Wrongly named, but proper brilliant E5 bakehouse

January 11, 2012 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , , , ,

Christ this is beautiful

There are two things you should know about the E5 Bakehouse under the arches by London Fields station. The first is, it is very distinctly NOT in E5. It IS in the best postcode in the city: E8 ( I asked about this – it’s because founder/owner Ben Mackinnon started the whole project in E5. Erm, I think. I was a bit busy drooling over the bread at the time).

The second is: it’s bloody marvellous. How? Let me count the ways. Most importantly we are talking about seriously good bread here. Crusty fragrant exteriors, soft chewy springy sour dough innards, lashing of seeds, hidden delights – this is bread of the highest order. My current fave is the raisin and walnut  – a joy for making brie, grape and rocket sandwiches for special packed lunches, for example.

Also, it is a superb space. You walk through the cool slidey door and an aircraft-hanger of a bakery opens up before you. The whole place smells of goodness, it’s the type of smell that instantly makes you relax and the light-infused space is genuinely uplifting. There are a few tables inside and you can get coffee etc, but I’m pleased that they don’t bother with cakes or go too far off piste. Bread is far too serious a business for that.

Thirdly, the staff are gloriously hapless. They know and care about bread, but although really friendly they’re a bit ditzy,and all the better for it. Having hot young men decorated in artsy tattoos serving the world’s greatest food stuff also gives no cause for complaint.

If you’ve got a hangover, the simple, and simply brilliant, mustardy cheese and onion toastie is a life-saver and if you haven’t got enough money in your purse for some reason, they’ll usually let you pay it later.

This bakery is what London Fields is, or at least should be, all about. Detractors from Clapham may dismiss it as poncy nonsense, some may baulk at paying £3.70 for a loaf of bread – but what is really going on here is that a bloke, and some some folk who really care about an important thing, have created a great little business – and in doing so have brought a lot of pleasure to some local residents.

Read more about it here and follow them on twitter here.

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Pub on the Park – distinctly less shit

February 5, 2011 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , , , ,

I always found Pub on the Park oddly disappointing. It should be great. It’s probably the best situated park in London (ie – three minutes walk from my house) and definitely has one of the best beergardens. In the summer you can have a cold pint and watch the cricket on the fields, or play boules on the mini pitch at the back.

But the actual pub was average at best, and in winter eminently avoidable. Despite being the closest pub to my house, I visited it rarely – put off by the soulless Weatherspoon vibe, and the scary looking fellas at the bar. Its only saving grace was that it could be relied on if you wanted to watch the footy. A rareity in an area where you are more likely to find buckshot in your pheasant, than a big screen blaring out the commentary in the local pub.

So when the mighty Blues were playing the scumbag Reds a few weeks back, it just about pipped the Perseverance (I pub I enjoy for its unreconstructed policy of fear) as the best place to watch the game.

But what was this? Arty neon signs hanging from the walls? Battered leather couches? Fresh carrot and ginger juice at £4 a pop? London Fields had evidently worked its magic. Apparently the pub has been under not-so-new management for about six months, which old supersleuth here had failed to notice.

And do you know what? It really is a lot better. Admittedly, it’s £3.70 for a premium pint, but the chairs are comfy, the atmosphere has improved and the menu offers more than frozen burger and chips. The bar staff, also, are much less inclined to snarl- a distinct improvement on the last lot. It’s not hipster nor hoodlum, but  – very oddly for a London Fields pub – seems to attract people who care more about their pint than their winkle-pickers.

The best part of all is the upstairs “cosy”, a room done out much like a living room, all mismatched sofas, coffee tables, mirror over the mantlepiece and widescreen tele in the corner. When we were the for the Derby the nice folk even let me and the boys pull one of the sofas from along the walls and right in front of the tele. We all wedged in, turned up the volume, shouted at the screen, chatted to our fellow loungers, got a little fuzzy. It was a lot like watching the match at home – apart from with pints. So obviously better.

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The Glory of Ridley Road Market

November 8, 2010 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , , , , ,

 

A little light lunch of lung, trotters and shin anyone?

Throwing a bonfire party this weekend gave me the perfect excuse to spend a couple of hours at Ridley Road Market buying an excessive amount of food for very little money indeed.

For me Ridley Road is everything that Broadway Market isn’t. It’s rowdy, messy, cheap and authentic. An ex boyfriend once described it as looking like a scene form Mad Max, and although I was furious about his bourgeoise, judgmental sniffing at the time – looking back he did have a point.

Bits of the road are dug up, some of its cordoned off, there’s crap everywhere and there is definitively nothing quaint or picturesque about the place. If you are looking for a French-style market with great produce served by impossibly cliched vendors, then you are in the wrong place. In fact, let’s be honest: it’s pretty ugly really.

But the produce is generally excellent as well as being cheap as chips – and the people on the market, both vendors and buyers, care about the quality. My fruit and veg man filled around 5-6 bags of the best veg for me: carrots, spuds, beetroot, tomatoes, parsley, onions, red cabbage – and the parsnips he’d been saving for his own Sunday roast. His wife got the hump sometimes, he said, because he’d go home without any veg and she’d have to go out to the supermarket to stock up. “Not to blow me own trumpet,” he said. “But their stuff isn’t as good as mine.” He was right – it isn’t. It’s more expensive too. and when your pre-packaged plastic bag of parsnips beeps through the till: the woman on the checkout doesn’t say: “There you are my lovely, think  about me when you’re eating them tomorrow.”

A bit further down the way, Jimmy didn’t have any cooking apples. But he did have a twinkle in his eye as as he handed over 5 apples for 50p, he asked me if  I needed a lift home with my bags. The charm police were out in full force on Saturday, it appeared – as even the chap I bought my shoulder of lamb (which was meltingly tender in my hot pot the next day) from at the first butchers on the left-hand side asked if he could come round for the dinner it would feature in. It did cross my mind that he could have been a distant cousin of Ali, who the ever-hilarious Cereal Killah wrote about in winning terms.

But none of this was sleezy, or threatening  – it was fun, and cheeky and a bit of banter. The type of interaction that makes you leave a market with your hands full of bags and a smile on your face.

I love Ridley Road market. I just hope that it manages to hold its own as Dalston changes around it – all those of you who have moved into the monstrosity that is Dalston Square (the single most ugly and aggressively masculine building in London?) please do go and get your veg there. It might look a little more untidy than the uniform isles at Sainsbury’s, but all the extra joy is free.

 

 

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London in the rain

August 10, 2010 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , ,

Sometimes I stop, just for a second and I think: This is it, I love London.  It happened today, crossing the Thames, swathes of misty rain cloaking the city. People walked, heads down, scowling. They pulled their coats tighter, cursed the English summer, stomped on.

The river was huge. A vast cauldron of grey green bubbling underneath us, angry, untamable and ancient. Impassively sweeping away the dirt of the city. St Paul’s was shrouded in gloom. Only the top of the Gherkin emerged from the cloud, and the towers of Canary Wharf could hardly be seen. I wanted to stop the people passing me and say, wait – do you not see how beautiful this is? This is our city. How lucky we are?

These moments are precious. I spent years hating this place, feeling small and pathetic and missing Paris’ beauty, Lancashire’s love. Wondering why I’d ever come here in the first place and when it would start feeling less intimidating.

And slowly, it does. On bike rides, in parks, with friends, in pubs. On bridges looking out at the rain. It shrinks, you grow. It doesn’t accept you, why should it? But you are part of it, it is yours.

Sometimes, I love London.

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Pizza! Spaghetti! Ciao!

May 3, 2010 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , , , ,


Ok, ok, this isn't an authentic Bella Vita picture. I'm sorry, ok?

So it’s taken me a while, but I’m finally getting round to talking about the new pizza place on Broadway Market.

La Bella Vita has taken up residency in a double front unit that used to be a betting shop if I remember rightly. And it’s really quite good. The boy Savage and I went the other night and a follow up trip for lunch with the Angry Liberal didn’t disappoint.

Thus far I have only tried the pizzas. A Capriosa was good, thin slightly chewy base, fresh generous toppings with a decent amount of anchovies. The house speciality Bella Vita was even better, though I couldn’t help thinking it was a bit like a Il Baccio, from Stoke Newington’s finest pizzeria, but not quite as good.

The puddings are rubbish. Liberal’s cheescake tasted a bit off and a lemon and almond tart was dry and lacking in zing.

And I’m not quite sure how I feel about the atmosphere of the place. It makes me smirk in a nasty ‘oh really, you’re not very cool’ school girl manner that they declare themselves to be part of “the vibrant, artistic community of Broadway Market”. Crackheads over there? They’re talking about you.

The decoration is also not quite right: those cliched “Italian” poster and memorabilia are just a bit naff and inauthentic and the tables are a bit too close together. Oh god, and the music is TERRIBLE. The other day I plonked myself down on one of those perfect poser- watching window seats, only to have the enjoyment of my coffee annihilated by the entirety of Simply Red’s greatest hits. My pizza took on a distinctly melancholic flavour over lunch when the Smiths played throughout. Now, I’m a big fan of the Smiths, but I don’t want to hear my (very close) neighbour warbling along to it while I choke on my chilli oil.

Still, the fact that the place is absolutely packed almost every night of the week shows that they must be doing something right. Even if it is just the fact that they have picked the perfect spot for an inexpensive, simple, tasty, restaurant.

So now that I’ve had an obligatory moan, I’m going to give it a big thumbs up. The staff are really nice, the food is good and at around £30 for two pizzas and a bottle of wine, you really can’t complain. Apart from I can, and did, but you know what I mean.

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The Fabulous Film Shop

November 22, 2009 · Filed under Uncategorized

I really love Broadway Market’s Film Shop. I like the orderly geekdom of the alphabetical shelves (sorted by director as well as genre). The fact that the slightly dippy and oh-so-lovely team that run it that are always ready to give a bit of advice or steer you in the right direction.

I like the fact that the colours are muted and it’s not an in your face Blockbuster, I like that weird sausage sofa thing, and the fact that kids can sit on the counter. Mostly, I like that the people mooching in there love films and live local and support this little place.

What I don’t like is the fact that I had to pay a £21 fine today because I’d been hording Synecdoche, New York for a week. Will I ever learn. Quick answer: no.

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Turkish delights

August 9, 2009 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , , , , , , , ,

 

Kebabs this good are an art form. Don't disturb me.

Kebabs this good are an art form. Don't disturb me.

 

We all know that fabulous Turkish food is one of Hackney’s most delectable and credit-crunch busting (watch that journalese fly…I’ll be talking about ‘staycations’ next) cuisines. 

But having frequented the magnificent Anatolia on Mare Street since I first arrived in the neighbourhood, I thought it was time to pay homage to the consistency of my favourite kebab shop. 

Succulent chicken shish, juicy lamb ribs hot from the aromatic ocakbasi. Delicious garlicky, meaty, herby, hot and crusty-but-soft lahmacun , or Turkish pizza for the uninitiated, straight form the oven and that amazing aubergine/yoghurt/bready delight that I forget the name of. IT IS ALWAYS GOOD. They never have an off night. Even the frog, a man of refined taste, is a huge fan of ‘the Ottoman restaurant’. 

(Also – it’s healthy, isn’t it? Chicken shish is basically grilled chicken with rice and salad. Clearly the people on this idiotic forum don’t know the first thing about nutrition..)

Service can be a bit changeable. The chaps doing the cooking have that look of ‘I’m not here to chat, but to create many delicious and juicy kebabs, alright?’, but the restaurant staff are friendly. 

You could argue, and others have, that there are superior Turkish restaurants in Hackney. Pidd and I are big fans of the deservedly celebrated Mangal on Arcola Street . The relatively classy  Cirrik, next to Hackney Central is a bit posher if you want more-restaurant- less-kebab-shop vibe. Testi serve up a mean stew, in addition to lamb’s testicles and Gilbert and George are big fans of Mangal II, though I’ve never been. 

Still Anatolia is my fave, it’s delicious, very close, and practically free. Yum. I might get one tonight, actually.

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And all that jazz

August 4, 2009 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged ,

 

  manhattan

Huzzah. Another drinking establishment has opened in spitting distance of the park. Not that we would want to spit that distance, and actually, it’s not spitting distance. You’d have to be an olympic spitter to spit that far. But close, in any case.

The lovely Off Broadway is all, rough wooden tables and Manhattans and American bar staff. It’s an American cocktail bar, see. Only in London Fields (maybe that’s why it’s Off Broadway, and not Broadway. You know, not the mainstream place were the blue-rinse brigade hang out, but the cool, edgy, yeah, stuff. And yes, I do realise it’s on Broadway Market. But if it were related to street name alone, surely it would be On Broadway? In fact isn’t that the name of the gallery? Argghhh…association overload!)

I’m not sure it works. I quite like the concept (good cocktails, friendly bar staff, perching on bar stools*) but we’re all a bit boozy and silly for it to run smoothly. I like you making that yummy cocktail, I really do. But I want it NOW goddamit. Ahem. My uncultivated fault. Please do carry on. 

Still, they do plates of cheese and meat**, and the staff really are rather nice. A bejillion times nicer than the incompetents at the C&M, and I think we’ve talked enough about our opinion of the “bar staff” at the Dove. They need to sort the downstairs bit out, it still feels like a bit of an afterthought. But excellent work on the terrasse and the sunshine streaming through windows on old wood, and the bar stools and the vibe. My new favourite bar. And I really like the multi-faceted name.

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Oh for the wings of the Dove

February 24, 2009 · Filed under Broadway Market, Uncategorized · Tagged ,

thedove

The Dove. It’s a funny place, isn’t it. Wooden paneling and an impressive array of beers on tap, as well as a range of eye-wateringly priced fruit beers that are frankly disgusting. I mean, why would anyone think that strawberry beer was a good idea. It’s like snail porridge, or egg and bacon icecream….oh, I see. Slightly less twatish crowd than the Mat and Cutton. Well, just older twats like me probably.

Anyway,I like the Dove. Most of the time. I like it when you manage to get a table on a rainy, cold Saturday afternoon and instead of staying for a half like you’d planned, you find yourself talking about your favourite books surrounded by a lovely hazy fog of booze and friendship. It’s good for dates, with candles and red wine and little tables tucked away in the corner. It’s good for taking french people to, as I discovered on Friday night. They loved the offbeat oldworldpubfusedwiththaiandBritishfood charm and tucked into posh sausage and mash with gusto.

As ever, I do have to have a bit of a moan. I realised just then that I should really bloody love the Dove – it has everything I want in a pub namely decent beer, good food, attractive interior and it’s five minutes away from my house. But I don’t go in that often. And you know why? Because too often the people running the place just don’t seem to like their customers very much. Once I was in there with Laura and Nic and we got told off (and I HATE being told off) for laughing. After half a pint. On Friday, a young foreign trendy was not allowed into the pub, even accompanied by an adult, to tell her friends that she couldn’t get in and would wait for them somewhere else. The bloke, who undoutedly has the right to be as nasty to anyone as he wants because it’s probably his bloody pub, was quite needlessly rude to her.

It’s a shame, because all the other bits and bobs add up to make the Dove another little jewel in LF. A little less aggravation, a little more Jupiler (Belgium’s favourite lager) please.

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Pingpongtastic

November 19, 2008 · Filed under Uncategorized · Tagged , , ,

One of the very very VERY best things about London Fields park is its marvelous concrete ping pong table.

My friend Henry was the first to introduce me to the joys of the table, and in my first summer at the Grove we spent many an hour pretending to lark about whilst concentrating fiercely, desperate to win. Since then the table has proved an integral part of our Hackney lives.

Pidd has pranced about it in pretty dresses, I’ve been beaten by a crackhead, Henry has perfected his backhand. Michael and Rachel even included it in their early wooing.

Now, there are those (like the Frog) who think that playing outdoors is a travesty. And there are some fairly obvious drawbacks – strong winds, variable light, the inflexible net and the potential interference from regulars at the adjacent crackhead corner.

But I love it. I love the fact when you are playing you feel part of the life of the park. That nearby – especially in summer – you can hear the happy noise of drunken hipsters in the Cat and Mutton and that sometimes people stop to watch and cheer you on.

I like the fact that at peak times, winner stays on, meaning that clashing demographic groups get the chance to say hello to each other in a way that rarely happens the rest of the time. When I’m playing, I like seeing a sudden breeze lift the ball in the air, taking it in an entirely unexpected direction so that your partner has to lunge comically to make the shot.

I like feeling the sunshine on my arms in the summer and in winter I like the give of the mud under the heel of my boot and the way the cold air and slight exertion makes your cheeks turn pink. Wonderful.

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