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The XXX factor

The name of the Hilton London Tower Bridge is a triumph of marketing over geographical accuracy, since it’s actually far, far closer to London Bridge, in the More London development, about a minute from London Bridge station and easily 12 to 15 minutes or more by foot from the more iconic Gothic bascule job down-river that narrowly missed flattening Courage’s Anchor brewery when it was built in the last years of the 19th century. I hope nobody at the British Guild of Beer Writers’ annual dinner on Friday believed the back of their ticket, which claimed the hotel was “a short walk” from Tower Bridge Tube station: that would have added another three or four minutes to the walk from the bridge itself.

They’d have had some appetite-sharpening exercise, though, and it’s an increasingly spectacular night-time view across the river, with the lit-up new buildings, such as the Gherkin, and the thumb-like City Hall: I’m a middle-class Londoner who, perhaps unusually, welcomes new tall buildings to the cityscape, if they’re well-designed and not boring slabs.

Similarly Tooley Street, where the “Tower Bridge” Hilton is, makes a better scene, much less gloomy, now it’s lost many of the warehouses that once dominated the thoroughfare. The hotel is an oddly shaped structure, and the interior looked blandly corporate. But the grub’s good, on the evidence of the food served at the Guild’s dinner: respect to Brian Turner, who was in charge of the kitchens for the previous two BGBW bashes, but this was, taking all the dishes into the scoring, perhaps the best meal I’ve had at the annual BGBW awards in the dozen or so years I’ve been attending.

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A religious experience in a restaurant

To be “intoxicated” means, literally, to have been shot with a poisoned arrow, thanks to a roundabout philological journey involving the old Greek word for bow, toxon.

The same root led to the made-up word “toxophilite” for people who practice archery for sport. Early in the 19th century the Royal Toxophilite Society used butts (that is, “archery grounds”, unrelated either to “butt”, a 108-gallon cask, or “butt”, posterior) near Lancaster Gate, just north of Hyde Park in London. In an apparent attempt to attract the custom of the society’s members, a pub nearby in Bathurst Place changed its name some time after 1831, when it opened, from the Crown to the Archery Tavern.

The Archery Tavern was an airy, attractive retreat from the thundering traffic of the Bayswater Road, the sense of being deep in the country rather than just a short walk from Marble Arch and the hordes of Oxford Street increased by the occasional clack-clack of hooves as horses from the mews next door were ridden out to exercise in Hyde Park.

Sadly, the pub closed at the beginning of 2006. Some 18 months later, however, it reopened as the Angelus Restaurant, run by the French-born Thierry Tomasin, who was head sommelier at Le Gavroche in Mayfair for 12 years and then general manager at Aubergine in Chelsea, where he gained a reputation for open-minded willingness to try beer as well as wine with fine-dining menus.

The Angelus doesn’t seem to be that bold in its standard menu yet. But it was probably Tomasin’s known friendliness towards beer (and the name – the angelus bell is rung three times a day to summon Catholics to “dwell for a few moments on the mystery of the Incarnation”) that led the supermarket chain Waitrose and the beer importer James Clay to pick it for a “saintly beer dinner” earlier this week to publicise some of the beers now found on Waitrose’s shelves, with every dish and every beer having a religious hint in the name.

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