The Tirolerhut

My dear friends,

I report back from an enforced winter break with a renewed sense of optimism. Not only is Her Majesty’s government firmly coming to grips with the wishes of its people, I, too, have re-asserted some stern control over my affairs. I will forever be grateful to my tax advisor, whose Houdini-like level of skill (only surpassed by that of his fee) has once again saved me from the workhouse. Should the event that we all long for materialise, he is sure to become tax advisor to His Majesty the Tsar.

When, at the beginning of this week, the weather at last matched my spirits, I set out for a stroll in sunny Kensington Gardens, a journey that was bound to end (as it, indeed, did) at the nearby Tirolerhut – London’s most famous, if sole, Austrian restaurant.

Lovers of Alpine hospitality have to be doubly cautious. Having braved the descent into the basement premises (on a flight of stairs as treacherous as the slopes of Piz Buin), a delicate etiquette is called for. Those who want reconsider the Großglockner-steep price for dinner should ask the charming dirndl-clad Maitre-d’ if they can start the evening with a small aperitif in the rustic bar. In this fashion, one’s appetite can be stimulated indefinitely over Dortmunder Aktien beer on tap and a fine selection of mountain-herb flavoured Schnaps (only genuine with the single ‘p’, I must add).

A raucous time is assured, thanks to one-man-entertainment miracle Joseph, whose sonorous (if not always accurate) interpretations of popular concertina pieces whip up near-hysteria amongst the coach-loads of punters re-living January’s après-ski debauchery. What, mes amis, could be more poignant than (as happened on my visit) being proposed to on microphone, right after a yodelled version of ‘Blue Eyes’?

If one encourages Joseph further by dispatching liquor in the general direction of the stage, one can soon look forward to meeting the artiste in person. A cosy tête-à-tête over the dozens of photographs on the wall (dating back to the founding year of 1967) soon reveals how a talent like Joseph’s could survive over 40 years in front of fickle audiences without being fired – he is, of course, the owner.

Having thus satisfied your curiosity as well as your thirst, lean back and enjoy the acoustic climax of the evening: Joseph’s Cowbell Cabaret. During this ear-ringing treat, burglar-alarm versions of popular Austrian folk songs will become irreversibly anchored in your memory.

The late closing time of 2.30am adds to the popularity of the Tirolerhut. When it is finally time to make your way back up the slippery slope, you’ll want to glance back at an unforgettable evening and wish Joseph, as well as yourself, many happy returns.

As they say – ich habe die Ehre, meine Freunde!

Your

Max  Obolensky