Same Again?

Save us from the invasion of the chains

Usually, receiving an invitation to a free lunch would be a good thing – don’t let anyone tell you there’s no such thing. Free food satisfies both the glutton and the spendthrift in me. But this week a beautifully designed invite to the opening of ‘The Lawn’ didn’t prompt the usual drools of anticipation, quite the reverse.

The reason? ‘The Lawn’, a re-vamped restaurant at the delightful Fulham Palace is about to be Oliver Peyton-ed. While I have nothing against the man himself – don’t take it personally, Oliver, I’m sure you’re a lovely guy – what really upsets me is that this beautiful café, a favourite haunt of mine, is going the same way as the rest of the UK high street. By that I mean the taking over of the chains.

As far as I’m concerned, they might as well be replacing this beautiful and historic drawing room, the place where the bishops of London have taken tea for centuries, with a Starbucks. As one identikit high street looks so much like the next it can be hard to know where you are. It’s especially confusing for people of my parents’ generation who can often be found wondering in circles.

While Oliver Peyton doesn’t have the same ‘one on every high street’ saturation as that ubiquitous US coffee shop chain, his name is attached to a string of eateries in the capital, all of a certain type. Somerset House, Inn the Park, Meals at Heals and two restaurants at the National Gallery all come under the Peyton & Byrne machine. Once again, we’re in danger of getting the same old thing all over again. It’s ironic that the bloke who started out as groovy party guy and owner of Atlantic Bar & Grill has gone all tea and cake at some of the city’s most established old haunts.

What I don’t understand – and object to the most – is why change what is already operating quite effectively as a much loved and popular café? Delicious cakes and indulgent muffins are successfully served from the existing café at Fulham Palace with no branding or marketing necessary. For the past few years, this high ceiling-ed drawing room has been my secret hideaway, a place where I could pretend I’d been invited for tea by someone posh. Now, I fear, the Peyton machine is about to invade that privacy and take away what I love about the place.

I experienced the worst aspect of Peyton-isation first hand the other day when I went to Manchester Square for an idle Saturday morning wandering around the lovely Wallace Collection – possibly my all-time favourite way to wile away an hour or so on the weekend. Pausing for a quick cup of tea and a croissant in the glass atrium restaurant run by (you guessed it) Mr Peyton, I was shocked when the bill for two came to a whopping £10. For two teas and two second rate croissants. And we had to ask three times before being served. It was enough to put me off coming back… ever.

It’s not just Oliver Peyton who’s at it (see, I told you it wasn’t personal). Gordon Ramsay is just as bad. The agitated chef is obviously on a one-man mission to turn the capital into one big Ramsay themed restaurant. You’re not safe, even if you get out of the country. On your escape you’ll find his Plane Food at the new terminal 5 and then get more of the same in New York and Paris – it’s as if he’s spread via Heathrow over to the US and France.

What I want to know is, how can he be in all those kitchens at once? And if he can’t be (which he can’t, for obvious reasons) then are you really getting a ‘Ramsay’ meal in one of his restaurant? Or are you just paying for the name? Or possibly to see what all the fuss is about. Probably to have a gawp at who else is eating there while you’re at it.

A small victory was celebrated when the Hayward threw out Starbucks in favour of a more individual café, a late licence and even some live music thrown in. What a mis-match that Starbucks was for an art gallery that prides itself on pushing boundaries and one which regularly shows the very best international contemporary art.

This is exactly the kind of anti-big brand backlash I would like to see extended to our national properties and parks. Boycott yet another identikit café, rescue us from repeat edition restaurants. It may be too late for our high streets but the city’s national institutions should be saved from the same old, same old.

Don't Banksy on it

Bristol-based graffiti artist Banksy made his name by avoiding the limelight. Notoriously shy when it comes to identifying himself, it’s surprising that he put on such a public display as the Can Festival. For the graffiti fest under Waterloo station – in a tunnel owned by Eurostar – Banksy invited a bunch of his fellow urban artists to redecorate the place. Perhaps more criminally, the Tate Modern’s current street art show, displayed on the outside of the former power station, doesn’t include a single work by Britain’s best loved graffiti genius.

Cult is a dirty word

It is, apparently, an offence to hold up a placard with the word ‘cult’ on it. That was the ‘insult’ objected to when a 15-year-old boy stood outside the London headquarters of the Church of Scientology. He held aloft a sign which read ‘Scientology is not a religion, it is a dangerous cult’ and was duly handed a summons for it. Valiantly and intelligently fighting his corner, the youngster fired back that a court ruling by a family judge in the High Court in 1984 had described Scientology as a "cult" (while also calling it "corrupt, sinister and dangerous"). Sadly, this wasn’t enough to preserve his right to peacefully protest. Later, charges were dropped.

Who let the dogs out

Even if you’ve never been to Walthamstow dog track you’ll be sad to learn that it’s due for redevelopment, leaving just two dog race tracks in the capital, at Wimbledon and Romford. The ‘gentrification’ of the area – a more genial sounding word than homogenisation – will no doubt see the track, an essential East End experience since 1933, turned into yet another modern building block. The final greyhound race will be run in mid-August and the track handed over to its new owners on September 1st. Get there before the place goes to the dogs.

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