Without early meetings to wake up for, I managed to catch up with old friends at their new late night haunts. It’s amazing how every square inch of the city is buzzing with energy at all hours. There’s always an effortless cool, even if the temperature at night is like an oven on full blast.
In addition to physically coping with the heat, on arrival there are mental and verbal adjustments to be made. Conversation there gallops at top speed and I find I need to change my frequency if I want to be included in their bandwidth. People don’t languish over sentences like they do in LA. In a city where time is money and if you snooze you lose, the only pause you’ll find are attached to tiny 5th Avenue canines.
It’s at this point - wondering if I have the energy or the aptitude to even momentarily slide into their slipstream – that I remember my strength. My accent. Those wonderful rounded Received Pronunciation vowels! Those staccato consonants! Natural Articulation and Enunciation. In a city that is the gloopiest cauldron of a melting pot, a clipped English accent seems to speak volumes. It implies brains (thank you Shakespeare), wit (thank you Monty Python) and charm (um, cheers Joan Collins?)
So, after cranking up the speed a gear, I also ever so slightly exaggerate my English – hello Dahling! – and find myself rollicking along with the best of them. (What’s funny is then being introduced to another Brit who’s up to exactly the same trick. It happened.) My husband looks at me like I’m slightly mad, and then chats away fluently in NY’s favourite language – stocks and shares speak.
It was just a quick burst of a trip, so by day I raced around to see the latest on the culture, fashion and food scene. A friend took me for brunch on a Tuesday and the line was a 45-minute wait (I suppose a blackberry is all the office some people need these days.) It was called Clinton’s* for those of you heading to NY anytime soon. Once you’ve put your name down, you can wander off to look at the local vintage stores (although it’s a risk, and I almost forfeited our table.)
When you’re there, don’t make my mistake. Don’t look at the enormous pile of fluffy, blueberry pancakes with butter and syrup that everyone’s ordering and then opt for something more ‘nutritious’ sounding like scrambled eggs. Or that evening you will suffer everyone saying: ‘You DIDN’T order the BLUEBERRY PANCAKES?!?!’ You have been warned.
It still haunts me. And I’ve been home for 2 weeks! As much as I heart NY – and the best blueberry pancakes that I never had – I’m a very proud Brit. There are some things that we do so well – self-deprecating humour and Afternoon Tea to name just two. And lest any of you doubt my patriotism, please see my new collection, Vintage Jack, made using an antique linen image of our iconic flag, I like to think it’s Britishness at its best. Just perfect for containing those crumbs from good old teatime scones. Enjoy!
* Clinton Street Baking Company
4 Clinton Street (btw. East Houston & Stanton), New York, NY 10002
Phone: +1 646 602 626
Scarlett Willow
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