One of my favourite things to do, as a part of my exercise regime, is to catch the 274 bus from Baker Street, and ride it all the way to primrose hill to go and let some steam off. There's something very relaxing , and conveniently cathartic about Primrose Hill. It's small enough to pop in and get some greenery, without being overwhelmingly open like say Hyde Park, for example. I come out of Baker St tube station (on the Baker St side), then turn right, then cross over at the first pedestrian crossing, then cut through the Gloucester arcade that houses a little Japanese restaurant called Nambu Tei (I must try it out sometime, it looks lovely), then hook a left out of the arcade, past Tescos, and onto the 274 bus stop which is just across the way on the other side of Gloucester Place. I've been doing this ritual for ages. But there was one particular day, (I can't remember exactly when), when I was casually sauntering along the route, when I was literally bowled over by a whiffy waft of 'Chinese smells', seemingly coming out of the side street adjacent to Tescos. You know the smell, that irresistible classic Chinese restaurant smell, that is the same no matter where you go, or what calibre the restaurant is; the quintessential Chinese smell.
Just like those Walt Disney cartoons, whereby an odour or a smell is depicted as little whirls of white clouds by the cartoonist, here too, just next to Baker Street, I was being pencilled in by Baker Street's own 'Lolf Hallis'. MMM I thought to myself, as one of the whirls whisked me down the side street, titillating my olfactory nerves, as I followed the scent back to its origin. The aroma trail led me to a white façade of a restaurant, which was situated on the street level, right at the centre of a monolithic Art Deco block of flats. The writing on the wall said Phoenix Palace.
I couldn't see much through the front window, apart from a glitzy bar on the left hand side, some very chinesey lacquered chairs and tables, shelves decked with oriental ornaments, some sort of fish tank, and a preacher's pulpit directly facing the front door, the pulpit supposedly meant to be manned to receive the guests as they enter the restaurant. It is never manned, so just nod to the invisible preacher, upon arrival.
My first impressions of this place were wow, look at this. Fancy that, finding a Chinese restaurant on a back street, like that. And wow it looks really nice inside, I bet the food is good in there. It did look a little bit like mutton dressed up as lamb, from the outside; a bit pretentious, a bit 80's. In fact, so 80's was it, that I was expecting Alexis-Morrell-Carrington-Colby-Dexter-Rowan to be receiving me from behind the pulpit. Nevertheless, when I got home, I googled it, and it turned out to be hailed as one of the best Chinese restaurants in London. Apparently tonnes of Chinese families flock there on the weekends to scoff down good dim sums.
So anyway, when my father texted me one night asking me to pick a restaurant of my choice, to take me out to dinner to, I said lets go to the Phoenix Palace.
This place is absolutely HUGE. You cant judge the depth of the restaurant just from looking from the outside, because three quarters of it is tucked away behind a wall, and there's a further two or three private banqueting rooms which are hidden away from view too. I was really really surprised when I walked in for the first time. After saying good evening to the invisible man, I veered myself towards the channel that lies between the bar on the left and the first screened private dining quarters, which is on the right. It was then that I witnessed the true extent of the dining room. In fact, when walking down this channel, it feels like you are being cast away into the sea; like the mouth of a river, or something. Two or three waiters/managers/people that look like they're ranked above the waiters, swarmed in front of my father and I, and it felt like we were being intercepted by a shiver of shark, circling and surrounding us on all sides. I didn't know whom to turn to, so I just tried my luck with the older looking male of the school. Hi, table for two please, I announced, doing a pan-American double-thumb-whammy in a vain attempt to try and inject some enthusiasm to the prospect of having dinner with my father, then simultaneously wiping the trail of saliva that had started to drool from the corners of my mouth. He just stared at me blankly (like I was the village-idiot) and then looked straight down at my calves (which were on full show because I was wearing Nike shorts). Cantonese calves he probably thought to himself as he began to lead us on a voyage to the other side of the room. My father, having the same physique as a beached whale, didn't like the idea of sailing the full breadth of the dining room, and so chose to sit right in front of the counter, which is in the middle of the channel, right next to the 'cutlery and menu trolley', which was read more