Casino Royale: A View to a Meal by Devanshi Mody
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London trumped when… William Crockford opened the world’s oldest private gaming club in 1828. The Duke of Wellington sponsored. Notorious French dandy Le Cont d’Orsay patronised. Gambling became a luxury indulgence. The elite convened over frivolously fashionable evenings. The poshest palates were pampered by a chef who’d served in Louis XVI’s kitchens. Crockfords became the “Ascot of Gambling” or the “most talked about gambling hall in the most talked about street in the most talked about city in the world.” Gaming was glamorous.
Then the evil Queen Victoria intervened. HH banned gaming houses, damned enclaves of extreme wickedness where aristocrats decimated their fortunes and squandered entire inheritances whilst, in Dickensian illicit 'backrooms', the poor wagered the family’s daily bread. Meanwhile, Royal Ascot continued in style, gambling being acceptable when royally endorsed. Although Britain cannot rival the excesses depicted in the Sanskrit epic The Mahabharata where the pious king Yudhistir, enticed into a “friendly” game of dice, ends up betting and losing his kingdom, brothers and finally his wife, gaming in the UK remained banned until 1961.
But the irresistible global rise of gambling made gaming an indispensable luxury. Whilst Monte-Carlo and Las Vegas became abodes of glamorous gaming, and casinos are very James Bond, Victorian prejudices were resurrected in London. Casinos remained iniquitous abominations that cunningly divest gamblers of house and home. Casinos retaliate, “Casinos provide the most honest form of ‘gambling’: we’re cleaner than banks and straighter than the stock market.”
Winning is Knowing
Crockfords’ charismatic Maitre D Manuele elucidates that unlike the damnable corner betting shop where drunks self-destructively dissipate dole allowance for a quick buck London’s luxury casinos are the prerogative of those for whom gambling is a leisure and affordable if over-regulated pleasure. The counter argument: gambling is an addiction. Gamblers intend to win. Until they do they gamble. Once they do, they’re insatiable. Casinos say gambling provides an unparalleled high. Winning is knowing. But one insider confessed that players aren’t supposed to win, otherwise casinos wouldn’t have real gold leaf ceilings… But that’s what makes gaming so sexy.
The Daily Mail thought otherwise and aborted proposals for liberalising gaming and perpetuated gambling myths. So whilst sex and drugs and rock n roll are considered rather cool casinos fritter in pariah-land. The DH Lawrence of Casinos is perhaps required to extirpate inveterate prejudices.
Until then, the big news is that South East Asians have bought over many of London’s top casinos (Malaysian-owned Genting owns five, including Crockfords, Maxims and Colony Club). Further, casinos have changed their game plan by cashing in on “chips” of the culinary sort. Mayfair boasts a clutch of ultra exclusive gaming houses unique on earth. Some of these hitherto hush-hush private members clubs recently opened restaurants within their magnificent listed interiors to non-members. Casinos project that by providing an entertaining over-all experience, which now includes themed soiree, corporate events and belly-dancing evenings, they get guests into the mood to gamble.
Epicurean Imagination
So classy casinos heralded their advent on the Mayfair gastronomic scene by flashing celebrity executive chefs. Aspinalls instated Alberico of Harry’s Bar fame who cooked for Princess Diana whilst Crockfords procured Anton Mosimann who cooks for Prince Charles. Extracting chefs from one strictly members-only club and showcasing them in another, until now, exclusive casino club is captivates the epicurean imagination. A veteran gambler who lost millions in London’s casinos hasn’t entered one in 10 years smirks, “These casinos beguile you with the finest food and wine and then take the shirt off your back.” But why would non-gamblers visit casino restaurants when there is no dearth of restaurants?
Casinos uniquely convene multiple cuisines: Italian, French, Chinese (made my chefs imported from Malaysia…), Japanese, Thai, Indian, Lebanese. And stock better wines than gastronomic restaurants. But the finest, “rewards” for top players, don’t appear on the wine list. A casino manager smiles, “When a player loses a £1 million, we don’t begrudge him a bottle of Petrus 82.” Alas, hard-hit casinos have had to tell greedy players, “No sir, you may not have the Crystal complimentary…”
Although many clubs have opened their restaurants casinos remain secrecy-shrouded and their directors often anti-journalists. I’ve had to pass myself as a Saudi prince’s escort to infiltrate the profoundest recesses of Gamedom where Arabs who swear that drinking and womanising comprise grey areas of vice but gambling is a strict no-no lounge around luxury gaming houses, whisky in one hand, a rosary in the other, unless fiddling loud women lewdly dressed.… London’s glamour casinos have hitherto been the prerogative of sheikhs with 5 private Boeing 747s which convey their cars, horses and harem. Now, Chinese and Indian gamblers en masse. And this is where they are heading:
The Naughty Nine
The Clermont: London’s most exclusive casino presides atop Annabel’s. John Aspinall’s first club, where deadly professional gambler Lord Lucan played, remains strictly members-only (the receptionist cuts the line when you mention you’re a journalist). The 19th century interiors become two gaming floors, the terrace gardens an open-air gambling space following the smoking ban for “gamblers are inevitably smokers.” Executive Chef Habibi offers fabled Egyptian fare in a gilded dining space. The Clermont change croupies every 15 minutes to protect players. This club is Bond film material. When a certain South East Asian princess appeared to play with “not a million or two but a few millions” casino directors were summoned back from holiday, Scotland Yard installed outside and the club closed off.
Les Ambassadeurs: The Rothschilds’ Park Lane residence-turned casino, splendidly wooded and tapestried with French Riviera-like terraces, is the haunt of “not millionaires but billionaires. The club is more secure and surveyed than a bank.” With such an illustrious clientele one wonders why Indonesian-owned Les A is now offering non-gaming dining memberships and business lunches and opening separate entrances to their famous fine dining restaurant Milroy and new nightclub to spare the sensibilities of non-gamblers. Imagine crossing a gaming room? Shock horror! But players remain a priority: the club even replaced their period restaurant with a contemporary gaming space whose vigorous hues and vast chandeliers titillate the aesthetic preferences of the predominantly Arab clientele. When the Chinese and Indians preponderate will they launch a Dragon Drinking Den and Curry Corner?…
Aspinalls: Occupies two lavish townhouses abundant with John Aspinall’s private art collection. Reputed for his rumbustious gaming soirees the flamboyant founder contrasts with the tragic current MD Howard Alridge who feels “threatened” by journalists writing about the club. Alberico’s gastronomic Italian restaurant hasn’t purloined his Harry’s Bar clientele, as projected, nor catapulted to culinary fame. London’s best Italian chef, languishes in solitude with his lissom linguine and the best ice cream this side of Rome.
Crockfords: Two lady chefs serving home-style Italian and Lebanese food have elegant diners addicted. The Regency restaurant flaunts an exquisite painted ceiling whilst the bar and private rooms have contemporised flashes. Staff apparently know the players better than their families do… “If a man’s wife and mistress appear in the club simultaneously we can manoeuvre the situation to avoid any dramatic encounter…”
The Ritz Club: Fashionable until five years ago this basement club, its grandeur and French cuisine notwithstanding, is now deemed “unlucky” by ultra superstitious top players who hit casinos in waves. Restaurant manager Salvatore’s swagger attracts few. The club’s PR shrieks that you dared enter the establishment unaccompanied, as if you had infiltrated the Crown Treasury. Security is wanting: in an Oceans 11 style operation some crooks swindled the casino of £1.5 million but got acquitted because pre-2007 there wasn’t a law against cheating in casinos.
Maxims: Erstwhile home of Dickens’s biographer with original carved wooden staircase and enchanting library. Super poker nights. Expect London’s finest Thai cuisine in a delightful little restaurant with painted ceiling. Their nifty bar is ze place for pink champagne aperos. Whilst some casino directors contend two parking tickets disqualify you from working in casinos Maxims Directors Nick Malone confessed a certain well-connected former director had nominations from the prime minister authorising his candidature.
Fifty: Graces St James where Crockfords originally stood. Wha-wha-whoom refurbishment triggered the casino celebrity circus with Jean-Georges Vongeritchten, Salvatore and the China White team heading their kitchen, bar and nightclub respective. Rama is a culinary calamity but fine dining V serves top-notch Lebanese and to-die-for desserts. Fifty’s profits apparently come from its bar, encrusted with skimpily-clad single women, and events, not gaming. The pulsating parties have shooed away discreet punters leaving 30-something-year-old bankers to freckle gaming areas in what seems a nightclub with a superfluous casino.
Colony Club: Better-than-Michelin-star Tepenyaki and dim sum and custom-made meals served in a chic setting. Waiters telepathically anticipate your needs. Bruce Willis spent a week gambling here.
Rendezvous: Not style incarnate but is London’s only casino with restaurant overlooking gaming rooms. Casino Director Adam Roberts flirted with celebrity chefs Georgio Locatelli and Richard Corrigan then strenuously implemented Ishbilia, Vineet Bhatia and the deposed ex-Aspinalls chefs at Rendezvous. “It’s all about brands.” Rendezvous’s accessibility and staff (Roberto and Ali are adorable) lure youngsters and women gamblers. But not all wives tolerate gambling husbands. Diana Ross supposedly stormed in and pulled her husband out by the ear.
Famous & Infamous Gamblers
Fyodor Dostoevsky: The pathological gambler’s celebrated novel The Gambler (written to rescue his finances) hauntingly captures Dostoyevsky own overwhelming gambling compulsion.
John Montague, Earl of Sandwich: Lord of the Admiralty gained his fame gambling. He hated straying from the gambling table. Hunger-seized he ordered the servant, "Bring me a slice of meat between two slices of bread". And the sandwich was born.
Henry VIII: The regular gambler reportedly lost a gigantic church bell in a wager.
Chevalier de Mere: The noted rake and bon vivant’s fortunes and misfortunes inspired an algebraic approach to probability: "He's a marvellous chap but, alas, no mathematician."
Archie Karas: In 6 months made a borrowed stake of $10,000 into $17 million. "I've gambled more money than anyone in the history of the planet," claimed the self-proclaimed champion of gambling.
Larry Flynt: Hustler magazine owner challenged Thomas Austin Preston to a poker game. It cost him US$2 million to ascertain who the better man was.
Nick "The Greek" Dandalos: Played poker with famous Johnny Moss for five months, stopping only for sleep. The Greek won $500,000 in a hand, subsequently losing $2 million.
Kerry Packer: Australian media moghul once won US$26 million playing blackjack at the MGM Grand. During a three day losing streak at Las Vegas' Bellagio he lost $20 million, whilst the year before he lost $17 million. In London Packer, miffed by a stranger who hogged the casino’s attention, asked him why. The Texan confessed he was an oil tycoon worth US$100 million. 'Toss yer for it,' was Packer's historic reply.
Celebrity Gamblers: Sean Connery, Roger Moore, Albert A Broccoli, Joan Collins, George Clooney, Tiger Woods.
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