waters, but gigantic fallen angels (known as the Nephilim) also make an appearance.

One doubts that the average devoted Christian would have many Aronofsky films in their movie collection, considering the full-on depictions of sex and drug taking involved in several of them. Yet, the work of Darren Aronofsky is shot through with religious allusions and metaphysical concepts that make the director’s foray into Biblical territory seem less of a surprise than one might have imagined.

Darren Aronofsky does not claim to be religious. “I’m Godless,” he once told an interviewer. “And so I’ve had to make my God, and my God is narrative filmmaking.” Born in 1969, into a conservative, Jewish background in Brooklyn, New York, Aronofsky pursued his own brand of faith at Harvard where he took Film Studies and Social Anthropology. Going on to study directing at the American Film Institute, he picked up his first award for his senior thesis film Supermarket Sweep.

In 1998, Aronofsky wrote and directed his first feature, Pi, for a mere $60,000, raised through family and friends. Pi revolves around Max (Sean Gullette), an isolated maths genius, who is striving to uncover a code that governs the universe whilst gradually sliding into madness – until a Hassidic Jewish sect asks him to locate a secret message hidden within the Torah.

What Max actually discovers is the true name of God, written in numerical form, something which has the potential to return the Jewish race to a blissful state of Eden. This knowledge proves too much for his mind to take, and only by forgetting what he has learnt can Max find peace.

A visually astounding nightmare, Pi set the ground rules for Aronofsky’s films. There is his distinctive hip-hop editing style, a pounding music score from Clint Mansell and a role for the actor Mark Margolis, who has appeared in all of the director’s subsequent work. But

Pi is also a film that is unafraid to ask some profound questions within its more obvious framework.

In 2000, Aronofsky directed the much admired Requiem for a Dream, based on the cult novel by Hubert Selby Jr. Stylistically, this film went to new extremes, most notably in the speeded up drug-taking sequences, which made the audience feel like they were tripping with the film’s characters. Requiem for a Dream is essentially a horror film about addiction – from smack to prescription drugs to fame and consumerism. Ellen Burstyn stars as an elderly widow desperate to find her place in the world. The chance to appear on a sensationalist TV show seems to offer hope, but instead leads to her becoming hooked on slimming pills and experiencing a psychotic breakdown.

Less obviously religious, there is still a touch of the Old Testament about Requiem for a Dream with each character suffering hideously for their aspirations and weaknesses. The final montage is awfully hard to watch as Burstyn, her junkie son and his friends descend into a relentless Bosch-like hell of degradation and pain that is, in turn, mental, physical and sexual.

Aronofsky’s next self-penned project, The Fountain (2006), proved difficult. The film’s original star, Brad Pitt, walked out during preproduction and the movie’s budget was scaled down as a result. Upon release, The Fountain was deemed a flop, but has been somewhat reappraised since. Perhaps audiences were confused by the film’s triptych structure, which saw Hugh Jackman playing a 15th Century conquistador, a doctor seeking a cure for his wife’s cancer and some sort of monk travelling through space in the company of a tree The Fountain has several Biblical references.

The conquistador is sent on a journey to find the Tree of Life, denied to Adam and Eve after The Fall, which can render immortality. In Genesis, the tree is guarded by a cherub with a flaming sword; in the film, it is a Mayan with a fiery weapon that stands in the way. These Christian beliefs are intertwined with Mayan concepts of rebirth through death, which sees Jackman’s conquistador return to nature by becoming a plant and the monk heading towards a potential new life in the heart of a star. The

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central message of The Fountain seems to be that we can find happiness by accepting our mortality and that death is itself part of life.

Aronofsky’s last two films are thematically linked, in that they are about two very different forms of performance. In Black Swan (2010), Natalie Portman plays a ballerina who undergoes a sexual awakening after landing the lead in Swan Lake. Freed from her sheltered existence and the possessive hold of her mother, the dancer appears to transform emotionally and physically into the role of the seductive black swan.

Darren Aronofsky did not write the screenplay for Black Swan or indeed its companion piece, The Wrestler (2008), but the latter was his idea. The Wrestler is a thinly veiled Christ

analogy, in which Mickey Rourke plays Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson, a grappler who is at least ten years past his best-before date. Tossing back his long flowing locks, Randy sustains all sorts of damage in the cause of his art, especially in a no-holds barred match where the weapons include barb wire, sheet glass and a staple gun. His wounds could be seen to be stigmatic: a cut to the forehead (which Rourke actually inflicted for the sake of authenticity) and lacerations to his back and torso.

Randy’s best friend, Cassidy, works in the sex industry, as a lap dancer rather than a prostitute, and waxes Biblical as she attends his wounds. “The punishment that brought us peace was upon him and by his wounds we

were healed,” she quotes, although her refer-

ence point is a film, The Last Temptation of Christ, rather than the Bible itself. Randy, it seems, goes through all his pain on behalf of the baying mob that make up his fan base.

One disabled acolyte approaches him ring side, not to be healed, but instead to offer up his artificial leg as a weapon.

It is questionable as to whether Darren Aronofsky will want to make another Holy epic after his experiences on Noah, and it will be up to the box-office returns as to whether he will be allowed to. But this most original of directors will doubtless continue to explore spiritual, impenetrable and downright outthere ideas in his films yet to come.

FA S H I O N : I N S TAG L A M

Instaglam Something strange has happened to my Instagram feed. Where before there was a stream of carefully-curated and beautifully shot images, there is now a deluge of blurry snaps. Composition seems to have gone out the window, and every shot is either too bright or too dark.

Words: THERESA HAROLD

I am, of course, writing this mid-Fashion Week – New York’s to be precise. Soon, Paris, London and Milan will follow, and it will be a solid month before my Instagram goes back to its restrained and tasteful norm. It’s easy to see why this happens. The formula of fastpaced models, dramatic lighting and bloggers each trying to outrace each other to post that all-important #firstlook inevitably results in subpar social media.

Let me be clear, I’m by no means doing a ‘Tom Ford’ and advocating a social media ban at fashion shows. Ford’s tweet-free approach of presenting his collection to a small gathering works because, well, he’s Tom Ford. But with the average runway show at New York Fashion Week costing upwards of $200,000, it’s no wonder that brands are eager to milk as much publicity as they can.

The problem is, with every blogger and editor on the Frow, posting looks before the designer has even taken his bow, fashion has lost its inscrutable mystique. It used to be that a runway show ticket was a covetable thing, granting bragging rights to its holder and a first glimpse of clothes that wouldn’t hit the stores for months. Now, every person in the world has an access-all-areas pass right on their screens.

Want to see what’s happening backstage at Donna Karan? Just follow @karliekloss. Want to

catch the Rodarte collection as it’s happening?

Follow @susiebubble. There are thousands of Instagrammers out there, each documenting and commentating on hundreds of fashion shows like a two-bit Suzy Menkes. Some of them, like @derekblasberg and @oscarprgirl are great and well worth a follow. Others seem to specialise in out-of-focus shots taken on a flip phone circa 2009.

In short, be discerning. I remember when Instagram first launched on Android, some iPhone users were so disgusted at the thought of inferior (read: cheap) phones posting to their ‘exclusive’ club that they took to Twitter in droves to voice their complaints. They set up tags like #iPhoneography and #iPhone4S to keep their little club special. Such antics are obviously snobbish and juvenile, but oh, imagine if we could set up a hashtag for decent fashion pics. #nonblurry would be a start. Or something pithy that denotes a photograph that hasn’t already been posted ten times by twenty different users already: #limitededition, maybe?

Call me old-school, but I want fashion to be exclusive, aspirational and polished – all the things that a fuzzy Instagram is not.

The Review’s Top Five Fashion Accounts 1. @bof The Business of Fashion promises “inspiring content and indispensable fashion”. They don’t half deliver.

2. @derekblasberg Handsome, witty and well-connected – what’s not to like about this guy?

3. @cashmereandcandy This lady is one hell of a stylish mama. Follow for great outfit inspiration and the biannual trips to Pitti Uomo

4. @tinaleung Posting from all around the world, this super stylist is fashion’s best kept secret. 21,585 followers can’t be wrong.

5. @toryburch The only brand on the list, but Tory’s account is so much more than a plug for her label. She posts an enviable selection of fashion, food and travel snaps.

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