A s I walk through Lancashire Court, a hidden cobbled courtyard in Mayfair, and into Soho Mews, Soho House’s latest London club opening, I get ready to tap my electronic membership card on to the console at the entrance. But before I can do so the team behind the front desk greet me like I’m an old friend. “Hi, Vassi, come this way,” says Vanessa Xuereb, who has been with the company for 27 years, as she leads me up a spiral staircase into a packed dining room, where the maitre d’ escorts me to my table.
A waiter arrives with bottles of still and sparkling water. “Hello, Vassi,” he says. “We know you prefer still but I’ve also brought sparkling just in case.
” What’s happening? How come everyone suddenly knows my name and what water I drink? It’s then that I notice the crowd around me. The creative diaspora typical to Soho House is firmly in place, but there’s one big difference. Gone are the nose piercings, the mullets and the tattoos.
It’s them but 20 years older — this is Soho House for grown-ups..
