Not The London Yanks Expect! Beware!

Given the justified popularity of Brit TV programmes (that's how they spell it) it is not unreasonable for us Yanks to have a pretty firm view of Them - crisp accents, good vocabularies and a certain Victorian sensibility about such as proper manners (sipping from the fingerbowl is a guaranteed knee-slapper for them,)  mandatory Wellies (rubber shin-high boots favored by the hunt'n shoot crowd) and, generally speaking, a great desire not to offend others.  This latter even has its own name - British reserve.  Which may go far to explain the tidy queues at bus stops, pub bars, etc.

London has undergone - it seems - a shocking change of decorum with the addition of two new summer attractions. 

The first was recently opened in the heart of the city -  London Naked Sun Terrace, a venue 60 ft. off of the ground sponsored as a promotion by a TV station.  The terrace boasts sun  lounges, a bar with male servers in tightly-wrapped long aprons and for the exercise minded, trampolines and "swinging ball" which here is called T-ball and it's for children, not nude adults (as far as I know.)  Management urges prudence while using the "swinging balls."  dailymail.co.uk can provide discreet photos - books in laps for example - and to be fair, everyone photographed seems to be in a very good mood and quite enjoying themselves in an understated way.  ("Flash" is still not "a British thing.")

The second is the first all-nude restaurant in London, called Bunyadi.  The chefs, servers and customers are all nude except in the case of chefs and servers who wear ivy-draped thongs by order of the health and sanitation departments.  If this is a look you would like to duplicate in your own home, pull on a pair of tighty-whities, roll them down at the waist, up at the butt and stick plastic ivy wherever convenient.. 

Their boast is that the food they serve is "naked," too as all of it is raw.  They add that none of it is cooked with gas, electricity or fire.  Three courses, 39 Euros; 5 courses 60 Euros.  Random dishes for your consideration - Pickled rhubarb-infused steak tartare with wasabi mayonnaise.  A dubious dessert - Fig and dark velvet avocado on a cacao mousse with nutmeg and hazelnut crumble with a drizzle of vanilla salt.  (salt)

Neither the menu nor the prospect of dining in the raw were things I ever considered the Brits would embrace.  Just couldn't picture London men ripping off  their Saville Row suits and frantically toe-ing off their bespoke Lobb shoes.  And what woman would leave  Alexander McQueen bits she'd managed to acquire under the auspices of a check room lady?

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