London is a living city, and it is constantly remade. That is its nature and I revel in it: one in, one out. But some things are too precious to lose. The forced closure of Simpson’s Tavern — revealed by the Londoner’s Diary last week — the oldest and greatest chop house in the city, is a grotesque act of cultural vandalism: you might as well tear down St Paul’s Cathedral and build an Ibis in its place. It must be resisted.
If you get off the Tube at Bank, blink at the Bank of England, walk along Cornhill and turn into Ball Court Alley, you will find a building of incomparable charm: Simpson’s Tavern, established in 1757. To say it looks like a piece of Diagon Alley is to insult it: it is far more magical than that, being real. The path is flag stones, the exterior is dark woods and curved, mysterious windows. It is said that Charles Dickens came here for a chop. I have no idea if this is true — people also say Samuel Pepys came here, and he died in 1703 — but people believe it because it is plausible.
