Stone Free by Andrew Loog Oldham

Author:Andrew Loog Oldham [Oldham, Andrew Loog]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781908191601
Publisher: Because Entertainment, Inc.
Published: 2014-11-04T08:00:00+00:00

MALCOLM MCLAREN

“Malcolm was definitely the Brian Epstein of punk—without him it wouldn’t have happened the way it did. I loved the guy; his birthday gift to me when I turned 21 was a hooker and some heroin.”

— Steve Jones

Malcolm McLaren

ONE LATE SEPTEMBER afternoon I sat alone on a cold iron seat outside the Caffè Nero on the corner of Frith and Old Compton Streets in the heart of London’s Soho, nursing an espresso I wouldn’t drink and a sparkling water that I would. I’d had my espresso fix half an hour before and a few blocks east at the Algerian Tea & Coffee Store. You are not encouraged to dawdle in the Algerian gaff, but neither are you told not to. They do a brisk business in teas from India, China, Ceylon and Formosa, superlative White Monkey and Lapsong Souchong among them. The coffees are equally global in origin, from Sumatra to Ecuador, Algiers to Bolivia, and even Vietnam. The organic Colombian compares favorably to the cup I drink back home in Bogota. There are artichoke teas for a healthy liver and licorice sweets for those heedless of their blood pressure.

The shop opened in 1887 and smells exquisitely from old wooden fixtures, aromatic and exclusive wares, and long hours worked at a refreshing craft. Artists, musicians and street walkers beyond count have passed by its inviting doors. Until they speak, the staff might remind you of Bryan Forbes, Richard Attenborough or Gillo Porticorvo. Those whose families fled from the prolonged insurgence against French occupation in the Fifties have been pretty well assimilated, but the premium they charge to serve you, quick and courteous as it may be, reflects the shrewd mercantile instincts of their native Algiers. A single espresso costs a pound, the same amount it costs to use the bathroom at Harrods.

I like espresso and there must be a brotherhood among those who prepare and serve it. I once dined at an Italian restaurant in Fairfield, Connecticut where I was told the proprietor had attended Don Paul Castellano just before he was gunned down outside Sparks Steak House in midtown Manhattan. When my friend requested a double espresso, the well-travelled maître d’ pursed his lips slightly and asked “Why?” There’s something about strong coffee that gives those who sell it a self-confidence we all aspire to.

On the iron bench outside Nero’s, my mind wandered among decades of memories lived in the neighborhood of Old Compton Street. I imagined myself downstairs at Mario & Franco’s Terraza where Len Deighton, gourmet and novelist, lunched alongside filmmakers David Puttnam and Jules Buck while the prized table in the center of the room awaited the arrival of Sammy Davis Jr. The “Trat” was a magnet for Soho high society from its opening in 1959 and remained so even after Mario and Franco sold it in 1968 and moved on to open other successful restaurants. Once Mario had welcomed you into the club on your way up, his loyalty could be counted upon even if one’s fortunes declined.

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