An £11 pint is an abomination. Let’s get that out the way first.
Here in the capital, we’ve become used to booze prices that would make non-Londoners’ eyes water – with laughter, mainly.
But there’s something about that double-digit threshold that still holds the power to turn stomachs and freeze spines. It goes against everything Winston Churchill and Princess Diana stood for.
When I learnt there was a bar in central London that was serving beers that didn’t just breach the £10 barrier, but whacked another pound on top, something stirred deep in my soul. I needed to get my head around it.
The venue is Stanley’s rooftop bar, which can be found at the top of the four-star Chesterfield hotel in Mayfair. It’s posh. Of course it is – there are about a dozen blue plaques in the surrounding streets, and a quarter of those are for 19th century Prime Ministers.
That doesn’t mean you can’t get in, though, as long as you present yourself with enough confidence.
I was wearing unforgivably scruffy trainers and a second-hand corduroy shirt. My hope was that I would be mistaken for one of those crypto freaks who are too rich to worry about their appearance.
The doorman (yes, I know) asked if I had a reservation, and I said no. He pointed me towards the receptionist, who informed the bar upstairs that a man named Craig Munro was on his way to have a drink on his own.
Then I was accompanied to the mirrored lift and told to press the button for the fifth floor. At Stanley’s, I was greeted by a barman in a white tuxedo and black tie who checked the details sent from the reception and asked if I would like some water.
It arrived quickly, with ice and a slice of lemon. The handsome barkeep placed the glass on a black leather beer mat embossed with the golden logo of the Chesterfield, alongside a ramekin of unidentifiable nibbles.
There were two £11 beer options on the menu. They were – brace yourself – Birra Moretti or Heineken. I opted for Heineken, as this seemed to be especially egregious.
When the pint appeared, it was in a non-branded glass which was extraordinarily thin and delicate. If I’d closed my eyes, I could have been sipping my bog-standard Dutch lager from bone china.
At this point, I’d like to acknowledge something.
There will almost certainly come a point in the future where £11 pints are the norm, in London at least. And people may come across this article and think, ‘That’s is what you used to get for £11? Nibbles and black leather beer mats?’
But for the time being, this is not normal. So what’s going on? How are they getting away with this?
The owner of a whisky bar in Stirling once told me the flavour of Scotch doesn’t change much after it’s been aged in the barrel for 20 years or so. However, people will pay thousands of pounds for whiskies that have been aged for decades, purely for the prestige of owning them.
American sociologist Thorstein Veblen called this ‘conspicuous consumption’ – the signalling of social status through shopping habits.
On the walk to the Chesterfield, I passed a man taking a picture of his friends climbing into the back of a black cab holding a dozen Harrods bags.
Perhaps later, they would take a group selfie clinking glasses of £11 Heineken at Stanley’s rooftop bar. It’s not so much about the product, it’s about the fact they can afford it. They know it’s cheaper elsewhere – that’s part of the appeal.
Was the Heineken good? Of course it wasn’t. It’s the Big Mac of beers, a reliably consistent option for people who are scared of trying something unfamiliar. A pint for the kind of guy who goes to the Irish pub on a holiday to Vietnam.
But here I was, sitting on a rooftop in Mayfair with wicker furniture and a view over the surrounding rooftops. It was clean, modern and the staff were very polite. The last two pages in the bar menu were dedicated to cigars.
This atmosphere was so intoxicating that I didn’t even bother to check the bill when it was brought over. I just tapped my card against the machine. That’s what people in this kind of establishment do, isn’t it?
It was only when I was back at street level that I checked my receipt. £12.65 – the scoundrels had added a 15% tip.
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