Spelling & Style

It would appear that Mr Gorb has been reading my blog. He feels it's hard to read and full of spelling mistakes.

I've spent today searching for spelling mistakes, I spell check everything before it goes in. Is it really that bad?

A rather depressed gorb, at least if he'd criticised the photography I'd have understood that, now it really is crap.

The West Cornwall Pasty Co

I love pasties I do. There is nothing to eat at Liverpool Street station, well, that’s actually a gross generalisation, there is a Pontis, McDonalds, Burger King, Ixxy’s Bagels, Costa Coffee etc etc and so the list goes on. There is also a rather good sushi joint but that’s the subject of a whole other post sometime in the future. There is nowhere really nice to sit and eat, but that’s really down to it being a transport hub it’s designed to cater for Londoners on the move. My favourite on the move food is definitely the humble pasty.

The pasty is a work of genius, a very simple concept, far superior to the sandwich. If you think about it every culture has independently invented a pasty, consider the samosa, or spring roll, or burek, or calzone even the fajita and so on. These are actually just pasties. In fact everyone bar the Americans who were too busy eating burgers came up with a form of pasty.

Anyone interested in the history of the pasty (including international versions) investigate

here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cornish_pasty Pasties have magical suggestive powers, anyone who walks past someone else carrying a pasty instantly goes and buys one for themselves.

There are two pasty chains in Liverpool Street, The West Cornwall Pasty Co based just outside at the Bishopsgate entrance or The Cornish Pasty Co who have an outlet on the main concourse. The West Cornwall Pasties are much better, although it’s best to avoid their one if there is heavy football traffic, the Hamilton Hall Weatherspoons opposite is a bit of a flashpoint. They make pasties fresh everyday and varieties range from traditional steak, steak and stilton, Chicken Balti, roasted veggies and cheese and bacon. They even do a pork and cider version which is my current favourite. Pasties need to be eaten on the move with brown sauce. I would eat one everyday for lunch but that would make me fat, so best on Friday’s after the pub for the train home. The West Cornwall pasty people have just won themselves an award for the fastest growing business so we may expect more pasty stalls in London soon. Ditch the burger, pasties are the way forward.

Browns, 9 Islington Green, London, N1 8DU

I went to Browns in Islington for my birthday dinner (well it was actually my third birthday dinner, I like to sting it out) and was let down badly. The food was distinctly average, most of it was cold, even the coffee. It’s not hugely expensive and it’s a relatively nice place to sit and watch the world go by, but this doesn’t ever make up for bad food. It wasn’t over ambitious, the lamb shank was done well but served with cold potatoes, the ceaser salad was nice with the right balance of salad, chicken and dressing but the chicken was too dry, the hot chocolate with rum was also cold but the worst part was the desert.

I never really go in for deserts, I don’t know what came over me but I ordered a sticky toffee pudding with clotted cream. The pudding was passable enough but the clotted cream was simply margarine, probably something along the lines of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. Browns shall have to be cocktails only from now on.

Sacred Cafe, 13 Ganton Street, Off Carnaby Street, London, W1F 9BL

I’m not a great fan of shopping. I get a bit ratty and flustered and can never go “up-west” on a Saturday afternoon. I can just about cope with a Sunday or a late night Thursday excursion otherwise I suffer queue rage and run the risk of throwing a temper tantrum over something ridiculously trivial (usually not being able to take more than three items in to the changing room or not being allowed to keep the hanger after you’ve just shelled out the best part of a hundred notes on one item.) The problem with central London is that there is a dearth of nice places to temporarily escape. The trouble is that every Starbucks and Costa becomes an equally busy and hectic extension of all the shops.

The Sacred Café on Ganton Street just hidden off Carnaby Street is a peaceful of not slightly disturbing place of respite. It’s arranged cleverly over ground and basement levels and has a supply of plentiful cakes, organic and otherwise, teas, coffees and superb hot chocolates. These can all be enjoyed on big sofas in the basement watched over by Tibetan monk statues… obviously. http://www.sacredcafe.co.uk/

Rodizio Rico, 77 – 78 Upper Street, Islington N1 0NU

This is a novel concept, even for London. For want of a better description it’s a Latin American, all-you-can-eat meat feast. I can only guess what the morning deliveries for this place must look like, it’s probably enough to turn the average customer vegetarian.

The concept is as follows: basically, take a table and peruse very short menu i.e. meat feast or fish feast or meat and fish feast together, await plates and begin. Here it gets a little more complicated, there is a central buffet bar full of salads, pastas, potatoes and other side dishes (not that anyone in their right mind really considered a full blown slab of lasagne a mere side dish). Having been here a fair few times I have learnt the hard way to go easy on this bit - just because it’s there does not mean you have to eat all of it. The trick is to wait for the real show.

A team of waiters circulate armed with four foot skewers dripping with huge sides of meat – beef rare to well done, rump, sirloin and fillet, chicken livers, wing and hearts, pork wursts and lamb chops, the choice is endless. It literally just keeps coming. The staff are equipped with huge knives to slice off as little or as much as you want. People must be regularly rolled out the door at the end of the night.

Best not to eat for three days in advance of a visit to Rodizio Rico! http://www.rodizio.co.uk/index.html

The Pembury Tavern, 90 Amhurst Road, 58 1JH

Way back in early 2005 I used to wander past the derelict building on the Pembury Roundabout where Dalston Lane meets Amhurst and Pembury Road and think, “that’s a fantastic site” or “that would make a great pub”. Indeed it used to be a bar that hosted live bands and was home to local anarchists. Lo and behold slowly hoardings went up and builders moved in. Frantic internet research revealed a licensing application submitted to Hackney council for a bar. Hooray, thought we, and eagerly peered in the windows monitoring progress, (as it happened progress was phenomenally slow).

Nonetheless we somehow missed opening night but turned up the following weekend armed with greasy bank notes ready for the fun…..….and I hated it. Inside something was horribly amiss, there was a huge imposing old wood bar but the rest was an exposed emptiness of All Bar One proportions. There was no music, no smoking, no food, no customers and no atmosphere. We determinedly stayed and had a couple of drinks which were cheap and well chosen, the bar specialises in Real Ales, hundreds of them. I went away feeling as if an opportunity had been missed.

Now, however, through perseverance I am a convert! Slowly, as time went by, changes for the better sneaked in: pictures and maps of historic Hackney and a collection of beer mats from round the world went up on the walls, bigger comfier chairs appeared along with board games, puzzles, a huge pile of newspapers and magazines. And so the customers had also appeared and suddenly the lack of music didn’t seem to matter any more. Now the Pembury Tavern has been well and truly claimed by the white middle classes of Hackney as their own. London’s diversity never seems to quite make it into pub culture which is odd, but the subject of a whole other post.

Best of all was the appearance of menus and a kitchen - and the food is superb. It’s a traditional British style menu: scrambled eggs and salmon for breakfast, sausage and mash for lunch, roast meat and two veg followed by apple pie and ice-cream for dinner, all perfectly executed (although eating that every day would result in extreme fatness).

Go visit once in a while, it’s certainly different; play cluedo, drink ale and eat pie. http://www.individualpubs.co.uk/pembury/

Why does no one want to eat out in Hackney?

I've discovered that two of the best prime lettable sites (with A3 use) in Hackney have gone to ......... wait for it........ another bookies and a parking shop. How depressing can you get?!

Exquisite, 167 Black Stock Road, N4 2JS

Exquisite is a tiny Mexican restaurant hidden away on Blackstock Road near Finsbury Park. I can’t claim to be an expert on Mexican food but judging by this place Mexican’s must have very big appetites. Do not eat all day before visiting Exquisite. Further advice; do not eat for two days if you’re planning on ordering one of their chimichangas, they truly are enormous. Other giant dishes include fajitas, with a choice of king prawn or salmon as well as the ubiquitous chicken.

The burritos are beautifully done with just the right balance of meat, chillies, refried beans and sour cream. Other specialities include the grilled swordfish steaks and mixed seafood with mole sauce. The carafes of house wine are cheap (beware this is for a reason, it’s simply not very nice), nachos and spiced hummus come free and the music is all pop-Mexican madness.

The Rose and Crown, 199 Stoke Newington Church Street, N16 9ES

The Rose & Crown is at the Highbury End of Church Street and is almost the last pub on the street. It looks as if the interior hasn’t changed in a hundred years – a proper old school pub. It also boasts a real fire, a rarity these days, and one table tucked away in the corner has two seats formed out of coopered barrels. It’s a pub frequented by oldies as well as trendies which give it a nice atmosphere, serves a good Sunday Roast and shows the football on big screens. All of which should keep everybody happy.

Tiblisi, 91 Holloway Road, N7 8LT

I love all things Eastern European, Balkan and ex-Soviet. Despite the increasing numbers of peoples from this part of the world arriving in London the number of restaurants serving their food isn’t increasing at all which is disappointing. With a bit of effort even stroganoff can be made sexy.

Tiblisi is a smart, slickly decorated Georgian restaurant hidden in Holloway Road which I am desperate to like, so I will start from the good points. Georgian wines can be very good, try their house white, it’s beautifully light and crisp. Observe also their heavy silver engraved cutlery. After that maybe escape without eating. It’s not that all the food is bad, it’s just a bit dull. The borscht is good as a starter, rich and full bodied like borscht should be. Their breads are heavy and cheesy. Main course wise, a series of dumplings or potato bakes are the order of the day. There’s only so much that can be done with pepper and parsley alone.

The Square Pie Co, Spitalfields Market, E1

Spitalfields Market has recently undergone a £80m renaissance. It now boasts a Nandos and a Strada, no doubt a Pizza Express and an All Bar One will appear in due course. The mighty Tesco Metro have already put their marker down. The market itself retains a measure of independence and boasts ethnic food stalls all over the place. It also contains a Square Pie Co outlet. I have been curious about the Square Pie phenomenon since this summers World Cup when they devised a variety of pie for each country taking part and kept a total of pies sold during the matches, this I thought was the plan of a genius and I paid more attention to how the pies were selling than the football. The final ended up with Japan’s Chicken Teriyaki versus England’s Steak and Kidney (England won). Amongst the more unusual offerings were Serbia’s grilled lamb and sour cream and Australia’s kangaroo pie.

At the weekends the Square Pie stand, along with all the food stands, is jam packed and seats are at a premium, but never worry your pie comes in a box (square box obviously) and with mash and gravy and a wooden fork. There are only a few varieties on sale now sadly all the World Cup pies are no more. I opted for a roast chicken version and I’m a fan, flaky pastry, good quality meat and proper old school mushy peas. I’ll be back soon to have another go, although can we have the Serbian Square pie back please?

Le Sacre Cour, 18 Therberton Street, Islington, N1 0QX

This is by far and away my favourite restaurant in Upper Street, and indeed the environs of Islington. I normally visit on a Sunday evening, I imagine getting a table on a Friday or Saturday might be a bit of mission. It’s a French brassiere with traditional chequered table cloths and theatre posters all over the walls. The food is exquisite, the cod in white whine sauce and garlic mash, red snapper and saffron, lamb in red wine are all perfect examples of some traditional French cooking. I could easily eat there every night. They specialise in moules and gourmet sausages including wild boar and pork and cider. Word of warning though, check your bill carefully because they never ever get it right.

Rendezvous, 48 Leicester Square, London, WC2H 7LT

It might not be the weather for eating ice-cream but who cares. Ice-cream parlours, Italian style, are thin on the ground in London, although credit is due to the Patisserie Valerie chain for their new Gelaterias in Bishopsgate and the Kings Road.

One prime example not to follow is Rendezvous in Leicester Square. Now, I do know that it really is just for the tourists but they should have some grasp of reality. Two scoops of ice-cream comes to nearly £11, served up to you by possibly the grumpiest waitress in London. Not to mention the Las Vegas meets Al Capone interior. Anyone tempted would be better off in the Haagen Daz café across the square.

Ten Square, 10 Donegall Square South, Belfast, BT1 5JD

A hotel restaurant is not normally where I’d choose for a weekend lunch, but the legendary Deane’s was closed so we ended up in Ten Square. Very nice it was too, excellent scampi served in old school newsprint (fake of course), perfectly grilled fillet steak and a range of other options including some pan-asian offerings and traditional British.

Highly recommended but bound to be standing room only in the evenings.

The Apartment, 2 Donegall Square West, Belfast, BT1 6JA

I lived in Belfast during a time when there were very few new bars and not that many places to go at night in the city centre and then The Apartment opened, full of steel, chrome and dark leather. It quickly became the blueprint for all new bars and soon the city was awash with chrome and leather replicas. I must admit I didn’t really like it, it quickly filled up with those more concerned with who was looking at them than having a good time. My first visit in 6 years proves it hasn’t really changed, not being able to decide if it’s a bar, restaurant, nightclub or coffee bar…… The food is standard gastro pub fare Northern Irish style, i.e. an abundance of champ and such like, a little over priced perhaps and not that exciting. On the plus side the staff are very nice, less pushy than they used to be. The whole operation appears to have relaxed a little, probably in the face of all the identikit competitors they unwittingly inspired.

The Europa Hotel, Great Victoria Street, Belfast, BT2 7AP

The Europa Hotel is Belfast’s oldest, grandest and most traditional hotel. Over the past 10 years Belfast itself has changed almost beyond all recognition. From a deserted, and in some parts, derelict city centre, the city has transformed itself. It’s now a lively buzzing capital with new bars and restaurants everywhere. Whilst Belfast has undergone this much needed transformation the Europa hasn’t, instead it’s stood still and let time wash over it. During Northern Ireland’s much publicised problems it earned the dubious title of Europe’s most bombed hotel; every blast brought a period of refurbishment. Since the Good Friday agreement back in the 90s the Europa has gone without is annual blast driven facelift, and it shows. Every aspect of this lovely hotel shows wear and tear; cracked tiles, stained carpets, scratched furniture and so on.

That said, the food, the drink, the staff and the service are all still impeccable. The lobby bar is still a classy relaxed drinking oasis and the piano bar lets you watch the sun go down on the city. Mr Hastings of Hastings Hotels needs to get his wallet out for a face lift and be thankful the passage of time is the only reason. Oh, and I forgot to mention the free rubber duck.

Yo Sushi

The Yo Sushi chain was a real eye opener when they first introduced their line of conveyor-belt raw fish; us natives had never seen the like. When I first arrived in London in 2001 I thought this was a sight to behold and an experience beyond compare. Now, in 2006, Yo Sushi hasn’t changed, it’s been left behind in a sea of other sushi and Japanese food emporiums. Reputedly the best sushi in London is to be found in the Japan Centre on Piccadilly, the best Sashimi in Nobu etc etc but back then we didn’t know the difference, never mind care. The Yo I fondly remember as being exciting and different hasn’t changed from then, which is exactly the problem.

I paid a visit to the one in Islington recently and a strange phenomenon has occurred. Almost everyone in there on a Saturday night was on their own and desperately reading a book. The Yo of days gone by was where groups went, “look at us, we’re so trendy” was the refrain. Now Yo has become the preserve of single people in transit, like McDonalds for those with more money.

Those wise to the Yo procedure know the drill; do not just lift any dish, specifically order what you want, ignore the conveyor belt unless you keep a close eye on the chef (easily done give the stage the poor men have to operate on) and grab instantly what leaves his hand. The Yo promise is that no fish is left on the conveyor for more than two hours, personally I think two hours is a long time in the life of raw fish and I don’t believe them anyway. That said I left with a satisfactory belly-full of raw fish and tempura no real complaints to be made now I know the drill. McRaw fish is all it is really.

The Dove, 24 - 28, Broadway Market, Hackney

The Dove on Broadway Market is a very popular hackney bar-slash-pub. Its official title is a gastropub, I believe. I personally don’t go in for this gastropub nonsense, you are either in a restaurant or a pub, stop pretending. It serves Belgian beer, even the horrible cherry stuff and has a gastronomic stylee menu of burgers - all Thai spices and salsa. Despite the fact that it is generally populated by the insufferable Hackney media types, it’s actually quite good. Chips (note the use of “chips” not French fries or wedges, these are proper chips) come in a pint glass with mayo and chilli and are excellent. Their burgers are fantastic, wild boar, pork and cider, thai lemongrass varieties as well as a more traditional straight-forward-no-messing-about beef version. And once you negotiate your way though the three hundred beers on offer to find something drinkable it’s actually a nice venue.

The Dervish, 16 Stoke Newington Church Street, N16

When I was in Istanbul I saw some whirling dervishes. Now that is an odd one. It’s kind of dancing and spinning in a big flared skirt so you look not unlike a spinning top. In Stoke Newington the Turks have taken over and a good thing too, without them the place would be dead on its feet. They run the bars, restaurants, kebab joints, grocery shops, jewellery shops, dry cleaners, barbers, hairdressers, and so on. Stoke Newington was on the verge of near wasteland isolation until the Turks and Greeks took it for their own.

Everyone who comes to visit me in London from further a field gets fed flatbread and proper Turkish Delight, humus and iskender. Not one of them leaves without loving every minute of it. The Dervish restaurant on Church is always my starting point, (unfortunately there is no whirling). I wish it could be La Sera on the High Street but not everyone likes fish. The staff in the Dervish are brilliant, no matter how many people we bring there or how late and loud we are they go out of their way to make sure we have a good time. Now I’ve been to nearly every “little turkey” restaurant in London and I genuinely think that this one is the best, their Iskender is superb, just the right balance of yogurt versus meat versus pitta. The Church Street Special is a mix of charcoal grilled meats so tender and so tasty. Skip desert and wait for your bill and the apricot surprises that come with it. In fact stay there all night.

The Spice Bazaar, Eminonu, Istanbul

The Spice Bazaar is an experience: a huge covered market space full to bursting with stalls selling almost every spice known to man since 1660, for sale by the gram, kilo or tonne. It’s a bit of a hectic placing, brimming with nervous energy, the sort of place pale faced western women like me are advised against wandering about by themselves.

Negotiations go on loudly between locals, tourists and stall holders alike. If you are inclined or practised in the art of bartering it’s probably as good as free in comparison to English prices. I, however, am a bit of a chicken. I lurk about trying to look inconspicuous and not scared witless for a while but eventually get snaffled up by a persistent stall holder into his liar.

He demands to know what I am after, confusion and panic force me to say Turkish Delight and from nowhere, as if by magic, trays upon trays of the stuff appear for tasting. I eventually settle for a rosewater flavoured bag and an orange selection (this is out of at least fifteen options, I feel I’ve done well getting it down to only two). The stall owner tells me I want some nuts, of course I do, think I and more tasting occurs until I choose some roasted chilli nuts and a bag of fresh pistachios.

On we move to the teas, I having some tea obviously, any form of protest is pointless. More trays appear and I am made to sniff a dozen varieties before I am allowed to choose apple or orange, kettles and samovars then appear and I am given a demonstration in the art of making tea. I settle on the orange one and it is cleverly vacuum packed for me and I am eventually allowed to leave. Strangely as I pass back through the bazaar, now armed with my various packages, no one comes near me.