Alcoholic London restaurateur Peter Langan, owner of the eponymous brasserie in Piccadilly that he opened in partnership with actor Michael Caine, was renowned for his hell raising antics, potty mouth and capacity to sleep anywhere - all fuelled by a daily consumption of a dozen bottles of champagne. He would regularly challenge pretty young things to strip off in the bar in return for large amounts of champagne - often with astonishing success - and had a peculiar habit of cruising menacingly on his hands and knees under tables, biting unsuspecting female diners' ankles.
Langan and Caine had a tempestuous relationship. He described Caine as a "mediocrity with halitosis who has a council house mind", while Caine retorted: "Peter stumbles around in a cloud of his own vomit and is a complete social embarrassment. You would have a more interesting conversation with a cabbage."
Langan was notorious for his sharp tongue and vehement reactions to any kind of criticisms, real or imagined. On occasion an outraged woman found a dead cockroach in the ladies’ loo and complained. He put her right: “It can’t be one of ours. This cockroach is dead. All ours are alive and healthy.” He promptly swallowed it, washed it down with vintage Krug.
The chef and brains behind the operation, Richard Shepherd, recalls: "One day I was in the kitchen at 12.15pm when the telephone rang. A very posh voice said, 'Mr Shepherd, I am speaking from the managing director's office at Sothebys. I believe we have Mr Langan in our sales room. I wonder if you could send somebody over to pick him up, Mr Shepherd. In fact, you'd better send two people. He is asleep.' I said, 'He does tend to do that.' 'Yes,' she replied. 'But he is halfway up the stairs on a bookcase and every time somebody goes past he keeps telling them to fuck off.'"
Langan's friend and biographer, Brian Sewell, recalls his dog, Susie, being invited to dinner at offshoot Odin's bistro after she'd recovered from a hysterectomy operation. She sat at a table eating diced steak as Langan sat opposite. Recalls Sewell: "She gazed about her as though she wished to see and be seen. At a neighbouring table, four boisterous Australians objected; their complaints began indirectly with such remarks as, 'Jesus. Now we've seen everything', and grew to a grumble about not paying the bill in such a filthy, unhygienic restaurant. Peter ignored them for some time. They had no idea he was anything other than a customer. But, at last, he could bear it no longer and, without rising from his chair or raising his voice - taking care not to disturb Susie's poise - he addressed them with: 'I own the joint. I don't give a damn about hygiene. I'd rather have this restaurant full of dogs than Australians; as you can see for yourselves, they have better manners.'"
He barred Rudolf Nureyev for, as he quipped, "being himself".
On another occasion, Langan didn't recognise Marlon Brando when he came into the restaurant, explaining: "The only thing I knew about him was that he is even fatter than me."
One night Prince Albert of Monaco was sitting at a table with six people and Peter lurched up and said: 'Is it true you are a fucking poof?'
On another occasion Shepherd felt obliged to send Ronnie Corbett a case of champagne to apologise for Langan calling him a "fucking midget".
He died at the age of 47 after a failed attempt at self-immolation.
Langan and Caine had a tempestuous relationship. He described Caine as a "mediocrity with halitosis who has a council house mind", while Caine retorted: "Peter stumbles around in a cloud of his own vomit and is a complete social embarrassment. You would have a more interesting conversation with a cabbage."
Langan was notorious for his sharp tongue and vehement reactions to any kind of criticisms, real or imagined. On occasion an outraged woman found a dead cockroach in the ladies’ loo and complained. He put her right: “It can’t be one of ours. This cockroach is dead. All ours are alive and healthy.” He promptly swallowed it, washed it down with vintage Krug.
The chef and brains behind the operation, Richard Shepherd, recalls: "One day I was in the kitchen at 12.15pm when the telephone rang. A very posh voice said, 'Mr Shepherd, I am speaking from the managing director's office at Sothebys. I believe we have Mr Langan in our sales room. I wonder if you could send somebody over to pick him up, Mr Shepherd. In fact, you'd better send two people. He is asleep.' I said, 'He does tend to do that.' 'Yes,' she replied. 'But he is halfway up the stairs on a bookcase and every time somebody goes past he keeps telling them to fuck off.'"
Langan's friend and biographer, Brian Sewell, recalls his dog, Susie, being invited to dinner at offshoot Odin's bistro after she'd recovered from a hysterectomy operation. She sat at a table eating diced steak as Langan sat opposite. Recalls Sewell: "She gazed about her as though she wished to see and be seen. At a neighbouring table, four boisterous Australians objected; their complaints began indirectly with such remarks as, 'Jesus. Now we've seen everything', and grew to a grumble about not paying the bill in such a filthy, unhygienic restaurant. Peter ignored them for some time. They had no idea he was anything other than a customer. But, at last, he could bear it no longer and, without rising from his chair or raising his voice - taking care not to disturb Susie's poise - he addressed them with: 'I own the joint. I don't give a damn about hygiene. I'd rather have this restaurant full of dogs than Australians; as you can see for yourselves, they have better manners.'"
He barred Rudolf Nureyev for, as he quipped, "being himself".
On another occasion, Langan didn't recognise Marlon Brando when he came into the restaurant, explaining: "The only thing I knew about him was that he is even fatter than me."
One night Prince Albert of Monaco was sitting at a table with six people and Peter lurched up and said: 'Is it true you are a fucking poof?'
On another occasion Shepherd felt obliged to send Ronnie Corbett a case of champagne to apologise for Langan calling him a "fucking midget".
He died at the age of 47 after a failed attempt at self-immolation.