London to New York - British Airways

I’m a firm believer in the value of a pleasant surprise, and so it is to most things that I do try to add in a little extra. It does of course require some artful preparation, as well as expectations management and I’ve learnt that introducing a small disappointment or trial into the process has a nifty habit of increasing the effect of the subsequent delight.

So, having dealt with the online and self-service check-in processes, and the Terraces access at Newcastle without letting MCC see what was going on, we headed back along the link to T5 with her looking forward to her Club World flight to JFK.

Popping out into the Terminal at the Northern end, she was however forced to endure a trek South, passing huddle after huddle of Self Service Check In machines, at least some queueless Bag Drops and a quiet-looking Security Channel. She’s well enough trained not to be vocal in complaint, but she did wonder out loud why we couldn’t just head straight ‘over there’.

As we neared our target at the far end of the concourse however, the realisation dawned and was heralded by the simple ‘We’re not?’ with the polished First letters hoving into view. So, the preparations had worked like a dream again as the broad smile lingered far beyond the reception desk to the First Class Check In area. We were welcomed and accompanied by a lovely Scottish lady, who chatted with us for a minute or two while we waited for an agent to become free to drop our bags with. Of course, using the F area was actually a completely needless diversion, as we had our BPs already, but I suppose I was adding in a bit of theatre to the experience that, sadly, sometimes the airline fails to.

Having liberated ourselves of the luggage, we were asked if we knew where we were going to get to Security etc, albeit in that more Edinburgh way of ‘You’ll have had your tea’ rather than the Glaswegian ‘Will you be having some tea?’ I should clarify that this was not from our Scottish receptionist, but I thought that it would have been nice to at least have had the genuine offer of accompaniment.

As it was, there was no queue at the passport check and we were in the line for Fast Track almost immediately. At 7.00am, we were through in 4 minutes, with a nice BAA guy manning the operation and explaining clearly and empathetically to less experienced passengers how the systems ‘works’. In fairness, the non-Fast Track was also running just as swiftly, so non premium passengers should not have been too inconvenienced either.

Two staff were manning the secret door and one of them escorted us into the Concorde Room. He checked his PC and confirmed the gate number, advising us that the flight was showing on time and giving us some guidance on timings to get across to T5B, the satellite terminal. As a sticking plaster solution to the problem of knowing when to leave and then actually getting there, it was a worthy effort, but we weren’t addressed by name and the issue really does need some serious attention to bring the service level up to at least somewhere near the industry-leading standards of carriers like Lufthansa.

The plan had been to book in for a Spa treatment, having still not yet experienced the T5 offer. However, with rumbling stomach and a pressing need for a coffee and something fizzy, making for the Dining Room seemed a more sensible option.

We were met at the host station by three staff, all of whom smiled and said hello and one of them invited us to choose a table. Comfortably seated, she offered us menus and took a drinks order. MCC asked for tea and apple juice; I opted for coffee and champagne. A minute or two later, not long after the distinctive pop was heard (first bottle of the day then!) she returned with the glass of champagne, but an apology and no apple juice. Would madam care for something else? She chose cranberry as an alternative and it arrived promptly, but I still can’t quite decide whether it’s a worse show that the Concorde Room had no AJ, or that the staff didn’t think to nip next door to the First Class or Business lounges and get some from there.

A food order was taken – pastries to start and the full English for me; granola with a side order of berries and scrambled egg with toast for MCC. The waitress was careful to point out that MCC's berries would not be fresh, but frozen, having perhaps received complaints before. The food arrived promptly and, whilst the fruit having previously been frozen was not a particular problem, the fact that it was presented swimming in defrosted juice was not ideal.

The pastry platter was very good however, not too dainty, fresh and nicely warmed. Washed down with a glass of the (reportedly) rapidly diminishing stock of Bollinger La Grand Annee, it was a fine way to start.

Previous visits to the Dining Room had been marred somewhat by invisible staff, but there was no such problem on this occasion. We were regularly checked upon and really the only picky observation would be that it could have done with being rather less obvious. Subtle loops of the room would be preferable to the more stabbing arriving at a table, pointedly checking and then retreating once again. It’s a small thing, but it would make a difference.

Starters cleared, the main courses arrived and MCC declared her eggs perfectly acceptable. My full English was rather less successful. Well cooked and not unpleasantly presented, it was however a shock to see tinned mushrooms and then to find the sausage to be slightly more ‘gourmet’ than I am keen on. The latter, I accept, is a matter of personal preference given that I tend to prefer a traditional pork banger, but really, I think that tinned mushrooms are pretty unforgiveable for all but Scott and Shackleton.

The food dispensed with, another flute was ordered and delivered and we prepared to head out and across to B. Whilst MCC took a comfort break, I availed myself of the opportunity to have a good look at the projected artwork above the lobby fireplace. I have to say that I really enjoyed it and, as I’ve said elsewhere, I do think that it would make a nifty screensaver. I was delighted to later find that a version of it is available to view on the internet, albeit from the artist’s website as opposed to BA’s, which seems a bit of a shame. Good stuff though – do have a look.

Ignoring for once the well-versed rule that says one should always use lifts, not escalators, at T5, we left the lounge complex not by the secret door but instead via the main escalators so that a quick first look at the electronic cloud artwork could be grabbed. Like the fireplace projection, it’s quite novel and engaging, although a couple of the flipping discs which animate it were already out of action.

Reverting to the lift-is-best mantra, the descent to the transit station was super-swift and, despite just missing a ‘thing’, another one was along very quickly and we boarded for the journey across to T5B. A minute later and we were there, taking another lift up to the gates. Though speedy, taking the lift does however mean missing out on that most enjoyable view of the apron that the ascendency to departures level via escalator affords.

Boarding had already commenced and we skimmed past the queues to find the hoped-for priority lane. An unconcerned World Traveller passenger arrested progress at one point as her bag blocked the way, but a firm ‘excuse me’ saw the wheelie retracted and our passage was once more unhindered. BPs scanned, the jetty beckoned, but of course the singularity of the bridge meant that there was a small line of passengers at Door 2L - the second door back on the aircraft's port side. The detention was not lengthy however and, at the door, we were greeted by name by the Cabin Services' Director, the Purser was summoned and we were shown to our 2A and 2K – the preferred Row 1 not having opened up.

Drinks were offered and the Bollinger ordered as the bits and pieces desired in-flight were removed from the carry-ons and the bags stowed. The champagne and nuts arrived swiftly and were set down, followed by wash bags and sleeper suits. All very efficient and an already clearly charming crew. As we settled down and arranged the cushions and pillows into the most comfortable positions, the Captain came on to let us know that we would be facing a 30 minute delay to push-back, which I’m sure was a disappointment to many. Here however, it would simply offer further opportunity to enjoy watching the ramp activity outside while knocking back another glass or two of Bolli.

When pushback came, we headed out along the Northern taxiway to line up on Runway 27R, and passing along the way a Singapore Airlines Airbus A380 Superjumbo. Indeed, a sister bird to the Airbus monster had also been observed on arrival from Newcastle, with the most noticeable thing being that it doesn’t seem all that big at first. Certainly its length is unremarkable, but then its tail and bulk do become apparent especially when seen next to the Cathay Pacific Boeing 747 which was moored alongside.

At the earliest possible opportunity after take-off, the bottle was brought from the galley to top up and, what seemed like mere moments later, a selection of canapés also arrived. I admit that I do enjoy these, although I know that some consider them a little run-of-the-mill. There are lots of things that I’d like to see change in First, alongside some additions, but I’d be sorry to see these modest treats disappear as the cloud cover is broken and the sun glints off the freshly-poured bubbles. I always have a little smile at that point.

The 'on-demand' audio-visual system (AVOD) is booted up and, apparently remains rock-solid throughout the flight. The CSD appears and, after a short word with the occupant of 1K (1A has either been blocked or is a no-show) then has a chat with MCC and I. She already has questionnaires in-hand and says that we’ve been selected as particularly high-value passengers. Hmm. Delighted to oblige of course and, as mentioned earlier, it’s obvious that we’re going to have a good flight. She is delightful herself, as are all our crew, although afterwards I reflect on the fact that we weren’t generally addressed by name. It underlines the fact that actually, though I do appreciate it when it happens, genuine warmth and care in service is far more important than repeating a surname.

This being a morning flight, arriving before noon, the meal service is actually a bit odd – lunch followed by afternoon tea. That said, I do feel nearly ready to eat (despite the full English) and when the order is taken I’m asked when I would like to dine. I suggest that about an hour hence would be ideal and the crew honour this practically to the minute. The cabin is lightly loaded and, when the allotted hour arrived, the crew ask if MCC and I would like to move to 5EF - one of the 'paired' seats in the First Class cabin - so that we can take lunch together. Though we politely declined, it was a nice thought and lovely to have it offered.

As an avowed cinema-dodger, I’m not usually interested in the films on board, but I let my guard down on this occasion and had a good chuckle to Kung Fu Panda while not watching the map or listening to the Audio selection. Although I couldn’t immediately detect much variation in the AVOD CD library from two months beforehand, I did have more of an explore through it and found it to be slightly more comprehensive than I’d initially and previously given it credit for. Maybe it’s just that I’m getting old and don’t recognise many of the modern bands.....

On the recommendation of FCC from the Vancouver trip, I opted to start with the Leek and Potato Soup, which was lovely. I do like soup and I think it nice to have selections in First that are not available in other cabins. So, notwithstanding the bowl sloppage that comes from serving pre-bowled from the galley, it was delicious. Much better to bring the empty bowl and pour from an individual jug/boat seatside however and add a little theatre into proceedings.

I also like my fish, so the Loch Fyne Catch of The Day – Sea Bass – was selected and it arrived really rather nicely presented by the crew. It was very tasty too but, as the picture may show, the flesh was rather more grey than white and really not all that appealing on first sight. The proof of the pudding is in the eating however, and there was no problem there.

Speaking of pudding, there does come a point when tough decisions have to be made. And so it was that the consumption was temporarily suspended in light of the desire to partake in the afternoon tea which would follow, later in the morning.....

.....which proved to be very much the usual affair, nothing at all spectacular but pleasant enough. Scones nicely warmed but really rather small and the sandwiches being nice but not what might be described as First Class. The cakes and patisserie were also slightly more Mr Kipling than Michelin-starred. Nothing offensive, of course, but there’s definite room for improvement and, without much head-scratching, some reasonably obvious ways to achieve it.

And with that, having not managed to make up any of the lost time from departure, we begin our descent into JFK and the end of another British Airways First flight which shows that, once again, it is the superb crews who raise the product above its relatively average bones. Just imagine what they could do with the class-leading tools that BA desperately needs to deliver with New First.

Verdict for British Airways First: 8.0/10. A half point drop on the June score, attributable to tinned mushrooms in the lounge and grey fish on board. It’s a wonderful way to fly, and I do remain a fan of the 14 seat non-suite layout, but it should be the carrier that adds the sparkles to the product, not the passenger!

Once More In The Big Apple

In January 1997, I arrived at the Essex House Hotel to check in on my first ever trip to the Big Apple. Much more momentous an event than that however, was the fact that this was the first time I’d ever booked a hotel room online. It had taken days, if not weeks, of preparation, was painfully slow and was the result of research which had still been undertaken through printed matter. I rocked up to Reception and they had no idea who I was. Worse still, they didn’t know who my boss was. It didn’t mark an auspicious start to our relationship with the web, nor his with his whipper-snapper of an assistant.



11 years later and it’s easy to take for granted just what can be achieved online. Within 43 minutes of logging on to book our flights, I had e-tickets and seat assignments, confirmed reservations for return Town Car transfers, had printed out a voucher which would afford us fast-track access to most of the main tourist attractions in town, made dinner reservations and secured overnight en-route accommodation at Heathrow. In fact, the only thing I hadn’t been able to complete online was the main hotel booking, which required a quick phone call to access a special rate. That done, emails arranged some housekeeping requirements and confirmed arrival and departure times. Another alerted the hotel to the fact that this would be a birthday celebration trip – well, why not?

And, slotted in with my little file of confirmations, I had an email from AndyFlyer with another list of hints and tips.

Any lunchtime arrivals at JFK Terminal 7 are fairly rare and the middle of the day is a quieter time for the airport in general. So we were treated to a very slick inbound taxi and jetty connection. In fact, it was quite a job to be up and organised to gallop off the plane. The crew bade cheery goodbyes and, through the stuffy warrens to Immigration, we were treated to zero queues whatsoever.

The entirely charm-free officer asked only a couple of quick questions, relating briefly to both this and our last trip, and then we were off to the baggage belt. Even more welcome than the lack of Immigration congestion was the appearance of our bags within the first half dozen to emerge, so the delayed touchdown was now completely wiped out by being in the Arrivals Hall somewhat earlier than anticipated.

The driver from Lincoln Limousine presented himself and gathered up our bags to take us to the car, which was parked on the ground floor of the multi-storey immediately outside. He asked us whether we preferred windows or air con and off we set for Manhattan in that most American of motors, a reasonably new Lincoln Town Car. The car was fitted with Sat Nav, which our man did his best to totally ignore as he was clearly far more in tune with the prevailing traffic patterns. With some nifty re-routing, he had us heading over the East River remarkably quickly, the only downside being, I guess, that MCC’s first impressions of New York were not of the most salubrious suburbs. Not that any approach is all that charming.

The first sight of those iconic spikes on the horizon – the Chrysler, the Empire State, the Woolworth and more – is always an inspiration, no matter how many times that Manhattan skyline is glimpsed. MCC was visibly rapt as the driver piloted us across the Queensboro Bridge and on to the island. The very last mile was, understandably, the slowest but we drew up at the corner of 5th and 55th in a frankly amazing 50 minutes. The standard Yellow Cab fare from JFK is $45, so this pre-booked service was more than competitive at $55, plus a standard 20% gratuity applied to the credit card payment. Tolls etc are extra for both cab and Town Car.



Our lodgings would be, for my second time, the St Regis Hotel. Although the side of the property runs along Fifth, it’s not all that obvious to the passer-by, so for those unsure it is opposite the Peninsula and four blocks South of Central Park. It’s a great location for walking and cabbing, the only slight downside being that there’s not an immediately adjacent Subway station, if that’s your thing.



The St Regis is a Beaux Arts landmark, the tallest hotel in the city upon its construction by Titanic victim John Jacob Astor in 1904, and enlarged by his son Vincent in 1925. It is a city hotel very much in the traditional mode; intimate, a retreat, not a place to watch C-List celebrities theatrically attempt to brush away the paparazzi that they’ve ensured that their people have invited. Richly carpeted steps lead up from the canopied pavement to the polished brass revolving doors and sturdy columns support the frescoed ceiling from which the chandeliers drip.



Our far-earlier than anticipated arrival coincides with a full-house the previous evening, so we’re unable to check in immediately. The King Cole Bar beckons therefore, where we take a comfortable seat and order complimentary tea, while we take in the view of the stunning Maxwell Parrish mural which adorns the main wall of this, the birthplace of the Bloody Mary.



The Receptionist calls to check that we are comfortable and keep us updated on progress and then, bang on the button of when he said the room would be ready, the phone rings and we’re invited back to the desk. We have a Grand Deluxe room on the 12th Floor, which is the third grade up from base in the hotel.



It has a 55th Street view (nothing much to speak of, but not a bin store at least) and is quietly insulated from the outside world, with a seating area and 32" LCD TV which rises from the ottoman at the foot of the beds.



The bathroom is opulent with bath, separate shower and a smaller LCD TV.



The decor is a contemporary and light interpretation of the traditional, and it’s a restful place to recharge in between city sightseeing. On a summer weekend, it’s fairly easy to access an 'SPG50' rate, which knocks 50% off the full (rack) rate and about 20% off the hotel's 'best available rate' on the lowest grade of room, bringing the charge in at $550 plus tax per night, undercutting anything comparable in the area and offering full Starpoints, stays and prevailing promotional bonuses.

Washed, showered and raring to go, the decision is made to walk down to Grand Central for MCC’s first taste of the mean streets of Gotham. Which turn out to be a good deal meaner than might otherwise have been anticipated as the skies darken and, above the screeches and groans, wheezes and horns of the city, loud cracks of thunder rattle down the concrete canyons, seemingly pushing before them warm draughts of forceful breeze.



And then, just as the shelter of the scaffolding surrounding a Lexington Avenue office refurbishment project is reached, the clouds give up their struggles and relinquish their burdens with flashing fury. Within seconds, the roads are awash to kerb level and crossing pedestrians are marooned on central reservations. A few time-pressured ladies who risk wading from their mid-stream islands lose their dainty flip-flops and end up flailing around in the ankle deep waters desperately trying to retrieve their submerged Choos. The yellow cabs are slowed to a crawl, pushing bow waves ahead of them and creating wakes which break over the kerbstones. Those at the end of their rides wait at the roadsides, their passengers unwilling to risk the lashings from above or stepping into the flowing gutters below. It’s quite the show.



The storm abates as quickly as it blew up and already there’s a freshness to the air as we dodge the remaining drips from rooftops high above to dart into the Helmsley Building and down into the Grand Central Concourse. It’s rush hour and the activity is frenetic so it’s a challenge to stay upright and un-bumped as the famous back-to-front celestial ceiling is gazed upon from beneath. The best vantage point is from the stairs up to the bar at the Eastern end, from where not only is the mural clearly viewed, but also the vastness of the concourse and the bee-like swarms of commuters passing through. Diving beneath the ground level, a whole world of dining and shopping opportunities is revealed, including the World-famous Oyster Bar – Grand Central’s oldest business – and the abundantly stocked fresh foods market. As an introduction to New York at work and on the move, it’s a fascinating way to spend a couple of hours.

As the day’s time-zone induced extension starts to be felt, we head West across to Fifth and walk back towards the hotel to rest, regroup and, if spared, prepare for the onslaught of sights and sounds which will fill the coming days. Not before the butler knocks however, gliding in with a birthday bottle from the hotel to wish me a Happy Birthday. It’s a nice gesture and certainly accelerates the path to unconsciousness.

You Are What You Eat - Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner in NYC

The morning dawns cloudy and not quite as fresh as the immediate aftermath of the earlier tempest, but there’s no time to be precious about schedules, so the list of attractions to tick off will be attacked with gusto. The butler is paged and appears with a large pot of coffee to kick start proceedings and we turn our attention to the top priority of our empty bellies, in the process noting that our coffee table orchid has developed a fault and one of the dainty blooms has parted company with the stem. Tsk.

The hotel’s breakfast is very chi-chi and quite lovely but generic. Far rather get a more authentically New York angle on things so, with the cock still crowing, we hoof across to Sixth and down to Lou’s Cafe next to the Hilton at 53rd Street. It’s far from classy, but it’s a great location to sit outside and watch the World go by while tucking in to a hearty and ridiculously cheap breakfast of New York signatures. Think coffee, juice, ham, eggs, herbed potatoes and toast for £7, or go down the waffles, bagels, granola or fruits routes for even less. It’s fuel not finesse and it sets the tourist up royally.

In the back pocket is our Viator self-printed voucher for our City Passes, a pre-paid voucher book which grants access to a good number of the city’s main tourist haunts and which, if made good use of, represents about a 50% saving on the aggregate cost of entering the attractions individually. The pass is available from the publisher’s own website, but Viator offer it at the same price and then, chucking in the 'CodesUK' authority at checkout, take another 5% off the price.

First stop is the Empire State Building which, armed with our City Pass voucher, is only worth considering as the collection-point for the Pass first thing in the morning. The queues any later are horrendous without the fast-track that City Pass permits, but if you’re collecting the Pass here then you have to queue with the masses. So, if it’s early doors it’s fine to pick-up here, but at any other time collect it from one of the other attractions and benefit from avoiding most of the queuing later at the ESB.



The lobby and much of the interior of the Empire State are undergoing a long-term renovation, so the impression continues to be rather shabby inside. At the main observatory level (there’s an extra-cost higher but enclosed level) the view is just about as far as Lady Liberty but, despite the murk, it’s a useful point from which to orientate the visitor and make out most of the major landmarks. There’s no real need to linger though and, ears popping and un-popping, we plummet back to street level and hail a passing cab to head across town to Pier 83 at 42nd Street.



As part of an exercise in orientation and immersion, a cruise around Manhattan is another excellent idea and Circle Line’s two hour ‘Semi-Circle’ or half-island tour fits the bill perfectly. Neatly, passage is included with City Pass, so having surrendered the relevant vouchers at the VIP and Groups window, we grab a coffee at the wharfside cafe next door and then join the queue ready to board. Their workmanlike tubs are basic but practical and the commentaries reliably informative. It’s amazing how, once cast off, the seemingly thronged cargo of self-loading freight seems to dissipate and there’s always a railside space from which to view the passing panorama.

Heading out into the Hudson, the guide points out the principal features of both the Manhattan and New Jersey shores, passing the Chelsea Piers and the World Trade Center site to the East, Hoboken, Jersey City and the Colgate Clock to the West. The boat then steers a course towards Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, affording glimpses of the former from a distance and the latter at much closer quarter. To ensure that even those who steadfastly remain seated in some hidden corner of a deck, the Captain swerves and loops around so that all sides are exposed to La Republique’s famous gift.



There follows a great view of the Southern tip of Manhattan, before the cruise crosses the path of the Statten Island Ferries and sets a course around Governor’s Island and up the East River towards the BMW bridges. There’s a good view of the first of the temporary (and, to be honest, somewhat underwhelming in daylight) New York Waterfalls before the Brooklyn Bridge looms and passes overhead. At the Manhattan Bridge, with the Williamsburg in the distance, the boat makes a broad U-Turn and begins its return loop back to Pier 83.



Back on dry land, there’s a distinct absence of Cabbery and, lacking the exact change needed to ride the New York bus, we strike out in search of a yellow chariot to take us to lunch. As is always the case in such circumstances, there’s never a free one heading in the right direction but, after a few false starts, an available carriage draws up and we clamber aboard. Destination: the first of a selection of very fine dining recommendations.

Perry Street is on the Western Edge of Greenwich Village and occupies the anonymous ground floor of number 176. Indeed, so anonymous is the restaurant that it takes a guided eye to even notice it’s there, and then some bravery to identify the correct door. It would seem that this is some sort of test however, as the mere act of successfully locating it would appear to be the qualifier for entry into this extremely cool, stylish, minimalist but supremely comfortable white dining room.



Seated almost immediately, menus were provided and a couple of glasses of champagne whipped up. The bread arrived next and the friendly staff smiled broadly to the varied and clearly happy crowd they were charged with serving. Our order taken, we sank back into the pale banquette to cool our heels and wet our whistles. An inspired choice of midday retreat.

In fact, the only two things that surpassed the relaxed comfort in terms of excellence were firstly the food – a delightful salad of crab and mango, followed by a beautifully grilled and pinkly tender steak and then a luscious chocolate pudding – and secondly the sheer minuteness of the bill. Our guide had suggested that a bargain was to be had, but his information was duff. Rather than the expected $36 for three courses, it was a frankly hilarious $24. I gather however that they do rather well with bar bills of an evening.....

Fed, watered, rested and rejuvenated, we took to the streets once again. Or, more accurately, the still-being-redeveloped Hudson River Park, which when complete will stretch all the way from 59th Street to Battery Park. It’s a quite un-New York-like environment of pleasure gardens and refurbished piers, with joggers and stroller-pushers mingling with readers and cyclists and sun-bathers. It’s less frenzied and hemmed in than Central Park and really rather nice.

With a few breaks in the flow, it’s an easy-to-follow route along the riverside down to the World Financial Center and the Winter Garden. There’s an opportunity here for a comfort break, before continuing South East through WFC to the brutally truncated Skybridge which leads to Ground Zero. Despite the building works having now brought the site up to within a few storeys of ground level, it’s still a breath-catching vista. It was interesting to see how much more profoundly it affected MCC on this, her first ever visit, than me on my third since 9/11. It remains a wholly sobering experience and one that is much the more affecting thanks to the authorities’ almost total prohibition of hawking and commercialism. I did notice that a new interpretive centre has opened near the Fire House on Liberty Street, about which I wasn’t all that sure to be honest. Far better to take some moments to head to the East of the site and visit St Paul’s Chapel, centre of the operation to look after the rescue workers involved on the day and in the aftermath and get a feeling for the human side of what went on. Only time will tell how the ‘Freedom Tower’ will affect the impact that the site has on visitors during and following its construction, with completion expected in 2014.

With a long and full day behind us and a dinner reservation ahead, speed was of the essence for our return to the St Regis. So, another New York rite-of-passage was called for as we descended into the pits of Hades and the Subway. It’s a two-change dash North to get to either 51st or 59th Street Stations on the 4/5/6 Lines, their being exactly equidistant from the hotel on 55th. On board, the air conditioning is extremely welcome as a relief from the heat and hustle of those Crocodile Dundee platforms.

Reaching the surface once again, MCC declares it a once-in-a-lifetime experience, with that stern look that leaves no-doubt to the true inference of the statement, and we trot back to the welcoming arms of the St Regis.



Foregoing the opportunity to take in a signature ‘Krug Bath’ for the bargain price of $1,650, the rather nice Remede lotions and potions more than suffice during a restorative shower and, washed and polished, we prepare for dinner in the hotel’s signature restaurant – Adour by Alain Ducasse – noticing that, during our absence, the faulty orchid has been removed and replaced with a fully-functioning model.

A relatively recent addition to the in-house dining options, which otherwise consist of the aforementioned King Cole Bar for cocktails and snacks, and the central Palm Court which serves almost continuously throughout the day from Breakfast, through Lunch and Afternoon Tea to Dinner, Adour is a richly furnished fine-dining experience which is building a strong reputation.

The concierge had arranged the reservation prior to our arrival in New York, and we were shown to a spacious setting in a circular ante area which housed another 3 tables, passing on the way a small bar area at which other diners were enjoying pre-dinner drinks. Seating was comfortable and the table nicely sized. We were offered cocktails immediately and menus were presented at the same time.



Glasses of champagne were poured at the table and we decided to investigate the restaurant’s highlight tasting menu at $110, subject to chef being pragmatic enough to tweak his creation to accommodate MCC’s ‘no-bones’ rule. The Maitre d’ draws alongside to offer menu assistance and we enquire about the veggie-variation. His response: ‘Madam, anything you would like. Anything. What would you prefer?’

She selects a gnocchi dish from the a la carte offering to replace the meat course, deciding that the two fish courses will actually be OK, as she does still partake in the odd poisson.

And so, we sashay through a pleasant if not spectacular ‘multicolour vegetable composition’, followed by ‘lobster ravioli with zucchini juice’ which is altogether more historic, to paraphrase a man of dinners. Next is ‘olive oil poached Gloucester cod’ which, despite me not having previously realised that the West Midlands was host to a significant trawler fleet, was absolutely superb. Our menu paths diverged here as there followed, for me, beautifully seared veal and MCC’s gnocchi, before we converged once again with a ‘strawberry and white cheese composition’ and then a menu extra of a (thankfully) very dainty cheeseboard.

Ideally, at this stage, a couple of ladder-back trolleys and two burly removal men would have been handy to get us back to the room but, as it was, we had to stagger back unaided and marvel once again that, despite a French chef, the American interpretation of nouvelle definitely challenges the European belly when taken in tasting menu marathons.



We slept well, anyway.

Miles of Museums

Not entirely unexpectedly, breakfast did not feature as a priority the following morning. With the sun shining and the Saturday city altogether fresher and weekend-relaxed, we headed North along a shady and breezy Central Park East to the Guggenheim Museum. Our arrival coincided with the removal of the scaffolding which has shrouded the Frank Lloyd Wright masterpiece for half a decade, although the painters were still present atop a copse of cherrypickers.

Previous visits have tended to reinforce my opinion that it is the architecture which is the principal draw to the Gugg, and this one was no exception. The spiralling galleries contained, to my untrained eye, a varied selection of trash and pretence which serve only to remind that art is always a matter of personal opinion. We had a nice scone in the cafe however, and exited reasonably swiftly into the warming morning. The decorators had been busy and had almost finished their works as we re-admired the overhanging invert conical ramparts. Indeed, their painting would appear to be rather more impressive than those hanging inside.

Next stop on Museum Mile would be the Metropolitan Museum of Art, an institution which I have so far managed always to miss on New York trips. Not this time though, as we maximised the value of our City Passes and we were swiftly inside and touring the galleries. This is probably one of the more difficult museums to plot a sensible route around, so we found ourselves backtracking a good deal. That said, we found much to interest and delight, alongside the inevitable but thankfully limited amount of right old dross.

We lunched at the Ground Floor Petrie Court which was buzzy and efficient, enjoying tasty Panini and a couple of ice cream sundaes, before venturing back up to the roof to take in the views of Central Park and the fantastic Jeff Koons sculpture installations, which I thought magnificent.

Then, not quite like Clark Kent and Lois swooping down from inner orbit, we took the express lift groundward once again to take in the Superheroes Exhibition, the highlight of which undoubtedly being one of Wonder Woman’s original (if faded) outfits.

The day’s cultural immersion would end with another New York first for me – the Frick Collection. Although there were certainly many impressive hangings in the museum, I have to say that for me, the more interesting facet of the visit was actually just being inside one of the few remaining mansion houses in Manhattan. There’s a very charming lily-ponded garden outside and a very relaxing internal courtyard with playing fountains and benches. The trickling water is not for those faint of bladder however, so do make sure that you’ve identified the fairly anonymous door to the subterranean salles des bains before need overtakes available searching time.

And so, with that, a diagonal line through Central Park to Columbus Circle takes the stroller past tea houses and coffee shops, baseball grounds and skating rinks, lawns and trees to experience the juxtaposition of urban retreat and high-octane activity that is this busy amenity, in contrast to the far more laid-back Hudson River Park of the previous day.

Then, back along Central Park South, passing the Essex House and scene of that first flirtation with the interweb for travel planning, past Mickey Mantle’s Sports Diner which remains a long-time favourite for American staples and the newly refurbished Plaza Hotel.

The St Regis had all flags flying to welcome us back for a pre-dinner freshen. Our reservation for this evening, a deliberately early one, had been made by the concierge once again and upon recommendation at Trattoria Dell’Arte, opposite the Carnegie Hall on 7th Avenue. Despite being obscured somewhat by scaffolding, it was easy enough to find and just a 10 minute walk from 55th at 5th.

The restaurant’s principal feature is a quite spectacular antipasti bar, from which one can point and choose, or sit and order from the menu. Even at 7.30pm, the sidewalk, front and rear dining rooms were busy with families, singles, couples and groups, all contributing to the energetic atmosphere. The antipasti bar provided numerous choices for MCC, although the menu in general was varied and interesting. After the previous evening’s haute cuisine, she settled on deep-fried artichokes and I upon a mixed seafood selection from the bar. We both ordered pizza main courses, which were huge, spectacularly light and crispy and topped with the most flavoursome delights. The bill was very reasonable indeed and we left at shortly after 9pm, happy, replete and fuelled for some last minute nocturnal sightseeing.

First stop was the bright lights of Times Square but then, the highlight of the evening and in some ways the whole trip, beckoned. Since discovering that by far the best time to visit the Eiffel Tower is in after-dinner darkness, I’ve been a fan of night time observation decks. So, we crossed town again to the Rockefeller Center and the recently reopened Top Of The Rock attraction. Although significantly shorter than the more famous Empire State, the Rock benefits from a number of significant trump cards over the ESB.

Firstly, the queues are much less long – fast track or not. Secondly, the interior of the building is newly refurbished and not the continuous building site of its taller neighbour. Thirdly, the ascendency to viewing level is far less tortuous and then, when you’re there, the design of the decks means that the vistas are uncompromised by barriers, railings and grilles. The final and probably most significant differentiator (at least at night) is that the Rock affords a great view of the ESB which is, of course, invisible to itself. Since the Rockefeller is not as striking an edifice as its near neighbour, it’s far more interesting to be on it looking up at the floodlit Empire State than vice versa. With the lights twinkling all around though, it was soon time to head back down to street level, the hotel and our last night in the Big Apple.

Our final morning dawned even brighter and bluer so, after our butler-delivered coffee, we struck out for Lou’s and a pavement table in the sun. Well fed and juiced, we were ideally located for our last big culture hit – MoMA. Unlike the Guggenheim, I do like MoMA. I always find new things that I definitely like or don’t like, but seem to find myself more engaged with. The Sculpture Garden is a most interesting place and it’s fascinating to look up and around and see all the different downtown styles of architecture jostling for space. Indeed, from here, the Beaux Arts St Regis even gets a look-in.

The galleries do offer up one or two dead ends, but otherwise it’s an easy museum to tour around methodically with hugely interesting, esoteric and relatively traditional exhibits.

Cafe 2 is a good place to stop for lunch. It’s a hybrid self/waiter served refectory-style troughing shop, but the Italian-influenced food is just ideal for fuelling a day on foot, as long as quiet respite is not required.

So, cultured and cuisine-out, we made our way back to the St Regis for the last time, taking advantage of our pre-arranged late checkout.

Needless to say, of course, our keycards didn’t work when we got back, so it was a bit of a hike back to Reception for a re-activation and grovelling apology. We had ample time to pack and relax before heading down once again to settle up, passing the little bit of home that is the oil painting of Durham Cathedral and Castle behind the Concierge Desk and the doorman letting us know that our Lincoln Limousine Town Car was already there and waiting, well ahead of time.

We bade farewell and jumped in the car which, thanks to a beige and cream interior, was showing up the marks of well-use, but was otherwise reasonably new and quite comfortable for our trip back to JFK. Once again, the driver seemed well-versed in the detours and diversions needed to avoid the worst of the traffic and, within 55 minutes on a Sunday afternoon teatime, we drew up outside British Airways’ Terminal Seven.

New York to London to Newcastle – British Airways

It had seemed like I was wishing the trip away almost before we'd started but, shortly after our arrival in New York, I’d logged back on to ba.com to nab 1A and 1K for the return flight.

Although it remains a source of constant discussion (which I’m sure would only be terminated with the simultaneous removal of the damnable wardrobe) I am now quite sure that while 2AK are perfectly lovely, 1AK is my pair of choice and I was delighted to secure them.

On Line Check In had worked without trauma and we picked up our boarding passes at the SSCIs at JFK. As there was no queue at the Club World desks, we bag dropped there and we were given directions to the Concorde Club Room. The ladies on the Boarding Pass check further up the corridor were friendly and chatty and once again made sure that we knew where we were going.

The dragon on the CCR desk was altogether more rampart-like but, as soon as she saw the Boarding Passes, her masonry crumbled into a warm smile and we were welcomed in, accompanied by a quick brief on locating the ‘hidden’ loos on the left hand wall.

This was my first visit to British Airways most premium lounge at Kennedy, and I knew to check my expectations in comparison to the new facilities back at Heathrow. The lounge was almost empty, but spacious and light and with a good selection of different seating types. We took up residency towards the far left, with a reasonably good view of the end of the apron and a couple of BA birds, including the OpenSkies Boeing 757 which was boarding for Paris.

Having sat for a good few minutes, it was clear that there was no-one interested in offering any service; the lone employee being a barman who, despite being in clear line-of-sight, had only left his post to bark at another passenger that she was too early to dine.

Eventually, I gave up the fight and went and ordered two coffees. Surprisingly, given his hitherto reluctance to leave his post, he offered to bring them over. After a few minutes, he arrived and I rather wished I’d stayed to do it myself. At least if I had then rather more of the coffee might have made it to me while still in its cup, and I probably would not have bothered using the derelict tray he presented it on. No sugar, no teaspoons. He put the whole thing down next to me, not even between me and MCC, so I was left to complete the last yard.

We decided to eat on board, for fear of what we might be subjected to by staff who were challenged by serving coffee, so I headed back to the bar only to acquire a couple of glasses of Piper (and subsequent refills) but never, ever, with any sign of at-seat service. Those who did dine were, however, treated to our reluctant barman collecting their plates by picking up the first with its cutlery, banging it down on top of the adjacent diner’s crockery and irons and then picking the combined stack up again. And so on until all had been removed. It was actually quite comical, but I’ll tell you that for £8,000, it would not have been anything less than shockingly bad.

The free WiFi was working in the lounge, but required a password which had to be gleaned from Reception. It seemed a little pointless to be honest, and could probably have been published on little cards on the coffee tables for convenience if it is really necessary.

We were joined in the lounge by an extended family who we, of course, knew instinctively would be subjecting themselves to us on our flight. Whilst the children ran riot, Special Services flitted around and our moods darkened. Mine improved considerably when boarding was called and we headed to the gate. As the agent swiped my Boarding Pass, she glanced at her screen and wished me Happy Birthday which, frankly, I thought was fantastic.

We arrived at the aircraft door, were greeted by name and the Purser summoned to seat us. Behind us, a few more passengers were brought into the cabin, before much kerfuffle heralded the arrival of the Family Nemesis. Grrr. There was immediately a problem, as SS had bundled them on board without providing all of their Boarding Passes to the crew. Neither the Purser nor the Cabin Services Director were very impressed, but they did their very best to extract the missing document from the rude, aloof and generally unpleasant clan. Eventually, it was located and the crew looked visibly relieved.

Amidst all this, the Purser appeared with a couple of glasses of Bollinger and some frigid nuts, and soon afterwards our washbags and sleeper suits appeared. Never one to miss an opportunity to be pampered, I rooted around in my carry on for the birthday cards I’d brought with me (from other people, you understand, not self-penned) and put them, unopened, on the sideshelf before stowing the bag.

It didn’t take long for them to be spotted, by the CSD as it happens, and she instructed me that since push-back would be at about midnight UK time, I’d be allowed to open them then. Then she went off to get me another glass of pre-Birthday Bollinger and, as it transpired, to brief the rest of the crew. No surprises then that the levels of crew service throughout the flight were absolutely superb, including some really enjoyable banter with the CSD and gloriously indiscreet but incredibly well-judged snippets from the Purser. I’m sorry, but that simply doesn’t happen on Singapore Airlines and will always be one of the things that makes a well-motivated BA crew fantastic for me.

MCC looked as happy as larry in 1A as she caught up on the weekend’s news, and I kicked back with another top-up before the cabin was secured for the taxi out to the runway. The usual Sunday evening snarl-up ensued but, after a slightly champagne-numbed delay, we climbed away with the Manhattan skyline silhouetted against the sunset and the moon already rising high.

I opened my cards around the swiftly delivered canapés and made my selections from the evening’s menu; soup to start and lamb to follow.

The soup was delicious and the lamb fairly tasty, but the galley-to-seat bowl sloppage isn’t the best, and I really don’t know what the crew are meant to do with the lamb to make it look even vaguely appealing. The menu should really have read ‘Amorphous Mush d’Agneau,’ were it to have been accurate.

The cheeseboard was fine, not spectacular but fine, and the Purser looked visibly delighted that I’d ordered port to accompany it. ‘Some passengers are so prissy about the booze’ he said, ‘but I see that’s no problem here.’ How very dare he?! In fact, none of this ‘Book the Cook’ hype on other airlines; I vote for ‘Choose Your Crew’ and I think he’d definitely be one of my ‘Top Purser Picks’. The CSD told me later that they have a particular nickname for him, but I shall keep that to myself.....

Slightly the wrong way round, but I also accepted the offer of some delicious ice cream (which I later learnt must have been swiped from Club World Business Class and therefore suddenly tasted less good, on reflection) and accompanied it with the ambrosia that is Willi Opitz pudding wine. It was even quite chilled.

The beds were made up and I settled in for a good few hours of innocent slumber, interrupted only slightly as my head first touched the pillow when MCC got confused, pressed the wrong button and released her TV Screen with rocket-powered ferocity. Had it not been for the sturdiness of the bracketry, then the pilot would surely have been in for an unexpected kick up the bum from a ballistic entertainment system launched from beneath his seat. He’ll never know how close he came to it.

Quiet activity in the cabin heralded the new day and our descent into Heathrow, so I motored upright and prepared to rerobe for the outside world. Once again, I agreed with myself that at least for my frame, the BA First Class seat remains delightfully comfortable – and I do still prefer the openness to how I think I would feel hemmed-in by a suite. Only experience will tell, I guess. As I arranged myself, the crew appeared to unmake the bed and offer breakfast. Still quite full from dinner, I limited myself to tea and orange juice and concentrated on enjoying the last few minutes of the flight before we dipped into the thick cloud cover and began the Berks/Bucks/Herts circuits and then final approach over London. The cloud proved very low as we broke cover to the West of the airfield for an Easterly landing. Touchdown was smooth, although we were of course treated to a lengthy taxi back to T5 and on to a B stand.

There followed the only faux-pas of the trip, when I somehow managed to initially follow and then ignore the Flight Connections signage and we found ourselves in the immigration queue for Arrivals. We were straight through however and, bypassing baggage reclaim, we took the lift back up to Departures and went through South Security. As it happened, I’m fairly sure that we actually made it to the secret door rather faster than if we had gone through the Flight Connections Centre, but who knows? In any event, compliance was instantaneous and the tray system was unchallenged by heavy traffic, so it was a reasonably smooth flow through.

Welcomed into the Concorde Club Room, there was no guidance on boarding times or gate as had been offered on the outbound, but neither was there any issue with entry on an inbound Boarding Pass authority. We took up comfortable residence on a suite of sofas and accepted only sparkling water from the extremely nice and on-the-ball staff, who regularly checked back on us.

Ignoring the physical environment, it was a stark contrast to the lack of professionalism in its Stateside sibling. However, as the rain fell on London, it did appear that some students had passed through the terrace on their way home from a night on the pop. It’s a relief, I suppose, that the lampshade hadn’t been replaced by a traffic cone.....

When the screen flicked to show ‘Boarding’ for our Newcastle connection, we headed over to A6 to find, disappointingly, that no such thing had commenced. So, we stood until eventually the dispatcher gave the gate agents clearance and we boarded by row number – no priority for status etc as usual. The Airbus A320 was busy but we were all seated quickly and the doors closed for departure. The weather was worsening however and we were informed of an Air Traffic Control delay at around the same time as it became obvious that the wind had changed direction and ops were switching around. Eventually, we took the long taxi down to Runway 27L, where mixed mode was in operation and, from our vantage point it looked as though one or two go-arounds might have been on the cards. It transpired that there had been at least one earlier. We queued for 20 minutes with a wide-screen view of the BA38 that didn’t-quite-make-it from Beijing and, eventually, we lined up for take-off and the inevitable tediousness of the final domestic sector of an inbound itinerary.

By this stage, with the anticipation and expectation long past and the pared-down hour-long service on this distinctly worn Airbus, the focus is on simply getting home and bracing ourselves for the interminable waits involved in baggage retrieval at Newcastle. We’re not to be disappointed and, in the lashing rain, we taxi on to stand at Newcastle and then wait at the carousel for what seems very nearly as long as the airborne time from Middlesex.

It may have been a short break to a place visited many times before but, once again, it had been a fantastic trip. Without a doubt, New York is simply one of the most spectacular and iconic destinations on Earth, and what a privilege to be able to do it in such style.

Verdict for British Airways First: 8.0/10. The same as the outbound score, but only rescued to that level by a superb crew and the basically good hard product. The service at JFK’s Concorde Room was entirely unacceptable however and the main course catering on board left rather a lot to be desired in terms of design.

Post Script

In passing, MCC mentioned that her 'AVOD' had not worked during the return flight and that the crew had been unable to get it going again. I must have missed her experiencing the problem as I was in the land of Nod. She hadn’t been overly inconvenienced by it but, at 08:50am, I emailed BA from their website whilst logged on to the free WiFi in the Concorde Room at Heathrow.

There was an auto response at 08:53am and then, in the car driving home from Newcastle, the phone rang and a lovely lady calling ‘on behalf of Willie Walsh’ asked to speak to MCC. They had a short conversation and, when we got home, a very generous addition of BA Miles were sitting in MCC’s account. She, and I, were VERY impressed at this superb example of service recovery. Such a pity that the service failure still hasn’t been resolved yet, although I do wonder whether Rockwell Collins are receiving a monthly bill for all these miles.