Post #291224 by sporkboyofjustice on Mon, Mar 12, 2007 9:27 AM

An article that was sent to me this week, in the NY Times no less.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/11/fashion/11boite.html?ex=1174194000&en=4915c3267b9caff2&ei=5070&emc=eta1

ACCORDING to Polynesian mythology, Mahiki is the path that leads to Lua-o-Milu or, more simply put, the underworld. So it’s rather fitting that a club that has often been a playground for the British monarchy’s two young princes is named after the descent into decadence.

Nearly every morning, the British papers run over with tales from Mahiki, this kitschy two-level court in central London’s Mayfair district, like how much money Prince Harry and his friends spent (on one night last month, about $21,000), and which pop icons were spotted in the corner. (Madonna and Guy Ritchie reportedly spent two hours there discussing the state of African orphans with the prince, who will soon trade his clubgoing for military service in Iraq.)

Though the prince was recently whisked out the back door after a fight started outside, this is not your typical A-list club.

The club, which opened in November, draws a fancy crowd, but there’s no velvet rope, so royals, socialites and average Nigels commingle here amid Polynesian-theme shell chandeliers, bamboo walls, grass hut ceilings and, most of all, convincingly tropical drinks.

Piña coladas are served in large carved-out pineapples, and Coconut Grenades out of frozen coconut shells, giving everything an authentic, if rather Gilligan’s Island, feel.

“It’s so not pretentious, it’s fantastic,” Stephen Lisseman, a fashion designer for Asprey, said of the club. He was celebrating the success of a fashion show with friends on a recent Friday night. The tiki lounge music, he said, “is so bad that you don’t have to worry about it.”

Just behind him, faces were illuminated by a flaming shot glass of rum sitting in the middle of the Bikini Blast group drink, served in a watermelon rind full of pineapple and lime juices mixed with tequila. A young man struggled to blow out the flame while a woman beside him giggled.

At Prince Harry’s regular table in the center of the space, a large group nibbled on skewered chicken and mini-burgers. A waiter placed an antique treasure chest on their table, opening it to reveal a mystery brew served over mounds of ice and decorated with sliced fruit and tropical flowers. With a flourish of the wrist, the waiter doused it in Champagne, and the group did their best to out-sip each other through foot-long straws, taste-testing what has come to be known locally as a favorite of the princes (and those with princely bank accounts).

“I had read about it recently in the press, as it would seem it’s a regular haunt of the two princes, and we thought the tropical cocktails sounded as though they might make for an interesting evening,” said Tor Leckie, 31, who lives in the Hammersmith section of West London. “Bring on the Treasure Chest!”