No, not “disc jockeys”, as some innocent (or wag) thought – “dinner jackets”, rather. Lest our splendidly suave readers think that the epicures at Wonderland City have renounced the ways of the (stylish) world, here is evidence that elegant people still adorn elegant places in the Metrop.
The Delaunay has been a relatively frequent meeting point for our ilk: appreciators of spiffing attire, congenial Golden Era surroundings and irreproachable service. We’ve begun a cracking Cocktail Crawl there. We’ve sampled the fetching comfort of the dining room – just not lately. So, when a fellow good egg about town asked us when we intended to instigate some stylish comity, we thought it was time to return to the ace-place of Aldwych and put a bit of dash about.
We thus suggested to our fellow swells that the evening called for DJs or smart suits. The thing about ‘black tie’ (dinner jackets, tuxedos, whatnot) is that it’s the most versatile of civilised evening wear. Of course, ‘white tie’ is absolutely topping but perhaps not commensurate to every jaunt. It is rather uncompromising, especially if not all the members of a jolly caper can manage the logistics of ball-gowns and formal clobber, on thr night. But a gaggle of gadabouts in DJs admits of some latitude… and indeed a touch of devil-may-care.
As for the ladies in our midst, we would never presume to advance sartorial suggestions to them, as it is self-evident they need no guidance. For that matter, neither do the chaps but, you know, boys need structure – builds character and all that…
It is worth reiterating that the seldom equalled hostelries begat by the genius of Corbin and King*, relative to the smashing ambiance, staffing and fare, offer good value (at least by London’s plutocratic standards). And how many joints still operate a proper cloakroom that one would trust with one’s homburg? More such junkets will be announced in due course.
What is there left to say besides what the images clearly show: merriment with a healthy garnish of dandyism? Just a thank-you to Mr C. Hartley for the better images shown here.
(*) To date, the rather ugly defenestration of Monsieur King from his classic hospitality empire has not resulted in any uglification or glaring diminution of his legacy. We nonetheless wait his return to the Wonderland City-worthy scene with the proverbial bated breath (and several bottles of Champagne on ice, as it were). Why the man has not been made ‘Lord Wolseley’ yet is beyond us. The newly ascended Charles III will hopefully correct this oversight in due course.
