So here is an almost certainly incomplete list of places we’ve been to for food or drink. Note that scores have absolutely nothing to do with style of cuisine. So a chippie could get HC while a Michelin 3-star could get a bomb (unlikely, especially as I’ve never been to one). The rating scheme is as follows.
✝ Pray that you never have to go back
✭Wouldn’t mind going back
✭✭I look forward to going but wouldn’t make a special trip
✭✭✭Unusually good, exceptional value, or other noteworthy characteristic
✭✭✭✭A near-perfect example of what it’s trying to do
HC. Hors catégorie (beyond category). Too good to rate.
Things are organized by restaurants, pubs, bakeries & coffee shops, and other. We’re missing a few – SB is checking names and whatnot.
RESTAURANTS
Andrews (cheap eats). 160 Grays Inn Road, London WC1X 8ED. Good caff, cheap English breakfasts. Go before they close. ✭✭✭
Bam-Bou (high end pan-Asian). 1 Percy St. London W1T 1DB. Fuck they think they are such a fantastic restaurant. But the three of us ordered about a million dishes and still left hungry. Even with my TasteLondon card it felt expensive. £10 for a duck breast. Sheeeeeit. ✭
Brilliant (Indian). 72-76 Western Road, Southall UB2 5DZ. August 2008. A big outing with JV, us, and JV’s friend Naomi and her friend Matt. Brilliant is elegant Indian food, but it’s not sooo different than other Indian food in London. ✭✭✭
Comptoir Gascon (French). 61-63 Charterhouse Street, London EC1M 6AH. October 2008. French bistro, known for fries. Which had good flavor but very limp. Duck rillettes spectacular, piggy platter diverse and high quality. Wait staff probably all French. A bit trying too hard. ✭✭
Crystal Kebab (cheap eats). Holloway Rd across from the Odeon. So apparently this is the best kebab shop in London but it is still terrible. The rotating cylinder of meat is no better than elsewhere. ✝
E Pellicci (cheap eats). 332 Bethnal Green Rd, London E2. Probably the best Italian caff in London. Deserts can be skipped. HC
Franco Manco (cheap eats). 4 Market Row, London SW9 8LD. A longish bike ride from work to Brixton for lunch but well worth it. Pizza charred but not crunchy crispy, chewy. Kind of like Master Host in Sorrento (but not quite as good). Toppings all spot on, run by real Italians. Sourdough dough, wood oven, cheap wine. ✭✭✭✭
Gaby’s (cheap eats). 30 Charing Cross Road, London WC2H 0BJ. Heike, Peter, and Felix took us to lunch here. By far the best cheap eating near the Leicester Square armpit zone. Their falafel (number 81) rocks. ✭✭✭
Golden Hind (cheap eats). 73 Marylebone Lane, W1U 2PN. The finest fish & chips I’ve ever had. Bring your own booze. Can be loud. ✭✭✭✭
Italian Coffee Company (cheap eats). Also called Icco or Ecco. 7-9 Charlotte Street W1T 1RG. Really really cheap pizza (they do have coffee but it’s not a coffee shop). And doesn’t suck. Cheese is too chewy. ✭✭
La Bota (Spanish). 31 Broadway Parade, London N8 9DB. Decent tapas but no reason to go back. ✭✭
La Porchetta (cheap eats). 147 Stroud Green Road, London, N4 3PZ. Chain pizza, good value, but not excellent. Expect to have your ears massacred by exuberant tots (perhaps offer helpful parenting suggestions). ✭✭
Lowlander (Belgian). 36 Drury Lane London WC2B 5RR. Earsplitting loud, beer selection excellent, but expensive. Fries not so good. ✭✭
Marathon (Ethiopian). 196 Caledonian Road, London N1 0SL. October 2008. Close to work, JV had eaten there many times over the years. But on this visit, things were seriously off. And we got into an argument over whether or not they had to take a Visa card with no pin chip. ✝
New Tayyabs (Punjabi). 83-89, Fieldgate St. London E1 1JU. October 2008. Stephanie’s birthday dinner. Took us four tries to get in. This time made a booking. Fantastically loud. Punjabi. Dry meat the best dish. ✭✭✭
Old Spot (high end dining). 12 Sadler Street, Wells BA5 2SE. Well it’s not as good as Nathan Outlaw and it misses on a couple of things here and there but if you’re within a 30 mile radius of Wells, go for sure. Decent value at lunch. ✭✭✭✭
Ottolenghi (modern). 287 Upper Street. London N1 2TZ. October 2008. Stephanie’s birthday dessert. Lemon tart, cheesecake, chocolate tart. Expensive, arty, a bit pretentious, but high quality. ✭✭✭
Pizza Express (cheap eats). Many locations around town. Not too hideous for chain pizza but a little expensive for what you get. ✭
Restaurant Nathan Outlaw (high end dining). The Marina Villa Hotel. Fowey. PL23 1HY. Small, very small. Near-celebrity chef, still cooking full time. Makes his own everything. Amiable waitstaff, impeccable fish, inventive but not preachy, fine cheese board. Go. HC
Sosta (Italian). 14 Middle Lane, Crouch End, London N8 8PL. September 2008. Totally standard Italian fare, done well. Very much like Le Nonne back in Logan. ✭
Tate St. Ives (museum café). Museum cafes in the UK tend to be good. This one is lovely, with a great view of the city. Fine quality loose-leaf teas. ✭✭
World Café (casual). 130 Crouch Hill London N8 9DY. We had ok dessert there but need to go back for the fries – they were dark and looked crispy and salty. Upgrade may be forthcoming? ✭
PUBS & GASTROPUBS
All Bar One. Many locations around London. A plague upon the planet – slick institutionalized pub chain. McDonalds of the pub world, only with more wood and mirrors. It sucks. ✝
Cross Kings. 126 York Way, London N1 0AX. Another pub near work. Frequent live acts, extremely odd owner. ✭✭
Duke of York. Iddesleigh. Go to this pub and die happy, as there is a good chance you will have a heart attack after eating the Mastodon-conquering steak & kidney pudding or mixed grill with five kinds of meat, two eggs, a bowl of fries, tomatoes, mushrooms, and bread. Game pie complete with authentic feathers. Vegetables are terrible, but this is within style. Sticky toffee pudding finest within a thousand furlongs. Beer always changing, can be hit or miss. HC
Elephant’s Nest. Horndon, near Tavistock. A classic country pub. Slate floor, giant fireplace, eccentric dogs, friendly staff. Sticky toffee pudding surprisingly arty (but good!) with squiggles of sauce and shit like that. Good local cider. ✭✭✭✭
Great British Beer Festival. Earl’s Court. Held in August. Astonishing variety of beers but maybe most interesting for the cider and perry selection – full range from scathing dry to candy sweet. ✭✭✭✭
Half Moon. Sheepwash. Frequented by fisherpeople. Right on the main square, killer beer but slightly claustrophobic. ✭✭
King Charles I (the craic house). 55-57 Northdown Street, London N1 9BL. Best ale pub near work. No food but delivery available. ✭✭✭✭
King of Prussia. Fowey. St Austell on handpump, not too ruined by the tourist onslaught. Nice location. ✭✭
Kings Head. 2 Crouch End Hill, London, N8 8AA. A decent pub, live music and/or comedy downstairs. ✭
Marylebone Tup. 93 Marylebone High Street, London, W1U. Chain pub but still not bad. ✭
Peter Tavey Inn. In Peter Tavey, near Tavistock. It’s not the Elephant’s Nest but it’s not bad. ✭✭
Railway Tavern. 23 Crouch End Hill, London N8 8DH. One of the better Crouch End pubs. Maybe one real ale if you’re lucky. ✭✭
Red Lion. Avebury. Ok so it is in the middle of a huge stone circle but it still sucks. But worth going for a swiftie on completion of your druidic pilgrimage. Freak. ✝
Sloop. St. Ives. Grr. In the good pub guide but it is not a good pub. Nowhere good to sit, gloomy, touristy, etc. ✝
The Beehive. 126 Crawford Street Marylebone. Sooo it’s nice but fucking expensive. The ceiling looks good. ✭
The Green Man. 36 Riding House Street, London W1W 7EP. Remarkable mostly for the cider selection. ✭✭✭
The Lincoln Lounge. 52 York Way, London N1 9AB. Popular pub near work. Good vibe, don’t get the ales there, but the Staropramen is good. ✭✭
The Noble. 29 Crouch Hill, London N4 4AP. One of the early gastropubs. We ate a light lunch, loved it, need to get back. ✭✭✭
Three Compasses. 62 High Street, London N8 7NX. Several well-kept real ales, better than anything in Crouch End. ✭✭✭
Tinners Arms. Zennor. B3306 West of St. Ives. Classic country pub in stellar scenery. But when we visited, sullen bar staff. If there’d been a fucking smile or hello or anything it’d be 4 star. The toilet in the gents is really powerful though! ✭✭✭
Tudor Rose. 44 Blandford St, London W1U 7HS. I hated this pub. Hated it hated it hated it. ✝
Volunteer. 247, Baker St, London, NW1 6XE. Chain pub, food mediocre, but good for drinking. ✭✭✭
Warren House. Postbridge. Wondrous setting for bleak panoramas over the moor, if you like that sort of thing. I do. Rabbit pie also fine, as are the well-kept ales. ✭✭✭
Wenlock Arms. 26 Wenlock Road, London N1 7TA. This pub is an absolute shithole. The guy in the gents next to me out of the blue said that the smell brought tears to his eyes. The carpet could be used in a torture scene ... like "Tell us the detonation code or we'll make you lick the carpet" ... "Noo nooo I'll talk I'll talk! Anything but the carpet in the Wenlock Arms. Aiieee!" Most of the old codgers have only two or three teeth. But they hosted an excellent ale and cider Oktoberfest and have an otherwise good selection of real ales. ✭✭
BAKERIES & COFFEE SHOPS
Assal Patisserie (bakery). 14 Connaught Street, London W2 2AF. Stumbled into this terrific Iranian bakery and got a selection of cookies, all of which were excellent and better than Green Valley. And we got free almond cookies. Ooooo. ✭✭✭✭
Exeter Street Bakery (bakery). 1b Argyll Road, London W8 7DB. Modern Italian vibe but the bread is worth the trip. Also available in some farmers markets. ✭✭✭✭
Flour Power (bakery). Available around town. Big chain artisan bakery, but mediocre. Soul gone. Don’t confuse with Flour Station, fool. ✭
Flour Station (bakery). Available at some farmers markets (including Borough). Another good bakery, we had the couronne. ✭✭✭
Marcus Coffee. 13 Connaught Street, London W2 2AY. I want so much to like Marcus Coffee but I’m afraid it’s just not that good. Old timey vibe, their own retro roaster but the coffee and drinks are subpar. ✭
Old Post Office Bakery (bakery). 76 Landor Road, London SW9 9PH. Great hippie bakery. Small, nothing fancy, good quality, cookies of note. ✭✭✭
Primrose Bakery (bakery). 69 Gloucester Avenue, London NW1 8LD. Cupcake mania taking hold in London, Stephanie powerless to resist. Too cute for its own good but ok anyway. ✭✭
OTHER (street vendors, grocery stores, butchers, cheese mongers).
Chinese bun vendor near Price Charles. Starving and about to go see Indiana Jones – but it was horrible. Too much melamine. ✝
Fromagerie (cheese shop/café). 2-6 Moxon Street London W1U 4EW. Ok so they have an amazing selection of cheeses but shit it is so fucking pretentious. They sell green beans like they’re gold bricks. It’s like Dean and Deluca, but only more so. ✭✭
Giggly Pig (butcher). Farmers markets. Reformed ex-con, also raises and slaughters her own pigs and makes them into tasty sausage. ✭✭✭
Ginger Pig (butcher). 8-10 Moxon Street, London W1U 4EW. September 2008. Arty butcher. Stephanie was obsessed with their pies and finally bought some. Decent but still, just a pie. Also available, insanely expensive animal parts. ✭
Green Valley (Middle Eastern grocery). 36 Upper Berkeley St, London, W1H 5Q. Multiple visits. Deli, bakery, and gelato. ✭✭✭
Kappa Casein (street vendor). Borough Market, London. August 2008. Possibly the finest grilled cheese sandwich the world has ever know. HC
Monday, October 27, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Arty stuff
Again I have been totally slacking, for no other reason than I don't feel like blogging. But for a quick update, we saw some sweet art last week or so:
Rothko exhibit at the Tate Modern. Rothko always makes me think that the world is coming apart. The canvases with a plain red background and then a different shade red circle look like someone's peeled a pop top off of reality. But then some of it looks like a bunch of black paint, too.
Cildo Meireles, also at Tate Modern. Oooo this guy does the kind of conceptual art that the stupid Turner Prize winners wish they could do.
Francis Bacon at Tate Britain. Horrible horrible stuff. Creepy. Melting popes and whatnot.
String quartet at the Vienna Cafe held at the Royal College of Art. Included all you can eat Austrian meats, cheese, wine, mimosas, and Demel pastries, all for free. I am serious.
Free showing of the Third Man with learned speech by film scholar. Turns out the balloon vendor was not cast and just happened along during filming.
Then last night we saw the new Coen Bros movie, Burn After Reading, with our friends John and Belen. Ok movie, but held in the previously mentioned Barbican Center. Excellent theater. I locked my bike to an apparently illegal spot and it'd been chained by security. I tracked them down and they said I had to come back tomorrow or pay a £150 fine. But they were fucking with me. Ha. So I got it out, rode half way home, and realized I forgot my sunglasses. So rode all the way back, spent 15 minutes trying to get back into the Barbican (it's one of those brutalist plaza pieces, totally cut off from the street), looked all over, found the glasses, got riding again, had the wind blow a plastic bag into my drivetrain, got covered in grease extracting that, got a splitting headache, and finally made it home.
In other news, I sauted onions and garlic added cabbage and slow cooked with apples green chiles and fried mustard seeds. Ooo it was good. Also chick peas take forever to cook here, cause unknown. No other beans problematic.
Rothko exhibit at the Tate Modern. Rothko always makes me think that the world is coming apart. The canvases with a plain red background and then a different shade red circle look like someone's peeled a pop top off of reality. But then some of it looks like a bunch of black paint, too.
Cildo Meireles, also at Tate Modern. Oooo this guy does the kind of conceptual art that the stupid Turner Prize winners wish they could do.
Francis Bacon at Tate Britain. Horrible horrible stuff. Creepy. Melting popes and whatnot.
String quartet at the Vienna Cafe held at the Royal College of Art. Included all you can eat Austrian meats, cheese, wine, mimosas, and Demel pastries, all for free. I am serious.
Free showing of the Third Man with learned speech by film scholar. Turns out the balloon vendor was not cast and just happened along during filming.
Then last night we saw the new Coen Bros movie, Burn After Reading, with our friends John and Belen. Ok movie, but held in the previously mentioned Barbican Center. Excellent theater. I locked my bike to an apparently illegal spot and it'd been chained by security. I tracked them down and they said I had to come back tomorrow or pay a £150 fine. But they were fucking with me. Ha. So I got it out, rode half way home, and realized I forgot my sunglasses. So rode all the way back, spent 15 minutes trying to get back into the Barbican (it's one of those brutalist plaza pieces, totally cut off from the street), looked all over, found the glasses, got riding again, had the wind blow a plastic bag into my drivetrain, got covered in grease extracting that, got a splitting headache, and finally made it home.
In other news, I sauted onions and garlic added cabbage and slow cooked with apples green chiles and fried mustard seeds. Ooo it was good. Also chick peas take forever to cook here, cause unknown. No other beans problematic.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Lardy Cake
Oooh I am such a slacker on the blog. We went and had a full week's holiday in Devon & Cornwall - see Stephanie's blog for excellent play by play. But I am here to tell you of the signature discovery of the trip: the lardy cake. Yes, we were dabbling in the faded Victorian elegance of Ilfracombe over by Exmoor - £1.60 pints from 10-11 am and whatnot - when we came across a bakery with the usual inedibles in the window...the rock scone, the crumbly donut, various flabby creme filled dough puddles...when I saw an attractively thick-thighed cinnamon bun looking thing. Current estimates suggest that it was about 180 cm on a side and no less than two stones in weight, covered by 6-8 inches of treacle. Pitted with raisins as big as your fist and great swirls of coarse spice.
I asked what it was made of and she said "Lard!". We got one and over the next hour slowly covered our hands and lower forearms with its sticky pungency. Stephanie was hungrier; I probably only got 3000 calories out of it.
On the way out of town we stopped back in the bakery and told them how smacking it was. They said they only baked 4 per day and even that was a public health hazard.
Less important details of the trip to follow.
I asked what it was made of and she said "Lard!". We got one and over the next hour slowly covered our hands and lower forearms with its sticky pungency. Stephanie was hungrier; I probably only got 3000 calories out of it.
On the way out of town we stopped back in the bakery and told them how smacking it was. They said they only baked 4 per day and even that was a public health hazard.
Less important details of the trip to follow.
Monday, September 22, 2008
11 knife point muggings
Gentle readers if you are of a fainting disposition avert your tender eyes. But if you are made of more finely tempered steel - holy shit! SB was out for a run today on a local rail trail and was flagged down by a couple of bobbies, who told her that there'd been 11 knife point muggings of solo females on the trail in the LAST WEEK. SB says, "that sucks". Hmmm. Perhaps I should buy her a Michael Vick pit bull for company.
In other news, my friend Mark Vinson (rhymes with "Prince Valiant") has sent me a mouth-watering depiction of a recent decent into the deepest depths of culinary ecstasy:
"I too had some fine food lately. Today I had grilled cheese sandwiches. All six were fabulous. I started with day old wonder bread, spread some inexpensive margarine on it, then added two slices of processed American cheese. I grilled them all to perfection in a Wal-Mart pan. Sometimes I get in too much of a rush at the start and heat the pan too quickly and then have to reduce the heat half way through the process. This means I burn the first couple and the last few are soggy. Not today though."
Mark is the ruler of the buglab at USU and is impervious to cold and is able to eat three steaks as large as your arm in one sitting. He also looooves Choco Tacos.
This past weekend we went to a benefit concert in Eaton (small town near Oxford) where two of my coworkers played in a totally sweet band called Frank-a-delic. They do a great ska version of anarchy by the sex pistols. We stopped into a local McDonalds and I had some fries and a shake, purely for anthropological purposes. As always, tasted like decay and frothy incandescent doom.
Then on Sunday we hooked up with my colleague Hieke and her husband Felix and wee Peter. Felix and Peter both have great hair. Part of London was shut down for a cycling festival - it was fun but a bit mobbed - lots of carnage with the little tykes careening into the barriers, just like Abdujaporov in the TDF back in the day. Heike treated us to lunch at Gaby's falafel stand near the National Portrait Gallery. Great! Huge falafel balls, well fried, coarse nubbly texture. We then went into the NPG but got bored quickly and had some tea. That night we ate at Sosta here in Crouch End using the tastelondon card (2 for 1) and it was good - just like Le Nonne in Logan, only twice as expensive. SB had a guinea fowl breast stuffed with parma ham and spinach - ooooo and on a cauliflower & broccoli mash.
And finally - joyous tiding - our local convenience store has responded to my request and now carries the caramel digestives.
And finally - this was the rice and beans from a few nights away ago. Spicy!
In other news, my friend Mark Vinson (rhymes with "Prince Valiant") has sent me a mouth-watering depiction of a recent decent into the deepest depths of culinary ecstasy:
"I too had some fine food lately. Today I had grilled cheese sandwiches. All six were fabulous. I started with day old wonder bread, spread some inexpensive margarine on it, then added two slices of processed American cheese. I grilled them all to perfection in a Wal-Mart pan. Sometimes I get in too much of a rush at the start and heat the pan too quickly and then have to reduce the heat half way through the process. This means I burn the first couple and the last few are soggy. Not today though."
Mark is the ruler of the buglab at USU and is impervious to cold and is able to eat three steaks as large as your arm in one sitting. He also looooves Choco Tacos.
This past weekend we went to a benefit concert in Eaton (small town near Oxford) where two of my coworkers played in a totally sweet band called Frank-a-delic. They do a great ska version of anarchy by the sex pistols. We stopped into a local McDonalds and I had some fries and a shake, purely for anthropological purposes. As always, tasted like decay and frothy incandescent doom.
Then on Sunday we hooked up with my colleague Hieke and her husband Felix and wee Peter. Felix and Peter both have great hair. Part of London was shut down for a cycling festival - it was fun but a bit mobbed - lots of carnage with the little tykes careening into the barriers, just like Abdujaporov in the TDF back in the day. Heike treated us to lunch at Gaby's falafel stand near the National Portrait Gallery. Great! Huge falafel balls, well fried, coarse nubbly texture. We then went into the NPG but got bored quickly and had some tea. That night we ate at Sosta here in Crouch End using the tastelondon card (2 for 1) and it was good - just like Le Nonne in Logan, only twice as expensive. SB had a guinea fowl breast stuffed with parma ham and spinach - ooooo and on a cauliflower & broccoli mash.
And finally - joyous tiding - our local convenience store has responded to my request and now carries the caramel digestives.
And finally - this was the rice and beans from a few nights away ago. Spicy!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Cookie vomit
Obviously we've been taking it easy this weekend. I have time to post twice. But given the shocking nature of the upcoming post, my one or two readers will no doubt be grateful.
We went out for a walk on High Street (not high street, which is like saying main street). We walked by a desultory looking bakery, but one cookie caught my eye. It reminded me of these cookies you could get in Aidone, in Sicily, in 1989, in a small bakery one street off the piazza. I spent the summer there doing archaeology, drinking Peroni, eating gelato, and dying for these cookies, which were available intermittently. Oval in shape, the size of three unshelled walnuts, chewy, slightly boozy ... made, looking back with my cranium full of cooking knowledge, with great heavings of butter, raw almonds (probably), coarse sugar, a quick blizzard of lemon zest, maybe a dribble of vanilla, and then doused with powdered sugar, allowed to cool and rolled in sugar again, the baker like a pig rooting for a tasty corn cob at the bottom of the mud pile. So good, I've never forgotten them. Different than Greek Wedding Cookies, which I know how to make, but are more dry fading to melting in the mouth.
And the bakers daughter was hot, I tell you, hot! Sicilian women are gorgeous. So many stories from that summer, but for now I will confine myself to cookies.
This cookie from the modern era, on High Street, looked a bit like the one I loved. We walked in, I ordered one, took it out to the street, and took a small bite ... rancid animal fat, powdery texture like drywall dust mixed with small ball bearings, staleness like die hard 3 ... I spit it out on the sidewalk, hurled the bag down in the middle of the intersection, and jumped up and down on it, a madman in a cloud of sugar long since robbed of any sweetness by the cruel witherings of the eons. The taste lingered for years, death on the tongue, horrible putrescence.
Tonight I made lovely garbanzo beans with brown rice topped with a spicy green bean and caramelized shallot whateverthehellyoucallit.
We went out for a walk on High Street (not high street, which is like saying main street). We walked by a desultory looking bakery, but one cookie caught my eye. It reminded me of these cookies you could get in Aidone, in Sicily, in 1989, in a small bakery one street off the piazza. I spent the summer there doing archaeology, drinking Peroni, eating gelato, and dying for these cookies, which were available intermittently. Oval in shape, the size of three unshelled walnuts, chewy, slightly boozy ... made, looking back with my cranium full of cooking knowledge, with great heavings of butter, raw almonds (probably), coarse sugar, a quick blizzard of lemon zest, maybe a dribble of vanilla, and then doused with powdered sugar, allowed to cool and rolled in sugar again, the baker like a pig rooting for a tasty corn cob at the bottom of the mud pile. So good, I've never forgotten them. Different than Greek Wedding Cookies, which I know how to make, but are more dry fading to melting in the mouth.
And the bakers daughter was hot, I tell you, hot! Sicilian women are gorgeous. So many stories from that summer, but for now I will confine myself to cookies.
This cookie from the modern era, on High Street, looked a bit like the one I loved. We walked in, I ordered one, took it out to the street, and took a small bite ... rancid animal fat, powdery texture like drywall dust mixed with small ball bearings, staleness like die hard 3 ... I spit it out on the sidewalk, hurled the bag down in the middle of the intersection, and jumped up and down on it, a madman in a cloud of sugar long since robbed of any sweetness by the cruel witherings of the eons. The taste lingered for years, death on the tongue, horrible putrescence.
Tonight I made lovely garbanzo beans with brown rice topped with a spicy green bean and caramelized shallot whateverthehellyoucallit.
Food tour
We spent most of Saturday cycling around the city, checking out various eating options. First, we rode from Crouch End (also pronounceable as "Crouchend", with a fake French accent) over to London Fields, to meet my colleague Heike and her 2 1/2 year old son Peter. I saw Heike along the bike path in London Fields and stopped perhaps a bit too quickly and SB almost ran into me. A lively start to the day.
We browsed through the Broadway Market between London Fields and Regents Canal. I quite liked it. Seemed far less precious than Spitalfields and less crowded than Borough Market. We picked up a loaf of sourdough from DeGustibus and 100 g of Montgomery Cheddar. The bread had a good flavor, but was a touch underbaked and no crust to speak of. Also, it'd been baked too close to the other loaves so the sides were undercooked. Peter got a small cement mixer.
Then it was off to E Pellicci, where we enjoyed what was surely the finest meal we've had in London. Pellicci is an old Italian cafe (caff here) with glorious inlaid wood paneling, a mousetrap sized dining room, and excellent standard English breakfast. I had Lasagna - sauce was a bolognese - bechamel mix. The dessert was eh but the overall experience, fantastic. Must go back.
From Pellicci we rode through the city over to St Pauls, across the Bridge to the Tate Modern - quick natural break there - then a quite slow meandering ride to the Old Post Office Bakery (http://www.oldpostofficebakery.co.uk/) in Clapham. On the way we stopped at a knitting shop near Waterloo. There was a French street Market. Odd.
Anyway the Old Post reminded me very much of Rising Sun Bakery in Charlottesville. I worked there for two years at UVA. Small, run by hippies, very good quality. We had a checkerboard shortbread cookie and went back for a poppyseed version. Checkerboard cookies are a pain in the ass to make. You have to roll out thin sheets of contrasting dough, chill, stack, cut, restack, chill, cut, and bake. Old Post did all these steps, but seemingly refused to let things come out too rectangular - so it ended up looking like a chuck close cookie. Picked up a tiny rye loaf. SB hates rye, but they were out of everything else. The cappucino at the Portugese market across the street was bilgewater.
Then off to the Lighthouse Bakery on Northcote Street. Closed, and seemingly permanently. Northcote, though, full of hipster leaning establishments and Italian meat shops. SB is currently mad for cupcakes and we picked one up from a vendor. Mmm. Mmm.
From there we rode across Batersea Bridge into Chelsea, where SB was politely lectured by a woman on the operation of pedestrian walk/don't walk signals on traffic lights. This is the flip side of the public loutishness described in the earlier post - a strong urge to hector strangers on their behavior. The British dipole, either end of which would be totally unfathomable to most across the briney.
I navigated us back through Hyde Park and we checked out this year's pavilion at the Serpentine Gallery - this one by Frank Gehry. Spectacular. It reminded me a Frank Gehry creation.
Then back through more well-troden parts of London to Crouch End. The last part of these rides always a bit of a grind. I made grilled cheese sandwiches with the rye and cheddar. Should've added a bit of salt. Drank a czech bud and read for a while.
We browsed through the Broadway Market between London Fields and Regents Canal. I quite liked it. Seemed far less precious than Spitalfields and less crowded than Borough Market. We picked up a loaf of sourdough from DeGustibus and 100 g of Montgomery Cheddar. The bread had a good flavor, but was a touch underbaked and no crust to speak of. Also, it'd been baked too close to the other loaves so the sides were undercooked. Peter got a small cement mixer.
Then it was off to E Pellicci, where we enjoyed what was surely the finest meal we've had in London. Pellicci is an old Italian cafe (caff here) with glorious inlaid wood paneling, a mousetrap sized dining room, and excellent standard English breakfast. I had Lasagna - sauce was a bolognese - bechamel mix. The dessert was eh but the overall experience, fantastic. Must go back.
From Pellicci we rode through the city over to St Pauls, across the Bridge to the Tate Modern - quick natural break there - then a quite slow meandering ride to the Old Post Office Bakery (http://www.oldpostofficebakery.co.uk/) in Clapham. On the way we stopped at a knitting shop near Waterloo. There was a French street Market. Odd.
Anyway the Old Post reminded me very much of Rising Sun Bakery in Charlottesville. I worked there for two years at UVA. Small, run by hippies, very good quality. We had a checkerboard shortbread cookie and went back for a poppyseed version. Checkerboard cookies are a pain in the ass to make. You have to roll out thin sheets of contrasting dough, chill, stack, cut, restack, chill, cut, and bake. Old Post did all these steps, but seemingly refused to let things come out too rectangular - so it ended up looking like a chuck close cookie. Picked up a tiny rye loaf. SB hates rye, but they were out of everything else. The cappucino at the Portugese market across the street was bilgewater.
Then off to the Lighthouse Bakery on Northcote Street. Closed, and seemingly permanently. Northcote, though, full of hipster leaning establishments and Italian meat shops. SB is currently mad for cupcakes and we picked one up from a vendor. Mmm. Mmm.
From there we rode across Batersea Bridge into Chelsea, where SB was politely lectured by a woman on the operation of pedestrian walk/don't walk signals on traffic lights. This is the flip side of the public loutishness described in the earlier post - a strong urge to hector strangers on their behavior. The British dipole, either end of which would be totally unfathomable to most across the briney.
I navigated us back through Hyde Park and we checked out this year's pavilion at the Serpentine Gallery - this one by Frank Gehry. Spectacular. It reminded me a Frank Gehry creation.
Then back through more well-troden parts of London to Crouch End. The last part of these rides always a bit of a grind. I made grilled cheese sandwiches with the rye and cheddar. Should've added a bit of salt. Drank a czech bud and read for a while.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Public biliousness
The UK and the US are so similar in so many ways that the more subtle differences only come out after quite some time. This being quite different than India, where one is more readily confronted by cultural differences, such as people pooping in the streets or camels and donkeys traveling on the superhighways.
Here, traditional British society is reserved, quiet, perhaps a bit dour, etc. This being quite different than the states, where on the surface people seem to be a bit more freespoken. Here in the UK, on the other hand, there is a nearly constant effluvium of people seemingly at the bursting point of rage or other forms of public dissonance. I was inclined to chalk this up to happenstance, being in a real city, etc. until I picked up "Kitchen Con" by Trevor White. He spends an entire chapter describing how vicious, biting, and destructive the UK food critics are and how comparatively meek the US critics are. This is undoubtedly true, and it translates into many areas of life here (thankfully not to my colleagues at work, as far as I can tell). I think that a high level of very public disagreement, argument, yelling, rudeness, and general loutishness is expected and perhaps encouraged.
It's doubly weird because if this same level of behavior was going on in the states, you would expect someone to pull a gun and for things to escalate in a hail of lead. Here, at some point someone backs down, and life proceeds as usual.
Also, the Crunchy Bar is fantastic candy and the digestive with chocolate and caramel is spectacular.
In other news, we went to Bath last weekend and had a fine time there with much oohing over the Cotswold scenery, which we viewed by velocipede. Bath is well known for hot smelly water, naked Romans, leprosy, soft stone, Jane Austin, a fleeting time of among-class mixing, an abbey built over the bones of a cathedral, angels on ladders, and a population of wretched three-chord street musicians surely well past the carrying capacity of far larger towns.
What else. I went to a sea level rise meeting and learned a great deal of science. The coffee wasn't fit for the pigs but the tea was drinkable. One day I had a nice toasted sandwich with red peppers, red onion, pesto, and cheese.
Here, traditional British society is reserved, quiet, perhaps a bit dour, etc. This being quite different than the states, where on the surface people seem to be a bit more freespoken. Here in the UK, on the other hand, there is a nearly constant effluvium of people seemingly at the bursting point of rage or other forms of public dissonance. I was inclined to chalk this up to happenstance, being in a real city, etc. until I picked up "Kitchen Con" by Trevor White. He spends an entire chapter describing how vicious, biting, and destructive the UK food critics are and how comparatively meek the US critics are. This is undoubtedly true, and it translates into many areas of life here (thankfully not to my colleagues at work, as far as I can tell). I think that a high level of very public disagreement, argument, yelling, rudeness, and general loutishness is expected and perhaps encouraged.
It's doubly weird because if this same level of behavior was going on in the states, you would expect someone to pull a gun and for things to escalate in a hail of lead. Here, at some point someone backs down, and life proceeds as usual.
Also, the Crunchy Bar is fantastic candy and the digestive with chocolate and caramel is spectacular.
In other news, we went to Bath last weekend and had a fine time there with much oohing over the Cotswold scenery, which we viewed by velocipede. Bath is well known for hot smelly water, naked Romans, leprosy, soft stone, Jane Austin, a fleeting time of among-class mixing, an abbey built over the bones of a cathedral, angels on ladders, and a population of wretched three-chord street musicians surely well past the carrying capacity of far larger towns.
What else. I went to a sea level rise meeting and learned a great deal of science. The coffee wasn't fit for the pigs but the tea was drinkable. One day I had a nice toasted sandwich with red peppers, red onion, pesto, and cheese.
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