Well. Yesterday I called into Austin Reed after a very good lunch at Gaucho Grill, intent on sampling the new(ish?) bar on the third floor, called the Q Club (apparently after the character in the James Bond films; there were at least two photographs of Desmond Llewellyn in evidence). I don't shop at Austin Reed a great deal - it's a little modern for my tastes - but I thought it was worth visiting the bar, in case it proved to be a hidden central-London gem. Alas. So nearly a win, but actually a fail.
It should be great. From the third floor of the building, the floor-length windows give a splendid view of Regent Street, and I was able to gaze at the protest marchers hemmed in by police (something to do with the Democratic Republic of Congo). There are comfy armchairs and sofas, some splendid 1930s AR posters on the wall, and the bar is a spacious area which could provide a welcome respite from the rigours of shopping. If you pay £275 you can also join the Q Club itself, which gives you discounts on clothing, a half-price bespoke suit and sundry other attractions; seems a lot, to me, as it's not far off the fees for my club on Pall Mall. But I digress.
Oh, the missed opportunities. Firstly, the staffing. I stood at the bar for a good five minutes until a very apologetic man bustled over; I suspect his day job is working in the adjacent hire department, as his skill as a barman was not particularly evident. But he was very polite. I had looked at the rather limited drinks menu with a sense of disappointment, and asked if they made cocktails. No, he said with a sad shake of the head. Hmmm. To what use, then, are the cocktail glasses on a shelf behind the bar put? Or the bottle of orange bitters, for that matter? Oh well. One cannot have everything.
The drinks were eventually rustled up, and were fine. They had two white wines on offer, but one was sold out, and, to be honest, the riesling I had was fine but was hardly worth £9 for a 175 ml glass. The Pimm's was, I am told, underpowered. Taittinger by the glass for £8.75 is not extortionate, for which they deserve credit. But in truth the menu was just very pedestrian. Tea and coffee are available for those who do, and the Earl Grey (the inevitable Twining's) was palatable, I am told, though the slices of lemon which were produced on request did not provide the taste sensation for which my companion had hoped; they might well have been preserved.
Again, in fairness, the service bucked up a little bit. The original, apologetic gentleman was replaced by a very cheery young lady who was solicitous, even if she gave little more indication than her colleague of this being her metier. But the bar was never busy, yet even dealing with three or four sets of customers left the staff breathless with the effort. It was not that we felt unloved, just that we were asking of the staff more than they could deliver, which is surely not right.
A few tweaks would transform the place. This is a famous gentlemen's outfitter on Regent Street, for God's sake. A bit of elegance and dash is not too much to expect. And the decor is there, ready to provide. Get a decent barman, a cocktail menu and some more wines, and maybe knock a pound off each of the prices, and it would be a real find, a haven of calm and sophistication in the middle of London's shopping district. Until then, however, I won't be going back. And that, I have to say, is a real shame.
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