A few, like Bacchanalia, border Berkeley Square, a leafy stretch of Mayfair bordered by luxury car dealerships (Ferrari, Bentley), social clubs and the London outpost of Blackstone, the private equity giant. It is the playground of oligarchs, petrogarchs and hedge funds. They can dine at Sexy Fish, a Caring creation where eating is “like being punched in the face by Dubai,” as the viewer put it. Across the square is Mr. Caring’s most cherished bauble, a private members’ club called Annabel’s with six restaurants and a huge grizzly bear made of twigs, which stands in the forest-themed men’s room, a visual pun on the old joke about where bears defecate. himself.
Mr. Caring would not comment on this article, nor would the publicity division of his company, Caprice Holdings, explain why he would not comment. This is surprising as he is usually very talkative with the media and decided months ago to lean into the rampant hedonism of Bacchanalia. Ahead of the opening, the restaurant announced it was looking for ‘London’s first grape feeder’, which was advertised in a full-page ad in the London Times. (Job requirements: “beautiful hands” and a “basic knowledge of Greek and Latin”.) Hundreds applied for the job and all were disappointed. The placement was a publicity stunt.
In early November, The Evening Standard, a free daily newspaper, asked in a survey of new restaurants whether Bacchanalia was ‘a gown too far in difficult economic times’. Not for Marcella Martinelli, a stylist who was a guest at one of Bacchanalia’s launch dinners.
“Clearly the crisis in the cost of living is important,” she said. “But if you can afford this, it’s an experience. As long as they get the pasta right, that’s all that matters.”
Alec Gunn, the director of a storage company, which was an early Bacchanalia diner, said he felt such overindulgence theme parks were important to the London scene, and that they were ambitious. “I’ve worked hard all my life,” he said. “People deserve to have fun.”
Mr. Caring agreed with the comments he made on opening night, before and after he mingled with the crowd, being followed by a large man with an earpiece. He seemed well aware of the gulf between the festivities he had organized and the misery everywhere else.
“The last man to give a speech in this kind of environment started with ‘friends, Romans and compatriots,'” he began, quoting Mark Antony from Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar”. (At that point in the play, Caesar has been stabbed to death.)
