The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1732: Chapter 73: Are You Looking for Humiliation?

Although this cafe takes Russian flair as its selling point, as a restaurant born in London, it inevitably has to incorporate some British style.

What kinds of styles are common in British restaurants on the streets?

Actually, those styles are quite diverse.

Some restaurants allow diners to bring their own food and cook it on the restaurant’s stove. After the meal is prepared, they charge you two or three pennies for the fire and labor.

If you don’t want to bother running to the market to buy ingredients, you can order directly at the restaurant.

Generally speaking, a single cup of fine South American coffee costs five pennies. If you opt for a two-penny set meal, you can get a sandwich with four slices of ham and a glass of Sherry. A pot of tea with three teacups, along with six slices of buttered bread, one piece of cake, and two pieces of toast costs ten pennies, or a shilling, because at checkout an extra two pennies as a tip need to be slipped into the manager’s pocket.

Overall, in 19th-century London, considering the price factor, being a drunkard is much more economical than being a tea or coffee enthusiast.

But the best scenario is not drinking any beverages; if it’s just eating, six pennies can get you a large plate of roasted meat at a restaurant.

Of course, even though it’s all about roasted meat, whether you’re taking it away, ordering delivery, dining in a humble eatery outside, or in an upscale dining room inside—those are all details that matter.

Moreover, different types of people frequent different spots.

Traders in the West Indies like to gather at the Jerusalem Cafe on Con Hill, next door at the Basson Cafe is where doctors meet their clients, the Old Butcher Cafe on Martin Lane is the haunt of painters, Russell Street North of Covent Garden is home to Will Cafe where intellectuals find their paradise, Whig Party members stick to St. James Cafe on St James Street, while Tories prefer the Cocoa Tree Cafe at the corner of Pall Mall Street.

When Londoners want to find a gentleman, they usually don’t ask if he lives on Fleet Street or Chancery Lane, but rather if he frequently visits the Greek or Rainbow Cafe.

If you don’t know these routines, then no doubt people would assume you’re just a newcomer begging your way to London.

And this Russian Cafe near Kensington Palace also has its unique clientele.

Yes, just like you just saw, police officers from Scotland Yard love to come here.

You ask why?

Simple. Haven’t you read that news report in The Times?

Haven’t read it?

Oh dear, you can’t really be an outsider, can you?

You know, that—Officer Robert Cali’s memorial ceremony.

Since the memorial, many officers have voluntarily come to serve near Kensington Palace during their leisure time.

But after all, it’s their off-duty hours, and you can’t expect them to patrol like they’re on duty for dozens of hours straight, can you?

You have to empathize with them, give them a breather, time to have a cup of tea, and a bite to eat.

In all of Greater London, in terms of caring for police welfare, there probably isn’t a more enthusiastic lady than Miss Fiona Ivan.

Just so happened she wanted to invest in new industries recently, so she took over a place around Kensington Palace.

To attract customers and also to improve police conditions, Miss Ivan specifically set a rule in the cafe—whenever officers come to dine, they can get 20% off with their badge, plus free tea is offered to officers here.

Thus, it didn’t take long for this place to become a gathering ground for Scotland Yard police.

Even those officers whose patrol areas aren’t in Kensington come here with their families on holidays to dine.

After all, it’s a foreign restaurant, although Russian cuisine may not be as upscale as French cuisine, but good enough to please the wife and kids.

Blackwell while flipping through the menu, overheard a conversation from two plainclothes officers at the next table.

Though not in uniform, their talking tone easily gave away their police occupation.

Their topics ranged from the new public order regulations on the south bank of the Thames River, to last night’s drunkard arrest under Lambeth Bridge, and then they even talked about the drama of their children at school falling head over heels for a young lady.

One officer asked, ”What does her dad do?”

”In the printing business on St John’s Country, heard he once printed ’Ten Proposals against the Police Bill’ a couple of years ago.” The other officer smacked his lips: ”I’m almost used to it, in London you just have to put up with being neighbors with lunatics of all kinds.”

Blackwell chuckled lightly at that.

Though these London police were quite chatty, compared to those from the Third Hall in St. Petersburg, they were rather adorable.

He put down the menu, shortly the waiter brought a pot of steaming light milk tea and freshly baked chicken pie.

Blackwell took a bite of the sliced pie, the crust was lightly crisp, fragrant with butter, the chicken and rice filling was perfectly melded. A swirl of the tongue could still taste mushrooms and herbs inside.

”Hmm... quite authentic. No wonder Sir John Bickhouse chose this place for a meeting, the dishes here are indeed good.”

Gourmet Blackwell was enjoying his meal when suddenly a familiar voice came from nearby.