TRAVELING in style : London in Style

Fashion reigns for but a fleeting moment. Style is ageless. London has the latter in buckets, huge brimming buckets.

London is surely the most exhilarating city in the world, with more and better theater, galleries, shops, tailors, shoemakers, museums, buskers, taxis and assorted other joys and delights than any other town has a right to claim.

Historically, London has always had a reputation as a bastion of masculinity, with Dr. Samuel Johnson, Lord Nelson, Wellington, Dickens and a raft of other gentlemen having held forth throughout its history and literature. Indeed, the American poet and former ambassador Henry van Dyke wrote: “Oh, London is a man’s town, there’s power in the air; and Paris is a woman’s town, with flowers in her hair.” Well, bless winsome Paris with her coif of blossoms. As for London, sir, then was then and now is now: The two power perches in old London Town are now sat upon by women, with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and Queen Elizabeth more than holding their own.

We further suspect that local ladies have always had a rather large hand in government affairs, from the no-nonsense Victoria, who kept hers in for 64 years building an empire, to the sprightly Nell Gwynn, who came off the 17th-Century London stage to become Charles II’s mistress and bear him two sons, all the while making him use the servants’ entrance to her St. James townhouse.

London’s celebrated style is, with few exceptions, based largely upon tradition: a boater for the Henley races; morning coats and picture hats for Ascot; a superb knowledge of clarets; blazers and ancient tweeds de rigueur for e sex; and beneath it all, a love for doing things in style. Dickens said it best with: “There was never such a Derby Day--so many carriages, so many fine ladies, so many Fortnum & Mason hampers. And now, Heavens! All the hampers fly wide open and the green Downs burst into a blossom of lobster salad!”

So let’s set course to explore and enjoy some of London’s very best, always sailing in style, resigned to the fact that we’ll drop a few quid--perhaps a shocking amount--along the way.

Afternoon tea at Claridge’s often approaches the regal heights of, say, the Congress of Vienna. Indeed, the celebrated Hungarian Quartet serenades a distinguished collection of men of affairs, a few of the younger royals from thereabouts, perhaps an editor of Harpers & Queen, all nodding approval as waiters in swallowtail coats set out smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches, scones and petit fours to go with your choice of teas.

Time was, and not all that long ago, when the dining scene in London was at best a grim and barren landscape. But things began to change two or three decades ago as chefs from other countries brought in their toques, ladles and bain-maries . The next thing you know, alors! , a few Michelin stars began to fall on British kitchens.

In London’s best restaurants today, one doesn’t go looking for steak-and-kidney pie, Yorkshire pudding or cockaleekie soup. Not with Tante Claire, Langan’s, the Connaught, Bibendum and a host of other fine dining establishments offering food as good as can be found in most of the world’s great cities.

Those in the know about London chefs regard Peter Kromberg of Le Souffle in the Inter-Continental Hotel (Hyde Park Corner) as the most underpraised of the lot. A Swiss-born master, he counts a Michelin star and two Gault Millau toques on his escutcheon. He oversees a near-faultless kitchen, turning out magical souffles (from starters to desserts), but his first loves are seafood and shellfish dishes. We can attest to the glory of his creme de crustaces et coquillages au citron vert , which was as beautiful as its heavenly flavor, the noisettes de chevreuil (roebuck) with fresh cabbage equally masterful.

Short of dining at your own London club, a luncheon at Wiltons (55 Jermyn St.,) will do quite well, thank you. Established in 1742, Wiltons has long been home turf to captains of industry, politicos and art dealers from nearby galleries. A power lunch here reaches nuclear levels. Settle into one of the forest-green velvet booths that are set between etched-glass dividers and start with shad roe on toast, lobster bisque with cognac or a half-dozen Galway No. 1 oysters; then move on to remarkable game dishes or the finest scallops from Scotland or Cornwall. Wiltons has built its reputation on the very best of English seafood and game, prepared simply and served in an Edwardian setting of old sporting prints. It’s hands-down our London Town favorite for superb seafood and atmosphere.

Returning to an old favorite after 20 years and finding it even better is a most satisfying experience. Such was the case at Le Suquet (104 Draycott Ave.), a small and rustic, very French, very Provencal place in Chelsea that has everything within its whitewashed walls but Mediterranean sun and sea breezes. Seafood is practically the whole menu here, and we once had a pewter tray the size of a truck tire piled high with just about every shellfish in mare nostrum . Le Suquet’s bouillabaisse would hold its own in any Marseilles kitchen.

Faded elegance of India’s raj era sets the tone of Bombay Brasserie (Courtfield Close), which may be the touch of nostalgia that keeps Londoners queued at lunch and dinner. Have a mango Bellini in the old-fashioned bar, then move to a huge room or to the fern-filled conservatory for very rewarding tandoori , Parsi , Moghlai , Goa curries A very pukka meal here and you realize why the Brits hated to leave India.

Soho’s galaxy of restaurants, many of which aren’t all that stellar, sometimes seem to change with the seasons. But the Gay Hussar (2 Greek St.) has been operating as long as we can remember. The small and narrow dining room has all the color and vitality of a czardas, the menu crammed with half-a-hundred Magyar specialties. We can never pass up the chilled wild-cherry soup, nor rablo hus , a “robbers’ roast” of skewered meats served on a wooden platter. Most of the Hungarian and Balkan dishes are cooked with red, green or white peppers, “in the colors of our flag,” as Hungarians say.

Shopping in London’s better establishments is as near to nirvana as most of us are likely to reach on this planet, with no language barrier, civilized salespeople and products with a national reputation for quality and durability. As with many major cities, London’s trendy shopping enclaves come and go like phases of the moon: the carnival atmosphere and tacky wares of Carnaby Street in the 60s; Chelsea’s too-trendy-by-half King’s Road a bit later; Sloane Street, turf of the Sloane Rangers’ mad quest for the 19th Century, which is showing remarkable staying power behind flag-bearer Laura Ashley Ltd.

So what if Napoleon tabbed Britain a “nation of shopkeepers”? Today’s London offers the dedicated shopper such established hunting grounds as St. James, Jermyn, Bond, Audley and Regent streets, Piccadilly and Knightsbridge. Here you’ll find establishments with facades dating to their foundings centuries ago, the windows or portals blessed discreetly with one or more Royal Warrants, the crests proclaiming that said establishment is “By Appointment to . . . “ and listing the Queen, Queen Mother, Duke of Edinburgh or Prince of Wales, the four presently allowed to issue such warrants.

Old Bond Street, laid out in 1686 and the “High Street of Mayfair,” London’s most fashionable district, will give you a sterling start on your rounds, being chock-a-block with the likes of Birger Christensen for luxurious furs (No. 170) and Cartier (No. 175) for a little bagatelle or bibelot to sparkle at throat or wrist. But Asprey (No. 165) is the flagship of the neighborhood fleet--a family-owned business founded in 1781. The holder of three Royal Warrants, Asprey’s upstairs workshops still turn out the finest hand-crafted silver, gold and leather articles. Its display of jewelry, china, crystal, luggage, clocks and antique furniture has been described as an “Aladdin’s Cave” of opulence. You might be interested in a sterling punch bowl, suitable for a small group of, say 200, priced at $66,000, or a fitted picnic hamper of plates, flatware, glasses and about everything else needed for a rustic outing, priced at a mere $3,975.

Jermyn Street began as a fashionable residential neighborhood in 1664. Today, the row of shops along this rather short and narrow street are as beguiling as any collection in London, tempting one unmercifully with everything from magnificent clothing to the fanciest foodstuffs.

Let’s start by following our noses to the glorious aromas wafting seductively from Paxton & Whitfield at No. 93, a cheesemonger’s shop with family roots going back to 1740, the building itself dating from 1674. You’re no sooner in the tiny room when you encounter a small table on your left bearing several of the firm’s delectable products, cut into bite-size bits of sensual pleasure and yours for the nibbling. But Paxton’s is also noted for its imaginative pates (12 by our count, including wild boar, venison, Ardennes ham and guinea fowl), plus hearty game pies, preserves and chutneys.

Step out the door, inhale deeply, and your nose should again lead you directly to Floris at No. 89, parfumerie extraordinaire for more than 250 years and suppliers of scents and toiletries to the Court of St. James during most of that time. Eight generations of the Juan Floris family have held forth there, the latest providing perfumes, soaps and such to the Queen, cologne and after-shave to Prince Charles.

Princes Charles and Andrew are present customers of Turnbull & Asser (No. 71), and Winston Churchill had shirts made there until he died, his pattern is framed on a wall of the fitting room. A custom-tailored shirt will cost you $112-$206, with a minimum of six for your first order, singles permitted thereafter.

Savile Row (the accent on the first syllable, please) is surely the world’s most legendary street for bespoke (made to measure) tailoring, albeit at considerable cost, and Gieves & Hawkes at No. 1 has collected its own store of legends since its founding in 1785 as a military tailor. Both the Duke of Wellington and Lord Nelson were outfitted by G & H, Mr. Hawkes wielding the chalk for Wellington, Mr.) Gieves for Nelson. Today, the firm is expanding more into the “civilian market,” with shops throughout the U.K. and abroad.

Down the street at No. 11, H. Huntsman & Sons traces its tailoring history back to the early 19th Century as a “Gaiter and Breeches Maker.” Huntsman’s shop, cutting and fitting rooms adhere to the mold of personal tailor more so than those of the handsome premises at Gieves & Hawkes, and its personnel wouldn’t tell you so if one of their royal clients was in for a fitting 10 minutes ago. When asked what a suit would cost in the “‘very best cloth,” one replied, “About $2,600 sir, and we cut only the very best cloth.”

Walk the narrow streets and lanes of the St. James district today and you’re sure to feel the presence of former residents and habitues: Dr. Johnson, Samuel Pepys, Daniel Defoe, Thomas Swift and Lord Byron; the latter fatally wounded an opponent in a duel at the Star and Garter tavern in 1765. Our stroll up St. James Street brings us first to Berry Bros. & Rudd at No. 3, where since 1699 a single family has been engaged in the sale of coffee and wine. Enter No. 3 and you are struck immediately by an overpowering aura of antiquity: old coffee mills, dark wooden walls, a creaky floor, stand-up Victorian desks, framed old wine invoices and prints. The firm has a 64-page catalogue of wines, spirits, liqueurs and cigars, promising “unashamedly old-fashioned service” whether you are “laying down a case of First Growth Claret” or “buying a half-bottle of House Red,” the latter going for a paltry $2.50.

A few doors away at No. 9 you’ll find John Lobb, boot makers to Queen Victoria (her last is still in the showroom) and holders of three Royal Warrants today. Their bench-made shoes, fitted, cut and sewn on the spot by five different craftsmen, will take nine months for the first pair, three thereafter, and they’ll nick your wallet about $1,225 the pair. Prince Charles’ polo boots, “of Russian calf and much favored for general hacking as well as for polo,” carried no price tag. And we didn’t ask.

The Brod Gallery (24 St. James St.) is a longtime family fixture in this neighborhood of galleries. Presided over by Thomas Brod and his wife Brenda, who was director of the Old Masters section at Sotheby’s in New York for a decade, the gallery has an impressive display of 17th-Century Dutch and Flemish paintings. Pricey, but why not an Old Master for your own collection?

Women of the House of Windsor have never been noted for their sense of au courant style, choosing rather plain if not downright dowdy clothing for all but ceremonial occasions. That, of course, was until Princess Di brought a ray of sunshine and savoir faire to the scene, dazzling people-watchers around the globe with her daring decolletage and high-spirited sports outfits. Fergie, on the other hand, tends to work without a net and frequently takes a header with the London fashion press.

Still, they’re great chums and often share the same couturiers and boutiques. One of these is Caroline Charles (11 Beauchamp Place), noted for a full dawn-to-evening collection. Styles range from bold colors in rather severely cut coordinates to soft English florals, with nothing in the shop priced higher than $1,750. Di or Fergie could pop in for a look, but usually it’s a lady-in-waiting or dresser who makes the initial foray.

Kanga, the Aussie Lady Tryon and a former flame of Prince Charles, has a shop at 8 Beauchamp Place that turns out smashing little flowery numbers in polyester georgette (great for traveling) that fit anyone from size 8 to 18 and sell for around. $480-$520. Kanga claims that they’re perfect for “home, work, Henley, Ascot or the vicar’s garden party.”

Bruce Oldfield (41 Beauchamp), like Kanga, is often in the shop brightening the place with his radiant smile, and a nicer guy you couldn’t hope to meet. Oldfield designs a clutch of dresses and gowns for Di each year and says his creations range from $600 to “the heights.” He also does an impressive number of separates to go with his decidedly flamboyant dinner and evening wear.

In 1531, Piccadilly was known only as the road to Knightsbridge and Reading. Today it runs from Piccadilly Circus about a mile west to Hyde Park Corner, much of it devoted to a mixed bag of shops. Fortnum & Mason at No. 181 is surely the most venerable of the lot, having been started by two gentlemen setting up a grocery stall at the present site in 1707. You’ll always discover a spectacular selection of gourmet tins, jars and bottles, everything from the firm’s own Stilton in handsome crocks to Gentleman’s Relish, an anchovy-and-herbs paste guaranteed to interrupt your breathing for a moment.

A few doors away at No. 187 you’ll find Hatchard’s, a bookstore founded in 1797 and holder today of a full deck of Royal Warrants for all four of the well-read Windsors. We seldom miss a visit, if only to browse through what certainly must be the world’s finest travel bookshelf. Another few steps brings you to Swaine Adeney Brigg at No. 185, founded in 1750 with the oh-so-correct Brigg umbrellas added in 1942. This is the place for hand-sewn luggage and cases made in their workshops, classic outdoor and riding clothes, Swaine Adeney saddles and fine shooting and riding gear. They also have a small but select gun room.

No roundup of stylish London could properly end without mention of Harrods, since 1849 purveyors of everything from prams to potted partridge and unquestionably the planet’s most famous department store. Their renowned food halls display game, seafood, fruits and produce in still-lifes of almost museum quality, everything absolutely top of the line.

While cutting a swath through London in style, one might well remember Dr. Johnson’s sagacious comment:

“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.” And as for the cost, he added, “It is better to live rich, than to die rich.” A very astute gentleman, that Johnson.