Vive le Pub

All the world grows nostalgic at the thought of Paris' famed outdoor cafes and its deep discotheque caves. That is, everyone except the Parisians. In recent years, the young ye-ye set has been crossing the street from St. Germain-des-Pres's venerable Les Deux Magots and swinging into Le Drugstore for a short-order hamburger or a fairly auhentic banana split. What with its dazzling array of drugs, chewing gum, model airplanes and racks full of Playboy, the delights of Le Drugstore are inexhaustible. But now there is a new-- and equally exotic-- rendezvous: an English pub, inevitably called the Sir Winston Churchill, right there on the Champs Elysees, a stone's throw from the Arc de Triomphe.

There's no mistaking it. The name is engraved on the facade, there's a huge framed picture of Sir Winston inside (Lady Churchill permitted use of the name), and a Watney's ale truck draws up regularly to replenish the draft. Inside, the effect is super-lush, with deep red plush seats, red-globed lamps, lots of traditional dark wood and highly polished brass fixtures. "Of course it's not a real pub. It's a parody of a pub for the French bourgeoisie," says a bearded Bait called Slavik, sipping his Old Forester bourbon neat. He should know, for he designed not only the original Le Drugstore on the Champs Elysees but the new Churchill as well, and now no decorator is more in demand.

Born 46 years ago in Russia, Slavik (real name: Vyacheslav Vasiliev) is married to the fashion director of Elle, drives about Paris `a la folie from one decorating job to the next in his new Alfa Giulia super sedan. He started out as an industrial designer, but really made his mark when he concocted Pub Renault, a snack bar in Renault's auto showrooms. The booths resemble antique car seats, waitresses can be summoned by a brass klaxon, and the menu ranges from Renault's new Caravelle coupe ($2,300) to buttermilk (30-c-).

At the Sir Winston, the fare with the Watney's ale runs more to "the real English breakfast" (porridge, bacon and eggs), but it is being downed enthusiastically from 8 a.m. opening until 3 a.m., and pub-crawling is becoming all the rage. The Duke and Duchess of Bedford authorized their name and crest for the Bedford Arms, which opens next week; Slavik himself is planning two more pubs, one Cairo style, the other `a la Singapore. "They will be much more crazy," he promises gleefully. "I don't want to be reasonable any more."

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