The Soho Years
Soho, The Pescatarian Owl, The Pink Fairy Armadillo and Me
The Soho Years
The Pescatarian Owl and I initially started off as work friends who hit it off at someone else’s leaving do. He is a voracious reader so naturally we ended up discussing Françoise Sagan and Ishiguro and Murakami and whatever else bookworms were reading in 2012. Also Jack Kerouac and Hemingway cause we were young and foolish enough to think Hedonism was a cool ass way of life. There was good friendship chemistry there, so very soon The Pescatarian Owl and I were having lunches in the work canteen and plotting and planning against all our colleagues and he was introduced to Mrs Parnsip (who approved highly of his emphasis on work life balance and ability to sit calmly eating an avocado while the financial markets/everyone else around us was have a neurotic breakdown) and came over to ours for Indian food. The Pescatarian Owl, I should mention, is a good Northern lad, but obsessed with Dal. Even more than I am. There’s a brown man lurking somewhere under that Cumbrian exterior.
Into this mix came new joiner the exotic Pink Fairy Armadillo. The Pescatarian Owl and I had never really ventured too far from the office, maybe an occasional beer near work, that sort of thing but the Pink Fairy Armadillo was/is a tireless party animal. And he wanted to hang out with us. Naturally. Everyone wanted to hang out with us. Duh. So off we went to Soho on a Friday night after work - 3 Canary Wharf boys, 2 in T M Lewin and the Pink Fairy Armadillo in his Prada/Boss. The Pink Fairy Armadillo had taken great pains to plan the evening so we ended up at a bunch of assorted pubs. After a staggering amount of wheat beer and chips in mainland Soho we eventually landed at Dumplings Legend in Chinatown.
A little pitstop about Dumplings Legend (and yes I know it is technically Soho adjacent but FFS it’s a 3 minute walk so pedants get over yourselves). How I love this place. And their prawn/chive dumplings. Dumplings are the legit OG. Dumplings make the world a better place. Boil them, steam them, fry them. Dumplings > Gyoza. Gyoza> Mandoo. The only exception to this rule is Momos, which are from Nepal but can be found everywhere in India. Momos trump everything, even Dumplings. But back to topic. Oh Dumplings Legend - the perfect place for a post dinner, post drinks 2 am detour. The service is meh, the decor is generic Chinatown, and they thump the bill done at the table as soon as that last dumpling enters your mouth, but then again, that is their charm. It is a testament to my friendship with The Pescatarian Owl and The Pink Fairy Armadillo that I dragged them to this place repeatedly and they usually acquiesced. I think there may have been a meek complaint from The Pink Fairy Armadillo one night in 2014 but I’m bigger than him and if I sat on him he might crack a rib so that matter was easily resolved. No biggie.
Legal disclaimer: if anyone out there in the infinite abyss is reading this and thinks to themselves “Ooh how lovely, I might want to check out The Parnsip’s fav place in Chinatown”, please do check the food hygiene rating and decide for yourselves whether you want to live life on the edge or play it safe. Do you want to be Aunt May or Peter Parker? Wednesday Adams or Pansy Parkinson? The Parsnip is strictly not responsible for diarrhoea or other stomach bugs or general next day throw-uppery. You have been warned.
In the same vein, see also our other regular haunt, Herman Ze German. Ah, man. Same same as Dumplings Legend, but different. Currywurst central, with the powder thing and the insane curry sauce thing. And chips. And Fritz-Kola. Perfect, perfect food for three drunk guys on a night out. Lads, lads, lads etc. Also, legit vibes. I can’t write about it - it’s something you have to FEEL. Which is pretty much the thing about Soho, it is a place but also an indescribable feeling unto itself - the grittiness, the (sadly rapidly fading) seediness, the character, the random windmill/lap dancers sign where all the tourists take pictures for Instagram, the booze and food and Piccadilly Circus neon signs that feature in every London movie ever. Chinatown is a 2 minute walk across. If you get drunk and lost you end up in Leicester Square with the eyesore of that giant M&M store.
I’d obviously been to Soho every now and then for a random dinner or someone’s birthday shindig, but I hadn’t really Been Been to Soho, you know? Thanks to the Pink Fairy Armadillo and his penchant for the sacred ritual of Boys Night Out we spent the next 4 years there. That is a lot of Friday evenings/Saturday mornings once you pass midnight. Occasionally we strayed to Shoreditch but this is not a post about “The Shoreditch Years”. Some Soho night out highlights:
The time we were all very drunk (per usual) and The Pescatarian Owl and Pink Fairy Armadillo decided, on a whim, to open and walk through an innocuous black door on [name redacted for obvious reasons, duh] Street. They got thrown out by two bouncer types in about 20 seconds. Apparently it was full of dancing Geisha. I have no way of verifying whether this is true since they were both highly inebriated but makes for a good Soho yarn.
As an aside, has anyone else seen Giri/Haji? Fucking legendary TV - Tokyo, London, Yakuza, Kelly Macdonald, bent coppers everywhere, honour, tradition, wisecracking rent boys etc. It genuinely baffles me why more people have not seen this show. Please watch it and thank the Parsnip for his great taste in telly. Bonus: it has a lot of Soho in it!
The time I managed to out-drink both The Pescatarian Owl and The Pink Fairy Armadillo and they had to beg for no more drinks. What can I say. I was in my twenties and I do love a good challenge. You couldn’t make this shit up - An Indian guy, an English guy and a Russian guy walk into a bar etc etc. I did spend all of Saturday being sick though but was quite foolishly proud of my achievements. Go India! All those years of practice of dodgy rum drinking in the Law School Years finally paid off.
The time I got multiple freebies (no, not that kind of freebie, you filthy animal) in quick succession. First, the lovely chap at Bar Italia who decided I looked tired (“why you have black circles under your eyes, you look like shiiit”) and refused to charge for a late night espresso. Thanks, mate. Followed immediately by a little pitstop at a Gelateria where a drunk and chatty American lady told me her entire life story (“when I was two I used to love Sesame Street”) and decided she was going to pay for my Gelato. I meekly tried to push back, but her husband said I should let her cause she “never takes no for an answer, she’s from New York”. Thanks so much, drunk American lady, the free chocolate gelato was great. I hope you enjoyed London and well done on the random act of kindness towards a stranger. Good luck to you and Raaab (Rob).
Soho fits everyone from everywhere. Wiry chap in a great dress strutting down Brewer Street. Nerdy teenage girls with the little bunny ears on their phones. Tattoo parlour guy taking a cigarette break. Sweet old lady out to brunch with other sweet old ladies. Middle aged corporate honchos discussing crypto and how the Wharf is soulless but their buy to let penthouses are offering a solid yield. Thai massage parlour gal pals getting those wok to walk stir fry noodle things in between shifts. Young people, old people, somewhere in the middle people, groups of people, single people, white, black, brown, mixed race, straight, gay, bi, trans people, teacher people, student people, education was a long time ago people. People who love sourdough doughnuts, people who despise sourdough doughnuts, people who don’t care either way. Brunch people, lunch people, dinner people, late night “cheating is eating” drinks only no food people. Fashion people, Hipster people, Bohemian people, Corporate people.
Soho is food, music, sex, art, culture, love, history, books, dance, booze, movies. Life itself. What a fucking great little microcosm of London. With a thumping Springsteen soundtrack.
A lot of things have changed since The Soho Years. The Pescatarian Owl is soon going to be sunning himself in Bali and eating Nasi Goreng. The Pink Fairy Armadillo lives in America (America!) and grew a man-bun. And says things like “How are ya”? I would not be surprised if he also says “awesome sauce” and “Imma call you tomorrow”. Herman Ze German has shut down, thanks to the pandemic and Brexit (UGH). There’s still one in Berlin I believe, but for now there is a Currywurst shaped hole in Soho. I went back recently and post Covid Soho isn’t the same, with more closures, horror stories from shop owners of ridiculous rents and small/independent venues under attack but also with some amazing people determined to hold on to what it was and how they once were.
I look forward to many more versions of The Soho Years. Sure, there is no way in hell that we’re going to have the energy/youth/enthusiasm to do fifteen (okay, seven, but still) pints, then dinner, then more pints, then an interim post dinner snack at Dumplings Legend before final 2 am double whiskies. And it will be a lot more civilised and grown up. But no matter what, it will always be great, I am sure. It is Soho. It needs saving. And it will save us in return.
Brilliant!
Loved it!!😍