When I started as an assistant economist in the Treasury in the early 1990s, we would wait for messengers to bring round the “post” from our seniors setting out the work they wanted us to do – a distant echo of the days when John Maynard Keynes worked there, and foreign post came up from Dover to help him manage the foreign exchanges. Briefing papers still contained Latinisms that left me baffled, and we would spend hours producing our own reams of briefing to prepare ministers for the simplest parliamentary question or latest statistical publication – material we knew they would barely look at.
It was at the end of my first year that we economists all trooped off to our “surprise” Christmas lunch, a short walk from Whitehall to Regent Street. We entered an apparently small restaurant through a door tucked away on a side-street. But the venue beyond it took my breath away: slightly faded though still striking décor of red and gold, hanging fabrics, thick carpets, hushed voices tittle-tattling, mouth-watering aromas. “Welcome to the iconic Veeraswamy the oldest surviving Indian restaurant in the UK,” said my manager. I felt that I’d arrived in the heart of the Establishment.
We were ushered into a private room and served a wide range of delicacies which most of us thoroughly enjoyed, though, for some, the food was too spicy. We juniors sat mainly in silence, listening to our superiors make uncomfortable small talk. But towards the end of meal a waiter brought in two decanters placed one at each end of the table. Few took any notice, as they weren’t a boozy lot, unlike the City crowd I had previously worked for. Nevertheless, one assistant daringly poured himself a small glass and offered to “pass the port” to his neighbours.
Those of us who hadn’t been to Oxbridge didn’t catch on, and so the decanter stayed put. The bill was totalled up to be sorted at a later date. A few days on, there was uproar among the seniors as they realised they had been charged full price for the two decanters that no-one admitted to ordering, despite barely a sip or two having been imbibed. It appeared they had contained a rather expensive vintage which, despite protestations, had to be paid for in full. A rare example, perhaps, of the catering trade getting one over on the bean counters.
This memory sprung to mind because Veeraswamy, now quite literally on the cusp of reaching the incredible milestone of operating in the same premises for 100 years, is being asked by the Crown Estate to relocate. Its owners have applied to the courts to extend their lease, with a decision expected next year. To help their cause they have launched a petition to King Charles.
Founded in 1926 by Edward Palmer, an Anglo-Indian and former British Indian Army officer, Veeraswamy catered initially to Anglo-Indian tastes, but evolved over time to showcase authentic regional Indian cuisines. It earned a Michelin star and became feted by a host of distinguished guests, such as Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, Indira Gandhi and Charlie Chaplin. Palmer even wrote his own cookery book under the name EP Veeraswamy. Called simply Indian Cookery, its recipes including variations on vindaloo, roti, foogath and soups, and a glossary of English, Hindustani and Tamil terms.
The Veeraswamy restaurant is part of the Masala World company, which also owns the Masala Zone, Amaya and Chutney Mary restaurants. Interestingly, Chutney Mary used to be on the New King’s Road in Chelsea but later moved to Mayfair, showing that a high-end brand can travel to take advantage of a different and perhaps bigger market, although since the time of that move Chelsea has become a more fashionable foodie destination. The company has also closed a branch of Masala Zone on Westbourne Grove and opened a big one in Piccadilly, in the gorgeous neo-Byzantine Criterion building, where the food is fine, but, well, not particularly distinctive.
Moving Veeraswamy would be different because of its unique heritage, which is about its role in the evolution of Indian food in the UK from a particular London address. Having recently lost the much loved India Club on the Strand and seen the forced closure of the Simpson’s Tavern on Cornhill, London’s oldest chop house dating back to 1757, to lose another of our signature restaurants would be a blow to London’s wonderfully diverse culinary heritage.
In practical, day-to-day terms, the Crown Estate has very little to do with the King. But appealing to Charles is certainly a good PR move. And Queen Victoria liked a curry. So perhaps there is hope.
OnLondon.co.uk provides unique, no-advertising and no-paywall coverage of the capital’s politics, development and culture. Support the website and its writers for just £5 a month or £50 a year and get things that other people won’t. Details HERE. Follow Richard Derecki on BlueSky. Photo from Masala World.