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Like an underground newspaper in a repressive state, copies of the New Yorker are being passed around by shocked London sophisticates. At first glance, it is hard to understand why they should be transfixed by the review of Fiamma, a Manhattan restaurant, by one Nick Paumgarten.
The New Yorker rubbishes its cold pasta, slow service and inept martinis. “Fiamma is all prix fixe,” thunders Mr Paumgarten. “The bottom rung is three courses for $89. Throw in Barolo, tax and tip, and, boink, you've been Londoned.”
Londoned?
Er, yes, Londoned. The Urban Dictionary of Modern Slang defines it as: “A stateside expression for being overrated, overpriced and underwhelming, as in, By the time the day was over I had been truly Londoned'.” Tellingly, the New Yorker does not feel it must explain what “Londoned” means to its readers.
I can imagine that some of our hotels and grander restaurants offer a low-price-to-value ratio to tourists. But the New Yorker is behind the times. Even some of London's finest restaurants are now offering breathtakingly good deals, especially at lunch, to tempt in recession-cautious diners. Can Manhattan offer value like the three-course lunch for £23.50 at Corrigan's Mayfair? I doubt it.
That is far from the whole of London, too: I can always flee the centre to convivial Italian restaurants in Clerkenwell, infinitely preferable to Fiamma. Or dive into a pub which has survived Labour's mean-spirited smoking ban, safe in the knowledge that no regular will ask for a martini.
And here is a point that the New Yorker and many others miss: London isn't a bad city to be short of money in. If you do not have to worry about housing costs — a big “if”, I accept — you can go from Tate Modern to the National and on to Exhibition Road. If you don't want to use up your Oyster card, tramping the streets, sticking your nose into churches, museums and odd shops is one of the greatest, cheapest pleasures available.
Quirky London is very different from the Manhattan high life. But if we were to take the Statue of Liberty and put it next to the Thames Barrier, its slogan, “Bring me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free” would ring out truer here than it does there.
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