Feed Me: After Dark
My London itinerary + some news.
Feed Me: After Dark is when I send Feed Me at night.
Today’s letter includes a recap of my London trip, BJ Novak’s new venture, and two recent essays critiquing Substack. It’s a long one (sorry if you can’t read the whole thing in your inbox), and it’s a free one.
Three nights in London.
I started this letter on a plane home from London this morning, right after enjoying one of my favorite snacks that I always have in the London Heathrow Pret A Manger. They make their oatmeal (porridge) with whole milk (they make it with water in the U.S.) and they give you a packet of honey to squeeze into the cup. The result is my breakfast equivalent of rice pudding and it makes the long flight home somewhat more bearable.
I went to London because my friend and I wanted to see the city during Christmastime. The city had a blanket of lights and mistletoe on every street and window, and it counteracted the rain, wind, and grey skies. It really did. Celebrating and performing Christmas are not the same thing. Here’s a recap of my trip.
Day One.
On Saturday night, we went to Chiltern Firehouse. We sat in the bar for an hour and people watched while we waited for our dinner table to be ready. The cocktail waitresses were wearing these fabulous turquoise body suits that cut off at their ankles. They were all snatched and the outfits looked like an extra set of blue skin under the twinkling decorations. I could only guess that the combination was Pucci and Pilates. I asked one of them where they outfits were from, and she told me that they were custom, they’re basically sewed onto their bodies, and there are different outfits for “morning, noon and night.”
After dinner, we asked one of the bartenders where to go party. He kneeled down and looked under the table at our shoes, and said if they were higher, more expensive heels, we’d probably get into The Box. I’m still processing this. I didn’t find dinner particularly noteworthy but I liked the large format tiramisu bowl they scoop out of when you order that for dessert. I also liked that you can order a room upstairs for dessert. Hot. Before leaving, we walked through the men’s bathroom to see the hidden smoking area that many friends told us about.
Later that evening, we returned to our hotel (I always stay at The Standard in London — this wasn’t comped, I just think it checks many of my boxes) and snuck into a party at their rooftop nightclub. In the morning we found out it was Skepta’s holiday party.
Day Two.
On Sunday, I met with friends for a Sunday Roast. The five of us shared a table of roasted beef, lamb, potatoes, turnips, and meat juices. Later that afternoon I walked around Harrod’s and bought some boxes of chocolates shaped like twigs for Narnia-esque Christmas gifts.
The energy and inventory in Harrod’s (and many European department stores) really makes me resent New York’s retail situation. Sure, there are some special places for special people, but the brick-and-mortar landscape of London is so rich. We went to a ribbon store and people were buying ribbons for their hat trimmings and Christmas presents, not to make TikTok videos about a ribbon store.
For dinner on Sunday, we sat at the bar at Scott’s, an old-school establishment in Mayfair. Like Chiltern, they also had custom uniforms. They also had a doorman with a bowler hat when we walked in, and as we walked out he shared a cigarette with two men in suits outside. We ordered oysters with wild boar sausages, buttery lemon sea bass, a tiny copper pot of mashed potatoes, and champagne vinegar-dressed salad. The large ice cube in my Negroni had an S embossed on it. The sink in the bathroom reminded me of Gaudi’s architectue, and I was surprised it was hidden away in the basement of a restaurant that opened in 1851. When we entered the restaurant, I thought the lights were too bright, maybe sterile. But when I saw couple after Cucinelli-clad couple, touching hands over martinis while smiling, I changed my mind. I’ve been conditioned by New York to sit in dark corners, dark booths, appreciate privacy (and I do) and seductive dim lights, but there is a lot to be appreciated about a bright, expensive room of beautiful people who want to be seen. Plus, I realized it’s nice to eat oysters when you can see what’s going on inside of the shell.
Later that night we went to a bar called Trisha’s. My friend who lives in town texted me as I walked over, “Hope it’s a good night there, Sundays are tough, but sometimes it’s gen z sometimes it’s 70 year olds sometimes it’s the Delevignes.” It was a combination of the three. Drinks were £5, the bouncer walked us into a basement that looked borderline residential, and the whole room is a little sticky. The DJ had record players mixing song after song from Please Please Me, and groups of pretty friends were taking turns doing drugs in the corner before dancing with each other. Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, but instead to S1E4 of Skins.
Walking up the stairs to exit Trisha’s, I paused to take a photo of a cheap streamer of tinsel hanging above a window that looked over the smoking patio. The fur coats, smoke, and glittering silver touched my heart — cheer isn’t complicated. As we continued our walk home, I saw a window box in front of a church with a handmade crèche above a village. The streets in London are darker than New York, but all the site-specific Christmas decorations stopped me in my tracks.
Day Three
Our last day in London had everything I love: pork, the spa, a white Negroni. When you walk through the front doors of Claridge’s the first thing you’ll see is decked halls: animatronic birds on their grand Christmas tree, mothers and daughters sitting for tea, and even Orlando Bloom trying to avoid people taking selfies in front of all the lights and decor. He looked good.
In the basement of Claridge’s is a magnificent blush-pink spa. You’re greeted by trickling water, a Damien Hirst painting, and wet light. Whenever I smell expensive chlorine maintenance in a spa, something inside of me lights up. My treatment started with 30 minutes in the sauna. The roof of the sauna looked like the Starlight Headliner in a Rolls-Royce. I then sat by the pool in a cabana and waited for my masseuse to greet me, while emailing on my phone.
Inside the treatment room, she showed me two small objects on the top of her fingers that looked like wool condoms, or tiny white beanies for a mouse. They were silk cocoons, and they would be used to exfoliate my face, gently. After my feet were washed, bamboo sticks stretched the membranes between my muscle, I imagined my fascia exhaling and regenerating. Poultices made with chamomile and rice were used to press and pull my body. It was an intense 90-minute treatment, and when I emerged from the pink bed I felt brand new, reborn, lymphatic drained.
For dinner we went to Cafe Deco, a small, quiet wine bar and restaurant. This was my favorite meal I had while we were in town. We started with white Negronis, served in small glasses. Kind of like juice glasses. They were served with a long, rectangular prism of ice. Delicious.
Then we got bread with butter, which was cut from a pile behind the bar. Imagine going to a deli counter and getting a plate of bread and butter instead of a plate of cold cuts. I liked the display of it. Then we got little toasts with cheese and artichokes, equally fatty and bright, and a pumpkin salad. For dinner we got polenta with pork that fell apart, and a layered root vegetable pie in a divinely savory crust.
At this point in the meal we were on our second glass of wine (third drink) and the news about Luigi hit. We excitedly spooned Banoffee pie while reading through our group texts to see what everyone’s theories on the assassin were. That’s when I started this chat that HUNDREDS of you freaks wrote in:
A group of food journalists (many former Bon Appetit writers) started an independent food publication called Best Food Blog. Their About Page reads, “BFB is the food media we’ve been craving. It's driven by our writers’ passion, curiosity, and sense of humor — instead of by the advertisers and sponsors, SEO goals, and algorithms that direct traditional media. Here, there are no paid ads and no investors waiting for performance reports.”
BJ Novak is starting a children’s entertainment company. And he’s looking to build out his team.
Earlier this year I paid for a subscription to Town and Country. It’s worthwhile to me for the print edition alone, but they also do these fun “snob guides” to cities. It’s smart — for the Snob’s Guide to New York today, they talk to meteorologist John Homenuk about what Italian restaurants to eat at on a snowy day, a guide to the diamond district, and 12 places you can still find “old New York.”
from Sweater Weather wrote an essay about why he’s thinking of leaving Substack. “It's the phones, as they say—specifically, it’s Notes. I don’t like the platform. Every time I open the Substack app, I am presented with a string of posts that inspire hostility in my heart. I know that people reported this feeling on Twitter and Instagram and Tik Tok. But those platforms never truly inspired the kind of active peevishness I feel every time I open Notes.”
Tyler Denk, the CEO and co-founder of Substack competitor Beehiiv, also wrote a critique of Substack today. “Substack has become the Amazon of publishing. It offers the consensual hallucination of independence and ownership while deceivingly consolidating control and dictating the terms of success for sellers (i.e. you, the writers).”
The Instagram team is on fire. Kareem, Meta, and the MTA are working together! This is fun, I like seeing tech giants partner with public transportation (not being facetious).
I am in awe of this short documentary. Christmas, Every Day is about two young girls in Alabama who perform for their online fans under their mother’s watchful guidance. It’s an incredible look at late-stage capitalism and what it’s like to grow up as a woman online.
Niche, but I know we have some Stoolies here: Barstool’s Brianna LaPaglia and Grace O’Malley aren’t bringing back their podcast, Plan Bri.
For the month of December, Feed Me will be featuring a daily holiday gift — usually suggested by Emily, sometimes suggested by someone else — some might generate affiliate revenue. In addition to this advent calendar-style gift guide, there will also be the occasional Christmas surprise.
All I’m going to say is that if a man wears this scent, only good things can happen to him.
I’m jetlagged sorry for any typos <3
More travel diaries please! I simply devoured this one!
need an ID on the red lip/balaclava