DescriptionSoho 1961, Friday dinnertime. Smells of warm, fresh bread are wafting over from Floris Hungarian bakery; of garlic, spicy meats and partridge pies from Belgian Butcher Benoit Bulcke. Eugenio is selling the best macaroni in town at King Bomba. And he says ‘London without Soho would be like a man without a heart.’ Over at the French in Dean Street. Gaston Berlemont is serving Pernod, Byrrh and Amer Picon. You might want to pick up a copy of ‘About Town’ magazine – I NEED that printed silk tie from John Michael. Soho is full of the kind of temptation Lucifer would offer for your soul ….Hell take me now!While your dad’s generation settle for warm beer and pickled eggs at the local, your taste is for French and Italian styling. You are an Internationalist! Then of course there’s the American music. Transatlantic baby! The nearest you can get though, is Soho and its West End jazz clubs. You can dream of hearing Roland Kirk or Jack McDuff in New York, but for now Tubby Hayes at the Flamingo or Don Rendell at Klooks Kleek will suffice. The blinkers are off and there’s a whole new world to dig!
