Lunch and Circumstance

I’ve been lucky to have some caring loved ones take me out to lunch to places that are that little bit special, the two places appealing to my patriotism and pride and fascination with the history of tradition.  Both lunches have been more about the venue than the food itself and, for the record, about spending time with people very dear to me. 

It struck me that though both lunches were in two very different institutions the similarities between them were marked. This could all be true or I could just have been wearing my proud Englishman glasses again, tinted as they are with the red white and blue stain of British pride.

The first lunch was in the Terrace Cafeteria in the Houses of Parliament where I sat, overlooking the mighty Thames, eating fish and chips on Parliament’s “Chip Shop Friday”; the second lunch at the HAC (Honourable Artillery Corps) in The City. Perhaps it is because they’re both part of the establishment they feel similar, but as I ate in dining halls decorated with forest loads of dark wood panelling, I was a happy Englishman indeed. Though parliament on a Friday has wafts of a high street chip shop floating down its miles of corridors, and the HAC has that familiar sponge pudding and custard sweetness drifting out of the restaurant, both venues have an undeniable similar smell of history, as if Mr Sheen produces a special “18^th Century Must” spray just for these buildings.  

I love walking into these places not least because I like going into anywhere that is restricted. Passing security guards bolsters my confidence and appeals to my inner snob. Who, except die-hard communists, does not like to feel the thrill of entering somewhere exclusive.  Let’s be clear this is a social thrill only, being on the guest side of the red rope at a club is the same or sitting on the other side of the curtain on an plane, but simply being allowed passed the front desk at work, is not.  

One of the great things about the HAC is it’s a large complex tucked away in the middle of The City.  Take a sharp turn in the right place just off Moorgate and you veer away from the suited workers, the Boots sandwiches and London buses into a completely different world of military precision, perfect lawns and deference to The Queen. All of this is fantastically overlooked by the city types in their steel and glass offices , powering Britain’s economy. Who knows that underneath the perfect green grass lies the even darker camouflage green of tanks, Land Rovers, lorries and yes the odd artillery. In the days after London’s 7^th July bombings, this area was commandeered as a temporary morgue for the fifty innocent victims of the attacks and the lawn returned to its splendour by the City Police once the investigations were laid to rest.

"Attention" Outside the HAC

Walking into Parliament, with a smug spring in my step as I pass the tourists and onlookers, is awe inspiring. Westminster Hall dates back to William the Conqueror and has stood as not just London but England, Britain, Great Britain, The Empire, the United Kingdom and Commonwealth grew, changed and was reborn. It’s as if Westminster Hall, through its great doors, gave birth to the country  we know today and has nurtured it ever since.  

The Clock Tower aka St Stephen's Tower

There’s a sense of occasion, a sense of Britishness about both of these places and I was overflowing with patriotism.  Even the food reflected British history, authentically harking back to the days when Britain was not known for its culinary expertise. Not that the food was bad but, that had neither have been subsidized, an eyebrow would have been raised. Let it be on record however that the HAC’s puddings, quite literally “old school”, are heart warming and melancholic, invoking my happy days of education. 

So with rib sticking pudding and a large slab of fish and hillock of chips both places meant I had afternoons of wobbling around with a very full belly. As both dining halls had large portraits of The Queen overseeing the experience it was as if Her Majesty herself willed her subjects to be heartily fed. A royal matriarch demanding that plates are clear before anyone can get down from the table. Quite right too.

Staircase at the HAC

Medal Room at the HAC