October Newsletter
This summer we escaped to Limehouse. The East End of London isn’t what it used to be. In the birthplace of Charlie Chaplin and Michael Caine, you can still sense the ghosts of Oliver Twist and Jack the Ripper but long gone are the opium dens of the 1800s and the gangsters of the 1960s. Sherlock Holmes is no longer shooting-up and The Krays are no longer shooting at you. East London has been transformed. Trendy wharfs, expensive yachts, million-dollar apartments, converted warehouses and Gordon Ramsey restaurants pepper the waterfront and the docks. The Jewel in this Crown is the new Victoria and Albert Museum East.
Spread over five enormous floors, it is a kaleidoscope of world history. Kensington’s overflow is eclectically displayed as if history had no timeframe. The wonder of the warehouse is the way it makes you feel close to art, mixed as randomly as objects in someone’s home. A cup from Tutankhamen’s tomb sits beside Bowie’s Spiders from Mars slippers. A Balenciaga evening dress from 1954 sits next to a pair of cast iron Chinese warriors of an indeterminate date. A huge copy of Picasso’s The Race, commissioned in 1924 by Sergei Diaghilev for the Ballets Russes, hangs under an intricate late 15th century decorated ceiling from Toledo, inscribed in Arabic, “We drink together and we’re happy.”
Presumably curated so as not to bore children with sameness, it reminded me of a line from Alan Bennett’s play The History Boys about a group of grammar schoolboys about to go to university. “How do I define history, Sir? It’s just one f**king thing after another.” V & A East is almost enough to convince you that history never repeats itself.
The art in Mad Dogs, which represents moments from the 20th century, was similarly expertly and randomly hung by Oxford Design Studio. Much of it was commissioned from an eccentric Englishman, Jolyon Fenwick, who resides in a dilapidated 16th century cottage in the Cotswolds and now curates art for what’s left of Britain’s aristocracy. To supplement his income, he owns a fish and chip shop in the north of England. There is something fitting about that. Fish and chips, like the art Jolyon hunts down, feel timeless.
The tradition of frying fish in batter was brought to the East End of London in the 16th century by Sephardic Jews from Spain. During the Second World War, fish and chippies were everywhere. They served as a vital morale booster for the British public, famously remaining off the ration list and becoming a symbol of comfort and national identity. Churchill called them ‘the good companions,” though he preferred his with champagne.
It became the iconic working-class meal, wrapped in old newspaper. Somewhere along the way, newspapers were discarded in favor of the obligatory take-away box. The print was thought to be toxic.
Fish and chip shops were gradually replaced by pizza joints and kebab stands just as Britain’s pubs were replaced by nights at home with supermarket beer and giant televisions. This is not the case with Mad Dogs, I’m happy to report. We are well on our way to serving forty thousand portions this year. Fish and chips are, like rambling through the V & A or dare I say it, Mad Dogs…strangely comforting. They remind us of Sixties pop songs and pub singalongs, of striking miners and miniskirts, of Fagin and Wuthering Heights. Order some tonight with your Guinness.
For more about the art on Mad Dogs walls, please join me on Columbus Day for lunch and tales from a life spent in the midday sun. You can book now on OpenTable.
