Gertsamtkunstwerk

Food in Streatham

There's something nice about going to a restaurant and enjoying good food that's presented nicely. The main pleasure is in the eating of the food, coupled with the good company and the pleasant ambience.

I'll never be a proper foodblogger because taste isn't a sensation I can easily turn into words. I suppose I can if I try. sit me down and tell me to eat something, and to write about it, I daresay I could. But out in the wild I want to experience the sensations, not make mental (or physical) notes about the sensations.

So, instead I am posting some photographs taken at a couple of Streatham's best food places. I would strongly recommend either place for a lovely dining experience.

The first is Hood, which has brought Fine Dining to Streatham Hill.

I laughed out loud at some silly millennial who blogged about the place describing in great detail at how he'd got an Uber there. There are loads of buses that stop almost outside from loads of directions. And it's almost opposite a railway station. They think that using the word 'uber' makes them look ultra-trendy. It doesn't - it just shows them incapable of navigating long-established transport infrastructure.

I think I might have walked there. But not the time our table was booked for 7.45 and United's match, which had kicked off at 5.30 went into ten or twelve minutes of time added on. 

Anyway, lovely photos of lovely food from Hood.

      

 

The Bull, down at the other end of Streatham, near Sainsbury's, opposite the Common, is an old Young's pubs which had seen better days. It seemed to be dominated by one group of customers, with the inevitable out-of-control children and wandering dogs, and was an intimidating atmosphere. It was shut for several weeks, and refurbished and resurrected, into a very decent place indeed. Good food, good atmosphere - pub area, dining room, dining terrace, and beer garden with burger shack.It lies in that space which is somewhat short of 'fine' dining, but considerably above the mass-catering-bunged-in-a-microwave which can be so disappointing.

       

Photographing food, at Trinity Clapham

Ah, the blogging about food meme.

I think I was probably one of the very first people, in the UK at least, to take photographs of food and blog about them. This behaviour has become ripe for satire. In some ways justifiably - eg people taking blurry photos with phones in poorly lit settings, often with poor framing, looking two dimensional and with no clue as to how the chef intended the plate to look. Also, people going to restaurants to ostentatiously photograph their food, dancing all over the place, flashing their flashes, and disturbing other diners.

But, you know, for centuries artists have drawn and painted food and called it 'still life'. A half-decent photo of a plated dish is good publicity for restaurants. I'm not saying they should be grateful, or that they owe the blogger anything, but sensible restaurants (such as Trinity) will retweet photos of their food, and it probably adds to the sum total of human happiness. 

Nevertheless, there are rules for restaurant photographing. Firstly - and this applies to all behaviour in restaurants and other public places - I am not the centre of the universe; nor are you. Your behaviour shouldn't detract from the enjoyment of the people at the next table. It's often not good manners to use flash, not in a proper restaurant for grown-ups. Probably standing on your chair to get that angle is inappropriate. Also, have respect for your companion(s). They shouldn't have to decide between the good manners of waiting or eating their food warm. In fact, have respect for your own food and those who have created it. One, at most two, quick snapshots, and start eating. Oh - and get your camera settings right in between ordering and your starter arriving. 

The other thing to remember is that you are unlikely to emulate a dedicated food photographer. The lighting in a restaurant is (ideally) set for the optimum comfort of diners. A food photographer is likely to have a full light rig, with lights that eliminate shadows, and are set for a specific warmth - a good 'still life' looks good in white/blue light, good restaurant lighting is tending to the yellow for comfort. Some photographers use tricks and add elements to food that render it inedible. At the very least, they're probably taking their time to photograph it, so it's likely to go cold.

I like the food and service and ambience, everything actually, about Trinity in Clapham. I have several photographs taken on three separate visits in the last 18 months. On the whole, they don't do justice to the food. For one lunch we were sat away from the window. The lights were low (but not too low for eating) one New Year's Eve. I got lucky on my birthday - unusually sunny for a day I, obviously, have reason to notice the weather on, and I sat with my back to the window. So I have had to exclude well-framed photos of beautiful food containing too much blur - although I've included a couple for their colour!

I also like that Trinity is handy: practically door to door on the 417 bus. This allows for drinking beyond the driving limits, and saves faffing around in cabs, even when it's snowing (which has happened at least twice in the past). It doesn't have Michelin stars, but, like Michelin 1 star restaurants it carries three AA rosettes, and deservedly so. The nearest Michelin star restaurant is Chez Bruce. From conversations overheard in both places, and with friends and acquaintances, many people enjoy patronising and appreciate both restaurants. We've done the last four New Year's Eves at each place twice, and I've done four of my last five birthdays, again at each place twice. 

 
     

Brockwell Park

I have discovered several folders on my PC dating back a year and a half that I haven't yet got round to blogging.

Here is a collection of photos from Brockwell Park, taken mainly in August 2014 and a few in that November. I walk up to Brockwell Park fairly frequently, although perhaps not often enough considering how near it is. It's a wide open space in the heart of dense housing, and being on the top of a hill, on a good day it affords great views of central London. But it's not my nearest large open space, and, anyway, sometimes, when you go for a walk that's what you want to do, walk, and look and listen, not obsessively line up snapshot after snapshot.

I know that many people have a different take: if you go frequently to the same place, there is a fascination in monitoring how it changes through the seasons and over the years. But I don't have that eye for detail, and, ultimately, I don't have the curiosity or interest.

There are two main aspects to Brockwell PArk (apart from its built facilities - pitches and courts, playgrounds, greenhouses, cafés, BMX pitch, model railway - I've never been on). The panoramic views, and the walled garden.

I think that the park used to be too manicured, too municipal. But in recent years, there has been a concerted effort to diversify the terrain. For some reason I have no pictures of the wildflower slope by the lido, but I have been pleased to see great pastures of grass allowed to grow and not cut over-frequently. In the past decade more managed spaces leave dead and fallen trees, rather than carting them away.

   

The ponds have been re-done; I've always liked them for their apparent wildness, although, like much 'wildness' it benefits from being managed.

There's a weird little model village that just sits outside the walled garden. Apparently it dates from the 1940s, and I suppose it serves some momentary fascination for toddlers, but, other than providing backdrop for photoshopped signs satirising Foxton's Estate Agent, it has limited appeal.

I have an inbuilt hatred of what, years ago, I sneeringly called 'municipal borders'. It doesn't surprise me subsequently to find other people using that or similar phrases and sharing my disdain for the regimented uninspired planting. Some vestiges do remain in Brockwell Park.

The Walled Garden is legendary, especially among locals. Many people, especially flat dwellers without a garden of their own treasure its seclusion and quiet. Or, at least, people hope for this. Unfortunately, there always seem to be one set of parents who sincerely thinks it's the perfect space for their child to run around screaming. The park covers 50 hectares; apart from during events such as Lambeth Country Show and Fireworks, I have never seen it so crowded that you can't carve out a sizeable patch of grass for yourself, as many people do. But for whatever reason, a tiny minority think they trample on the rights of adults who wish to read or contemplate, or admire the flowers. Yes, I know that children benefit from exercise and use of space, but they also need to learn about how different spaces are used for different purposes and require different behaviour. I wouldn't go into a children's playground, sit down with my cider and cigarettes and start photographing the children playing. And walled gardens aren't for screeching and running. 

I used to feel that the walled garden was worthy but dull, too many roses with dead heads and so one. It was done up about 3 or 4 years ago, and it seems that it has been taken over by a Community Group. I can't say I'm comfortable with volunteers replacing paid staff. On the other hand, given the swingeing cuts councils are forced to make, that lead inevitably to job cuts in parks and gardens, volunteer labour has to be welcomed. And I presume the volunteers get something tangible out of it - exercise, wellbeing and a chance to garden they might not have in flats or short term lets. And the garden looks superb as a result.

    

Part of the pleasure of going to parks is the walk there. Always good to have a nosy around neighbouring roads, see how the area is changing. And to spot interesting features en route.

   

 And the stained glass in the local Methodist Church. Actually, not the best stained glass in the area, but in urban areas it's quite difficult to get into churches, understandably.

Brockwell Park photo album

 

Streatham Food Tour

This is definitely a subject I should have blogged straight away, rather than waiting until it creeps up my to-do list! For three years, Streatham Food Festival has featured the Streatham Food Tour and it has captured the imagination locally. The idea is that local restaurants offer a mini version of a signature dish, for about £3-£5 and you stroll up and down the High Road, sampling the fare of several places and earning a stamp. If you get more than 3 stamps, you can vote for your favourite and enter into a prize draw.

I wrote briefly about the 2013 tour last year. In 2014 and 15, the tour took place over the first weekend in June. Last year, Friday evening and Saturday from noon. This year, Thursday evening was added. Last year, we only did Saturday, because after our adventures in Shepperton it was just easier to pop to our local Indian on our (Brixton) side of the Great Divide!

  Interestingly, in both years our first stopping place turned out to be the eventual winner. In 2014 this was Fish Tale, the fishmongers on Leigham Court Rd just by Streatham Hill station. Despite not being a restaurant, they have an on-licence and put out chairs and tables on the wide pavement. We didn't get round to going this year, deterred by the queue. Above is their charcuterie plate that Jimmy had. These are my oysters. For some reason I didn't photograph the Prosecco.

This year, we started at Hood, the exciting new Fine Dining restaurant on Streatham Hill. It's not that long ago that 'fine dining' & 'Streatham Hill' would not have gone together. But this year, we started with a stone bass ceviche and chilled tomato soup.

 

We finished there on the Saturday, because I intended to finish with English strawberry snap,crackle & pop, but they persuaded me to leave the Food Tour menu and select the chocolate tart/clotted cream tart from the normal pudding menu. I liked it so much I had it when I returned a few weeks later for dinner.

Our second or third stop was Hamlet. In 2014, garlic prawns. In 2015, goat's cheese salad. A dark place, making photography difficult, and a mistake to cover the feature item with greenery. But on both occasions I couldn't fault the food, and liked the atmosphere.

 

We hadn't long returned from holiday in Cyprus, and, finally, at Troy, we got what we hadn't got in Cyprus. For me, a decent mixed mezze - this was described as veggie, but, containing taramasalata, it wasn't. Not a problem for me, but not veggie! We also had a very decent 'house' wine. Jimmy enjoyed his spicy lamb skewers (not photoed).

We didn't eat at the White Lion either year but did pop in for a drink, and to photograph their unusual quirky lampshades

Streatham is the longest High Road in Europe. We live north of the north end of Streatham Hill, so the far south is a long way and we never quite got there. I suspect that the main place we missed was the Earl Ferrers, which I still haven't been to despite its good reputation.

On the Friday we took a tortuous bus journey to Streatham Green. Our bus was delayed for about ten minutes while a crashed car was removed from the pavement near the bus stop just south of Streatham Hill station. As we walked down 'the dip', I saw one sick bitch deliberately stop her car to impede an Emergency Ambulance on a shout. I saw the self satisfied grin on her face as the ambulance stopped to manoeuvre round her. People like her shouldn't be on the road. I can kind of understand the logic of impeding a police car, particularly if you're ignorant and don't empathise with victims, but what kind of maladjusted cow deliberately blocks an ambulance? I hope she dies a slow and painful death while waiting for paramedics herself. But I know no health workers would agree with me.

Glamorgan sausage at Deli Lama who weren't 'officially' on the tour, but, newly opened, decided to embrace it anyway. Cashew nut, carrot & coriander falafel wrap at Hideaway - Jimmy enjoyed his lamb burger. Everything I've ever had at Hideaway has been full of flavour, but I was a little disappointed at the slow service. Can't really complain, but when we arrived we sat outside in sunshine and before our food arrived we had retreated inside from the cold and dark.

 

With disappointment we skipped Cafe Barcelona. It was the wrong stage of the evening for Churros con chocolate, and they were packed, it being their first birthday party. Blessings had run out of goat curry, the reason Jimmy wanted to go there. It turned out he's known the Blessings people forever. Onto Rice Republic. I liked my salt and chilli tofu more than I thought I would - at £3.50 it's worth taking risks on ingredients you're not quite sure of. He wasn't so taken by his beef in black bean sauce. I'm sorry I didn't photograph the decor.

Next was Indian Nites. Jimmy moaned about it not being value for money, until he realised it was much cheaper than anywhere else. My chana masala was only £1.50 and I found it just right - flavoursome and good consistency. After there we tried to go to Bravi Ragazzi, but it was nearly 11pm and the tour was advertised as up until 10pm.

On Saturday we started at the Holland Tringham, the Wetherspoon's to the south of central Streatham. We live much nearer the Crown & Sceptre, often called London's best Wetherspoons, but they weren't participating - they're quite a walk from the northernmost participants. I don't really like the Holland, always a bit seedy. Years ago, I was in there one afternoon with Jimmy, and slightly randomly, my former Audit Manager. Some drunk got stroppy and started intimidating the lone bar staff. Jimmy & John intervened to march the bloke off the premises. It could happen anywhere, but does rather summarise the place. The mini serving of fish and chips was actually surprisingly good, but I do think Wetherspoons have made a mistake introducing such hideous crockery which interferes with the visual display of, surely, just about every food they serve, even beige food!

 Next was Pratts &  Payne, the idiosyncratically Streatham named pub. I wondered how many of the denizens could even guess at the origin of its name*. Two years ago, their goats cheese tart was stunning; last year, the equivalent was a let down. This year, their hummus, different from what was advertised, was lovely. And then I went to the Ladies and shuddered and kicked myself for eating in a place with such a lax attitude to hygiene. Awful to think that such a grubby place serves food.

 

Maria's Kitchen was closed for the food tour on Saturday, catering a wedding. It had some excellent feedback on Twitter and is situated in what was Franco's. My American friend and I had discovered Franco as a great place to line the stomach for weekday drinking, and Jimmy and I had loved the place for casual dining. I think Franco worked himself too hard in what was obviously a labour of love, and my American friend is long back in the USA. 

Instead we walked onto Perfect Blend, a place we have often been for brunch but never for dinner. I had mushroom burger. The young man explained in a non-patronising way that they were meat free. I knew that, but it was thoughtful to say so, just in case. Tasty. I stuck to red wine rather than mixing my drinks but Jimmy went for St. Reatham beer (available as Export outside SW16). 

We finished at Hood, me on the chocolate tart and more red wine, and Jimmy having several cocktails from the talented cocktail barman.

Streatham Food tour - a brilliant way to sample a range of restaurants, mainly independents, along a mile and a half (according to Google) of Streatham Hill and Streatham High Road, as wells as roads off. There are several restaurants we vowed to return to, in fact, we have only been back to Hood for dinner and the conveniently opposite Streatham station Deli Lama for outstanding coffee.  I'm sure many younger people and those new to the area will have found places to their liking that the Food Tour gave them the confidence to sample.

2014 map and menu choices

2015 map and menu choices

Maps contain clickable links to websites

These weren't from the Food Tour, but this is as good a place as any to blog them.

Last summer we went to the exciting new Brighton Way restaurant open on the A23 in Streatham. This restaurant is owned by the Exhibition Room in Crystal Palace, which always delivers on good quality fresh food. I really liked the menu, as well as the cocktail menu. It was clearly more casual than Exhibition Room, acting as much as a bar as a restaurant.

I started with a prawn cocktail, and moved onto a goats cheese tart. I followed with cheese board, which, of course, in hindsight was a mistake, but it was my mistake, not the fault of the restaurant. I don't remember what Jimmy had but he enjoyed it. We both found our food tasty, 

I was amused by the sweetie that came with the bill, it seemed like a little touch of class. We vowed to return soon. Now, I realise there is a massive irony coming up here. Life got in the way. Over the winter we ate out less, and, when we did, we generally opted for upmarket. So we didn't return until early Spring. We chose Brighton Way as somewhere we could eat a decent meal and also drink large numbers of cocktails, to get really quite drunk and yet still not be far from home.

Unfortunately, the place had changed. I was the second youngest of not very many customers, in an almost empty crepuscular barn having to endure unfamiliar processed music too loud for a restaurant. The food that was served was fine - it was as described on the menu, prepared properly (although lukewarm and served on cold plates). It just wasn't interesting. The sort of stuff that needs no skill to prepare, probably pre-prepared and using frozen or tinned ingredients more than fresh/seasonal.  The choice wasn't great, mainly focusing on burgers, and looking like every other mediocre restaurant in every mediocre town. A far cry from the place we had visited earlier. If you want to run a decent restaurant you have to desist from aiming it at the youth market. Pretty much every decent restaurant I have been is attracts a mixture of age ranges; places that are bars with loud music and serve food as a sideline tend to attract a very narrow range of customers. But I do understand that a place close to a busy commuter rail station will do better from serving overpriced cocktails to regulars, than serving food to people who visit only every few months.

At the other end of the range, we made a couple of visits to Tiger. Tiger serves Vietnamese and Chinese food. Jimmy's daughter-in-law is British Vietnamese; her father, who was a refugee from Vietnam, shares a birthday with Jimmy. So we got together for a meal, when the baby was just three months old. We were also joined by Jimmy's nephew, who lives in Serbia with his Serbian wife, but grew up in Australia with his South African father and Australian stepmother. I took lots of family photos of course, but also took photos of the food; we liked it so much that we returned not long after. It's a BYO place, which is fine! And the food is really very good indeed and not pricy at all.

     

*Pratts was a John Lewis which closed down in 1990 and is still cited as the reason for the decline of Streatham; Payne is Cynthia, a one-time Parliamentary candidate for Streatham. One day, there won't be a pub called Mediworld and Umunna

Afternoon tea part 2

Part 1 is here

The cold dark days of autumn, with nothing to look forward to except a few days off work for Christmas. I fell upon the Afternoon Tea website, an entire website devoted to Afternoon Tea. I searched South London and came upon a place which, interestingly, is no longer on the website, and they no longer have Afternoon Tea on their own website. So this blogpost is somewhat redundant in respect of Lost Society Clapham. 

It was an interesting experience, and although I have several criticisms, overall I thought it was a decent offer at the lower end of the London price range. My criticisms probably boil down to one particular member of staff. I think he fancied himself to be cool, or cutting edge, or down wivdakids, or something, but he just wasn't very good at his job as barman/waiter. He initially greeted us with an insincere over-familiar 'Hi guys'. We are a middle-aged decidedly untrendy woman and a man who is technically a senior citizen. It's a bit bizarre addressing us as if we are sallow youth. Perhaps revealing this man's lack of real life experience.

We were seated and he took our orders for tea, the drink. This consisted of him bringing over a cardboard box containing about ten cardboard boxes of teabags and hesitantly going through them. The women at the next table asked for a written list, which wasn't available! I chose Teapigs' Darjeeling Earl Grey.

The choice was various Teapigs and Twinings. Both companies do a wide variety of both straight and flavoured tea. If providing them just requires buying a few boxes of teabags, frankly, I would have tried harder. He plonked my teabag in a teacup and filled it with hot water from a teapot, which he left on my table gradually to lose heat. I was irritated. I had booked for Afternoon Tea. Being able to make a cup of tea wasn't too much to ask, was it? Later, I summoned another member of staff and requested the teabags be placed in the teapot and covered with boiling water. The women on the next table also endured the teabag-in-a cup before requesting the teabag in a pot method!

Later I decided to have a cocktail, and when he took my gin-based order he said "That's a good choice".

I suppressed the urge to ask for advice on what would have been a 'bad choice' or, indeed, why a cocktail bar would bother offering cocktails which are 'bad choices'. Or indeed, how could he possibly know it was a good choice for me, given that tastes vary, and what's good for me may be quite unpleasant for you and vice versa. 

He was basically a prat and not very bright, but I wasn't going to let that spoil the afternoon.

For contrast, we later moved on to a more traditional pub in Clapham and I decided to stay on the gin. The choice was Gordon's or nothing. There's nothing wrong with Gordon's, but this was supposedly 'trendy' Clapham, in 2013. The mixer choice was between Schweppes original tonic and Schweppes artificial sweetener tonic, neither of them pre-chilled and both served on ice-cubes that had been melting on the bar for at least half an hour.

Otherwise I was impressed by the afternoon tea. The sandwiches weren't exactly 'traditional', and were all the better for that. They were plentiful, well-stuffed, well-presented and in classic flavours. I liked the cherry tomatoes - succulent and full of flavour, not always guaranteed, especially not in December. The bread was fresh and 'proper', perhaps bought in from a decent bakery (and if so, the right thing to do).

We finished with a lovely variety of cakes. Again, I was impressed. I know some places offer quirky or themed cakes, as you will see in Part 3, but it's possible to offer something different from the well-tested formula without having an artist-in-residence. Adding fresh strawberries was a nice touch aesthetically and for the tastebuds. 

The photos illustrate that someone in the kitchen or in management knows what they are doing and has a clear vision of how they want to present a quality afternoon tea. But it is so important to ensure the staff know what they are doing.

Often, Afternoon Tea is more of an event than dinner - the women on the next table were celebrating a birthday and were dressed in eye-catching vintage finery - not my style and perhaps OTT for a pub on a Saturday afternoon but illustrating my point that people expect good service.

One dull January day, we recreated the afternoon tea experience at home. It's quite some work to do authentically. The great thing about eating out is the variety, without the waste. When this photo was taken, the table was only partly set with a 'shabby chic' mix of china and crockery acquired over the years. It made perfect sense to start with olives and feta. 

This was only a selection of the sandwiches; there was another load being prepared in the kitchen. The fairy cakes were easy enough to do - mix up the mixture, pour half into cake holders, add the chocolate to the remaining mixture, repeat, cook and dollop with icing sugar/water mix. I'd also knocked up some scones, out of shot on a cooling rack - see the posh jam and plastic carton of cream. We drank Darjeeling leaf tea straight out of the cupboard, and, much later in the day, we finished with a slice of eternal Christmas cake. If we had been entertaining we would have made more effort to introduce a wider range of cakes, but for the two of us, this was sufficient. To be honest, I was pretty stuffed after just sandwiches!

Eat in Streatham

I moved to Streatham in 1991. I can't say it was a great place for eating, but then, probably, few places in Britain were in 1991. It's astonishing to realise how far Britain has come since then. I live in Brixton now, but very much on the border of Streatham, so I feel torn between the two towns. Streatham has never been great for eating and I don't feel even now that there are any stand-out restaurants. However, there are a lot of decent restaurants, places that serve good enough (or better) food conveniently close to home. And, to be fair, there are a good few I haven't tried.

Looking through my photographs I found several that don't merit a blogpost in themselves, but I realised I had sufficient to 'tell a story' about Streatham food.In late April we had taken a beautiful walk along the stunning River Wandle but had been curtailed by a typical April shower and, let's face it, my lack of stamina. We had taken shelter in a dodgy pub in Wallington where the locals barely concealed their hostility. There was another middle-aged couple in there, she was so middle-class she was wearing a sleeveless quilted jacket. She looked even more uneasy/uncomfortable than I felt.

So it was a relief to get back to Streatham Hill and into the much talked about Ilili. Jimmy thought it was over-rated, based on a Mixed Grill. I didn't quite see the point of going to a Middle Eastern restaurant and having a mixed grill. I didn't feel it was anything special, but its appeal is increased by being easy walking distance of home. Not that evening, though, given that we got completely soaked in a cloudburst in the time it took to get to the bus stop. We went back at Christmas and again just the other day. The food isn't fancy but it really packs a punch with flavours.

I had grilled King Prawns

In August was the Streatham Food Festival. The organisers had the brilliant idea of inviting local restaurants to participate in a Food Tour. We visited several. Some of them grasped the concept better than others. The idea was that for a price of say, £3-£5 you were treated to a small potion of their signature dish, the idea being that over the course of Friday evening and Saturday afternoon and evening you could taste from just about everywhere. This year's Food Festival is the first weekend in June.

We started at Bravi Ragazzi Pizza. I didn't photograph the small but tasty triangle of pizza we were served. I think we may have been the first food tourists there; later in the evening I saw on Twitter people getting larger portions. But I'm not angry - things happen, it was a bit 'play-it-by-ear'. 

Next stop was Pratts and Payne which proved to be the culinary highlight of the weekend, the most gorgeous goat's cheese and fig tart. Beautifully presented and exquisitely tasty, and just the right portion size for the concept.

We spent the rest of the evening in Nineteen. I like Nineteen. It does what it does extremely well. Except that it's usually completely hopeless for vegetarians. Jimmy isn't massively keen. I think it absolutely epitomises Streatham eating. Pretty decent, really quite good, ideal for residents of SW2 and SW16, but unexceptional and lacking the wow factor. However, the staff were warm and friendly - not artificial - and the (vegetarian) gnocchi I had was lovely, and again, just the right size.

The table decoration reflected the place, simple and elegant.

The cocktails seemed to slip down marvellously!

The next day we tried to start at Addommme Pizzeria and Trattoria. However, they didn't offer a sit-down for Food Festival, even at 4 o'clock on a Saturday. I was well annoyed at that and vowed never to go back, but that annoyance subsided. They were newly opened, the Festival Food tour was a new concept and why boycott a well-reviewed place so close to home!

Onto Troy Barbeque. I've been past the place so often and it never appealed but I liked what they were offering for the Festival. The waitress was really lovely and they gave us a packed plate. I had veggie Moussaka. Not really keeping with the Festival concept of 'small signature dish' and this meant I ended up being quite stuffed. But it would be churlish to complain about being served too much! We haven't actually been back, but it's definitely now on our list, and would have been our second choice after Ilili in our Emergency Christmas Eve Restaurant search.

We travelled all the way past central Streatham to the Manor Arms, now under new management. W have had some good meals there, but it deteriorated and my birthday lunch was just awful. Given the new management, we thought we would give it a go. That was a mistake. This was how I Tweeted it.

• Oh Manor Arms. What a spectacularly shit pub you've become, & so quickly
• Manor Arms, row of blokes on bar stools blocking access to the bar. Bad. Kids running round screaming. Bad.

• Manor Arms. Poor selection of ale. Bad. Fishcakes - lumps of potatoes. Bits of crabshell. Greasy. Bad.

• The main menu looks sad at Manor Arms. Trying to be a pricier Wetherspoons, but without 'Spoons flair.

• Just ridiculous to buy a successful business & basically remove the elements that made it successful. Good food & good ale.

I won't be going back anytime soon, if ever.

Our final stop was Taj Mahal. We and another party had some difficulty explaining to the waiting staff that we were there for the Food Festival. We had to talk them through their offer. And again, they piled on the poppadums and so on. I went for the vegetable curry, but left half of it. There was nothing wrong with it but it wasn't tasty enough to carry on eating. Yes, I was already quite full, but that often doesn't stop me eating.

Overall, despite the hicccups, I thought it was a brilliant idea, and I'm already looking forward to the 2014 Festival, first weekend in June. I would strongly urge the organisers to impress upon the restaurants about stand alone signature dishes, but I know that often people don't listen properly!

I haven't eaten out much anywhere since, except when I've been away, but one day In January I ate twice in Streatham. A decent stroll on Tooting Common was followed by good coffee and excellent ginger cake in Brooks & Gao. This is a definite contender for 'Things with Faces In'.

In the evening we went out to Addomme Pizzeria. Despite my annoyance in August, I thought it rather stupid to snub a place that consistently gets positive reviews and is less than a mile from home. 

I had a prawn and linguine dish which was fine. Again, in my view, fulfilling the usual Streatham criteria of being 'good enough or better' & worth going to because of proximity. This place is best known for its pizzas, so maybe I should have had a pizza. but I admit to being a total Philistine with pizza. I like them Deep Pan and full of unhealthy or unsuitable ingredients - I am that person who orders pineapple (and tinned sweetcorn) as an additional topping.

 

To conclude, Streatham food has improved beyond recognition in 20-odd years and there are plenty of decent places to serve the locals, but I'm not sure there's anywhere I would feel safe recommending to anyone to travel specially to savour!

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Tooting Commons in March

I went for a walk on Tooting Commons in March. I often go for a stroll or a short bike spin but don't always take my camera, or take my camera but don't use it, or take indifferent photos. So here is a set of fairly indifferent photos from what is, in some ways, my local park.

The ground was sodden, and in some places, waterlogged. This was no great surprise -  I had found this in various places in precedeing weeks. In Dorset, I had fallen several times into a quagmire.

 
 

Later,a tree was to come down, possibly as a result of this. A few minutes walk away, one had already fallen.

In a soaked landscape, only the Ecology Pond was, as ever, dry.

 

I had a vague plan to find the elusive Streatham Pumping station, but instead wandered around Furzedown taking photos of random houses.

   

I have a photo album dedicated to Tooting Commons

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Morning Walks (Day 45 - Wednesday 26 December)

Streatham Common in March

I was watching an episode of the student sit-com 'Fresh Meat'. The character Kingsley claimed to have 'gone for a walk' - to cover up for his two-timing - and the amusingly odious JP said 'No one under 30 goes for a walk'. I identified so strongly with that. Recently I have had several conversations lamenting my failure to appreciate the localities where I have previously lived. As a student I never ventured to the river, only two miles away (who knew there was a river in Nottingham?). I rarely even walked around the University Lake. I lived in Westcliff on Sea for eighteen months, and only walked along the sea front when I had visitors. 

I spent four years living in the heart of Streatham. I then moved a mile and a half away, making Streatham Common slightly less accessible. But I struggle to think of the times I actually walked on the Common in all those years. Once with friend L, and once with friend H, but other than that...!

I decided years ago that I would regret nothing in life, except where I had caused harm, especialy to people's feelings. I stick by that resolution, but there is a frustration that I didn't enjoy these simple pleasures - basically cost-free - more frequently. Instead of regretting this I must look to the future and remember how many pleasant strolls there are in easy reach of home. On a grey overcast drizzly December day it's hard to feel motivated, but these photos, with grey skies and a lingering mist, remind me of the simple sensual pleasure of a leisurely walk.

I'm not a 'Walker' in any meaningful sense. Health reasons restrict my range to four or five miles, at most. There are numerous articles about the health benefits of walking, tempered with the caveat that the benefit lies only in walking with sufficient exertion to be out of breath. Recently I was in a conversation with a slight acquaintance and she was witheringly dismissive, clearly she had made up her mind that I was not capable of energetic walking - and that that made me a bad person morally. (Another conversation, not involving me) made me realise she was simply an unpleasant person. I'm keen to encourage people with health or fitness problems to try some gentle walking, not strenuous, and hope they feel some of the pleasure I feel. As they build up their confidence and stamina, they will do more. They may take time to reach the required number of minutes of brisk walking so many times a week that would satisfy the Unpleasant Woman, but a gentle stroll helps the physical and mental health of most people.

One March day I caught the bus up to the 'top' of Streatham Common and walked round The Rookery. Schools were in session, so, only tranquility; just a few strollers enjoying the trail-end of winter. It was misty, lending an ethereal quality.

The Rookery is a formal garden, with pond and well.

 

In the 18th century, Streatham's Wells were renowned for their 'health-giving properties', having three times the mineral content of Epsom's.

A gate leads into the woods and barely noticeable is a small stream, a tributary of Norbury Brook, which flows into the River Graveney, which in turn flows to the River Wandle.

 

After strolling round The Rookery I walked briskly down the Common and along the High Road to Hideaway. Not a jazz fan, I have never been in the evening, but it's a great place to catch a snack lunch. Also reputed to serve the best breakfast in Streatham. I was happy with my roast vegetable pie.

My previous bloggage:

Streatham Common

Streatham photo album

 Other blogs:

Pleasure and Payne - from London Postcode Walks

Rookery - from Diamond Geezer

Pensive Moments in The Rookery, Streatham - from The World, Myself and I 

Morning Walkies Streatham Common - from Don's Photography Blog

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Day 2 eating - Saturday

I got up really rather late on Saturday. So late that breakfast doubled as lunch.

We had a table booked in the evening so there was no point in having a mid-afternoon snack. 

Dinner was at The Lido Café on the edge of Brockwell Park, Herne Hill. It got off to a slightly dodgy start when we had to send the tap water back - 'Can we have some that hasn't been lying around all day' 'It was only poured this evening' and left to lie around for a good hour if not more in quite a toasty room. Plus the two white English male waiters kept calling us 'you guys'. I did tremendously well in resiting my urge to call them 'Lassie' or 'Little Girl'. I'm sure they would have disliked that as much as I dislike being called 'Guy'. Halfwits.

Very good wine. And tasty olives, if somewhat out of focus!

 

I started with Severn & Wye smoked salmon, Dorset crab, avocado puree and fennel

My main course of winter squash stuffed with wild mushrooms, chestnuts, mozzarella, wild rice and caramelised onions was tasty but actually just too much, so I had to leave some

I finished with Christmas pudding and salt caramel ice cream and a glass of Pedro Ximenez sweet sherry.

 

Jimmy had an Ardbeg 10 year single malt, a whiskey not only of good repute but revered around the world. He found it horrible. I smelt it, it smelt of the overbridge at Clapham Junction station, which in turn reminds me of hospital disinfectant.

Pleasant evening out. I got quite drunk on half a bottle of wine and a sherry. Worrying!

A tale of two meals - Trinity Clapham

There is no denying that Trinity at Clapham is a superb restaurant. Adam Byatt is a really good chef. However, it is unlikely that we are ever going to return for a Sunday lunch there, and certainly not when Adam is travelling in the Far East.

We went just about a year ago. I really liked my food. I didn't note down the precise details of what I ate, fondly thinking that photographs alone would jog my memory.

 

I started with a delightful wild mushroom concoction. 

I say started but I had already demolished an amuse-bouche and quite a bit of their incomparable sourdough bread and home-churned butter made out of Jersey milk.

My main course was also a pleasure to the taste. I'm pretty sure this is hake, served with cockles,

I finished with a deconstructed Black Forest Gateau, which was full of good strong tastes.

Jimmy didn't rate his roast beef. It was supposed to be an expensive cut, but he wasn't convinced. It was stringy to chew, and difficult to cut. He recognises that places generally serve beef pink, but this wasn't so much 'pink' as cold in the uncooked parts. He left half of it.

There was an unfortunate incident involving some other customers which I didn't think was the restaurant's fault. Somehow, some wine got spilled onto someone's lap and the blame was attributed to the waiter walking past. Admittedly I didn't see it happen, but I felt that it was a group of people who want to create a fault in order to bully the restaurant into giving them freebies. I also sensed the restaurant staff knew this, too, but their hands were tied. We were coming to the end our meal, and also sensed we would help them a lot if we could leave our table, so they could combine it with the next, empty one to re-seat the complaining guests.

But worst of all was the coming-together of the Clapham Yummy Mummies. They behaved as if they never went out, barking, braying and boasting in loud voices, as if they needed to impress. Who? Why? How - it takes more than that to impress me. And to cap it all, they had a baby with them, under a year old. The baby was sick. And we had to endure the rest of our meal in an odour of baby sick. Maybe the Clapham mummies regularly spend £65 a head on dinner, but we don't, and we don't like to eat in the atmosphere of baby sick.

However, we did go back for the New Year's Eve tasting menu, and that was the right decision. There were several children at the early evening sitting, but they were children who had been brought up to appreciate a good restaurant, to sit up at table, and not run around, whose parents had the novel idea of conversing with the children, and not at them - exactly the sort of fellow diners you should expect at a fairly pricey quality restaurant.

The food was exquisite, and very little to criticise. We did have to wait a while for our first course. We were offered amuse-bouches soon after arrival, and were also kept supplied with a plentiful supply of the above-mentioned sourdough bread, freshly baked, which, perhaps unsurprisingly, proved to be my downfall.

Before booking I had checked with the restaurant and it was no bother to accommodate my non-meat tastes into the set tasting menu. I think they also had a vegetarian alternative. We decided to go wild and accept their recommendation of a glass of matched wine with each course, although some of our fellow diners, perhaps sensibly, opted for a bottle or two to last the length of the meal. 

A tasting menu suits the restaurant perfectly. They know exactly how many to make of each dish and they can keep turning them out, almost like a production line. I think it works well for a busy evening like New Year's Eve. I started with a Roast white onion soup with truffle and curds, while Jimmy had Consommé of roast chicken and morels. My matching wine was Anjou Domain Rene Mosse Blanc from the Loire. I liked how they brought the bowls to the table pre-filled with solid and elegantly poured the soup round it. I'm a sucker for eating-as-theatre!

We both had Orkney Scallop Ceviche, with Rosehip Pickle and Charred Cucumber. We both judged this to be the star of the show. We both love scallops anyway, and these were a class apart. We teamed this with an Argentinian:  Alamos Torrontes.

The next course was also identical for meat-eaters and non-meat eaters alike. The accompanying wine was a South African Chardonnay, Hamilton Russell. I'm not a great Chardonnay fan because so much mediocre stuff is sold for the mass market. However, this was very quaffable and went well with the Gnocchi Parisienne, Cauliflower, Truffle and Parmesan

Not at all a good photo but I don't like to use flash in restaurants so am dependent on ambient lighting. If I'm in a hurry to take the photo - usually one shot and then eat, especially if it's a hot course - I might move. And I was probably halfway drunk by this point.

I followed with Seabass, Pumpkin, Chanterelles matched with another decent Chardonnay - Toques et Clochers "Haute-Vallée" from Limoux. Jimmy had Salt-crusted partridge, artichoke and roast chestnuts.

This was probably my least favourite course. Everything tasted fresh and was cooked very well, but I didn't think the overall combination particularly worked.

We were approaching the home straight, with Black Forest, served with a Moscatel  - Lustau Emilín.

The finale to the meal was Truffle baked Vacherin Mont d'or, with Savagnin, Domaine Daniel Dugois from Arbois. I am one of these people who usually takes an awful long time to realise that I am full and so carries on eating. But by this point I knew I was full and didn't get to fully appreciate the Vacherin. It almost hurt to put it in my mouth, which was a pity. I was well stuffed!

I'd do the tasting menu again, with the matched wines, as long as I didn't have to get up the enxt morning. But I would definitely eat a lot less ovenfresh sourdough bread.

Previous blogpost on Trinity

Some other people's blogposts (some more pretentious than others)

Trinity Clapham – British cooking done right! - Motley Spicer

Trinity, Clapham Common - Last Friday Night

Trinity, Clapham - TwelvePointFivePercent

Second Restaurant review – Trinity, Clapham. Michelin star or not??? (I’ll be the judge) - Alexsfood

Brockwell Park Fireworks 2012

   I thought I'd write this because Bonfire Night 2013 is imminent.

I don't know what possessed me last year to go off to Brockwell Park and watch the fireworks. To say I on't like fireworks is an understatement - largely stemming from being hit by a firework ten years ago. 

I think I was tempted by the announcement that Brockwell Park fireworks were done by the same team that did the Olympic Fireworks. And there was to be mulled Chucklehead Cider on sale.

The funfair was cancelled because the Parks department felt that after an exceptionally wet spring and summer, and significant autumn rainfall, the fair would damage the grass too much. They are planning a children's funfair this year. 

Tens of thousands of people flocked to Brockwell Park. There were strict rules on not taking personal fireworks, including sparklers, into the park. There were plenty of stewards and a low key police presence. Kids could buy light sabres or neon tiaras. The cider was excellent, the doughnuts not so. And at 8 pm the Mayor of Lambeth announced the start of the firework display. 23 minutes of whoosh and bang with a pop music soundtrack. Some people living in flats overlooking the park complained, but I feel - it's 23 minutes of loud whoosh and bang, and somewhat dodgy pop music. 23 minutes. For 362 days of the year, you live in a flat overlooking a gorgeous park.

And I took some photos. Looking back, I see that I set my camera at its smallest aperture, and set the ISO to 200. Most of the exposure times seem to be about 1 second - I'm surprised they weren't more affected by  camera shake. Quite a few people posted their applephone pictures on Twitter. Don't use an applephone to photograph fireworks!

 

Many more photos in Brockwell Park album

Lambeth Country Show

Lambeth Country Show happens every year in Brixton's Brockwell Park, usually in July. A two-day extravaganza of largely free entertainment, laid on by the council for the enjoyment of local residents and those from afar.

For numerous tedious reasons I hadn't been for several years until last year. The 2012 Country Show was moved from July to September, because of the Olympics. There was the inevitable public dissent and threats of riots, but the day turned out to be beautiful and almost seemed to top off the glorious London 2012 summer. I had tremendous fun, and took a lot of photos. I went again this year, had some fun and took several more photos. On both occasions, I avoided the live music areas - although, to be honest, they could be heard in my garden - because on the whole they're not really my style. And we didn't get any Chucklehead Cider, due to the eye-wateringly long queues.

People from out of town refer to it as a County Show, but, despite its location in Inner City Brixton (and leafy suburban Herne Hill) it's definitely a Country Show. The following narrative doesn't distinguish particularly between the two years, because they followed a similar pattern.

There is an arena for quirky events, such as camel racing, owls, falconry, 'Dog and Duck' (I think that's basically sheepdog trials, with ducks in place of sheep), and jousting.

     

Local Nature and Growing people have stalls, including the Beekeepers.

 

The Council's Environmental Services and contractor put on a display.

     

And sell watering cans, for Alzheimers or Foodbank, to tie in with the Mayor's Charity.

 

Next stop is the Flower Zone, which contains the world famous vegetable carving area, and displays of produce to conform with the rules of the Royal Horticultural Society.

Carrots, representing Anthony Gormley's Another Place on Sefton Beach, created by my neighbour Harriet, who this year told the Edward Snowden story in carrots - see topless Putin on his horse.

The popular favourite was Patrick Moore

RHS-ruled displays of vegetables and fruit

           

5 tomatoes; collection of 4 distinct kinds of vegetables; 4 potatoes; 3 beetroots, round, 7.5 cm tops; onions; herbs, 3 cultivars.

Displays of plants

   
   

Group of cacti; 2 succulents; foliage pot plant in a container; 3 succulents other than cacti.

And all manner of flower arrangements

           

Two with musical themes

 

London Symphony Orchestra under Valery Gergiev at The Proms, strings, brass and percussion; The Proms

   

And collections of plants in troughs

 

Vauxhall City Farm display their animals; this section seems particularly popular with small children. Still, you don't often see sheep and alpacas in Brixton!

As well as Chucklehead cider, there is plenty of food on sale. I opted for Macaroni cheese with added chipotle, and had long finished it while Jimmy queued for jerk pork. When he reached the front of the queue, they had run out of rice. 

There are also stalls selling the usual things you expect at these shows nowadays, from artisan cheeses to cupcakes. Stalls for organisations like the local FE Colleges and British Heart Foundation. Many of the voluntary groups also have stalls. I have, in the past, done my stint on the Labour Party stall. Last year, these were all down the hill, away from the main thrust.

Many people come specifically for the funfair. Nowadays, I don't generally do funfairs, because my Constant Companion gets travel sick on anything that goes round. But they're awfully good fun to photo.

     

We were escorted out of the park by these folks. They came up behind and took me by surprise. I commented that they ought to have some sort of warnign sound. Maybe one that said 'Neigh, neigh'. I thought it was blooming hilarious and was pretty proud I'd made a joke up myself. But I can't actually believe no one's thought of it before!

These and many more can be seen in the photo album Lambeth Country Show

Upstairs, Brixton

I've blogged about Upstairs before, and have been back. I went in November but didn't take photos of my meal because it was really quite dark - we sat in the bar area rather than the dining room! I have adopted a rule from somewhere of generally not taking photos in a restaurant with flash. It may not apply in a loud and larey bar, but in an intimate restaurant, definitely so. At the time I tweeted my selection: At Upstairs I started with Wild Mushroom, Celeriac, Prune; then Plaice, Romanesco, Walnut; & Baba, Quince, Vanilla. I also commented on my liking of the small choice of dishes and the spare description. I suppose if you're a fussy eater, it could be a problem. I don't know if my non-meat-eating classes me as fussy, but as a fish eater I never have a problem.

We also went in August last year. It was a warm, but not too warm, summer's evening, and we sat in the Upstairs dining room, light streaming in through the windows. Unusually, every party there consisted of two people, one female and one male, probably couples. I was amused that, barring one, every man wore a formal striped shirt, open at the neck, no tie. The exception was a man in his mid-to-late twenties who wore a t-shirt with some logo on. I forget now whether it was for a band, or a product, or what. But it set me thinking.

This restaurant has no dress code, yet most of the men had opted for an unspoken uniform. And the women's dress, although more varied, was consistent with this. The young man wearing a t-shirt had no negative effect whatsoever on my dining experience, nor, I assume, the other parties'. He was otherwise unnoticeable, unassuming and well-behaved, the sort of customer any restaurant would want. I pitied his female companion for being with a man who has no dress sense or sense of occasion. But that is very presumptive of me. They may celebrate that they are different, and don't feel the need to conform; up to a point I agree. They may dismiss the other men as boring or bland - although in my experience non-conformist clothing is often worn by people lacking in confidence in their character. This paragraph is woven with judgements and assumptions, and I acknowledge that it's none of my business what this man wore. But it bothers me, and I can't fully understand why!

The night we went in August last year was a glorious night for British Athletics (we actually won some medals in the Olympics which partly justified the huge and disproportionate amount of public funding and TV coverage devoted to track and field sports relative to many other). I sneaked a few glances at my phone, but I can't really summon up emotions beyond indifference when it comes to this particular sport. 

  The restaurant had recently featured in a New York Times article on must-do non-Olympic things to do in London during the Olympics. But I confirmed with Phillippe that this hadn't started a flood of Americans seeking out the imprecise territory between Brixton and Clapham.

I started with lemon ravioli with rocket and sweetcorn. I then moved onto Wild Salmon with crab, butter beans and watercress, like so - although I apologise for the poor quality photo taken in fading light

And I finished with white peach, raspberry and vanilla

Altogether, a lovely evening, with tasty food prepared and presented faultlessly.

We went again in June and although I found service to be generally very good and the food largely up to my expectations, I do have a serious niggle. It was again a warmish evening, and, as well as ordering cocktails and wine (at prices I wouldn't call exorbitant but reflect the market rate for a decent London restaurant), we also asked for tap water. The tap water arrived and wasn't even lukewarm. It tasted as though it had been poured from a mixer tap without even being run off first. And no ice. We rejected it and ended up with bottled water, (at a price, with service charge on top). No real apology and, I have to say, verging on the mean-spirited. It wasn't as if we were drinking just tap water (and even if we were, it's still not acceptable).

I started with Fazzoletti, girolles and hazelnut, basically an open ravioli dish, which was a brilliant combination of good quality tasty ingredients.

Main course was wild salmon, peas and chervil. It was listed as 'sea trout' but before we ordered, the waiter explained that they had been unable to get sea trout so had substituted wild salmon, which was fine by me. The dish was faultless, but it lacked a 'wow' factor. Jimmy had a meat dish, which he thought was poor, although I can no longer remember why.

 I finished with Raspberry, vanilla and almond

To conclude, I think Upstairs is an extremely good restaurant, but can be somewhat variable. Jimmy compares it unfavourably with Chez Bruce, but Chez Bruce has a Michelin star. Jimmy says we pay more for dinner at Upstairs (£35) than lunch at Chez Bruce (£27.50), but the latter charges £45 for dinner. I'm glad I live where there is both Upstairs and Chez Bruce. To moan that a neighbourhood restaurant is not up to Michelin star standards is unfair and mean. It's the best restaurant I've ever known in Brixton, better than anything in Streatham, and only a bit behind Clapham's best restaurant, Trinity (which can also be variable!)

Lyham Road

An awfully long time ago, last summer, I took a walk to see the Olympic Torch go by. As it was a topical event I tried to post about it fairly soon afterwards.

When the torch had gone by and the crowd dispersed, it was time to walk home. I often photograph other people's neighbourhoods. Perhaps it was time to shoot my own.

Back up Lyham Road, which runs broadly parallel with Brixton Hill, and was once known as Back Lane. It also runs parallel with Kings Avenue, which is as much Clapham as Brixton. Someone told me that the rich people lived on Kings Avenue, which has no pubs, and their servants lived on Lyham Road. When I arrived in the area there were five pubs: the Royal Oak, the Duke of Cornwall, the Red Lion, the Prince of Wales and the Waggon and Horses. Now only the Prince remains, and its future is in some doubt. 

Incidentally, they're all terribly common English pub names, replicated in numerous places across the country. More interesting names elsewhere in the area. The Sultan and the Hand-in-Hand on New Park Road. The (former) Telegraph at the top of Brixton Hill, connected with the introduction of telegraph transmission. Slightly further afield, the (former) King of Sardinia and the Hero of Switzerland.

I was prompted to do this post by Slip House being mentioned on Twitter:

Its overall form consists of three slipped orthogonal box shapes, arranged to take full advantage of available natural light, and afford the best possible views.

I think the house next door to it is also attractive

The Wesleyan Mission Hall is now King's Acre Methodist church

Below is a photo of what is now a block of flats

Up until 1997 it was a Primary School called Ashby Mill, named after the nearby Windmill, often known as Ashby's Windmill. It was closed due to the number of surplus Primary School places in the area. Along with other campaigners, I said at the time that the population trend is upwards. And so this has come to pass, with pressure for more Primary places being very much in the news.

Many of these Victorian triple deckers remain and often contain good or very good schools. I suppose they make good use of small spaces in densely populated areas, but I'm not convinced they are any longer ideal for modern education. They are certainly a far cry from the modern well-designed schools that sprung up under Labour's Building Schools for the Future programme.

This sign comes from the former pub, the Duke of Cornwall. I knew it had been called the Duke of Cornwall, because I always thought it a step too far having that and the Prince of Wales on the same road. I've even checked with Jimmy. Yes, this is a sign from where the Duke of Cornwall used to be. Perhaps he shot a lot of white deer.

 

 

 

 

Modern flats and those from an earlier generation

I've labelled this Prague Place but I think it might be Ramillies Close. I no longer need to know the difference! Next to it, a pre-school which was being redecorated as I passed

Moving along we reach the Mural. It's been there for years. Just weeks before I took these photos it was revamped and formally re-opened.

The mural depicts wheat being ground at the local windmill ready to be baked into bread, and also reflects modern Brixton (in the winter there's a good view of the Windmill from Lyham Road, not so much in summer)

Modern cottages some with well tended gardens

Lyham Road's only remaining pub is about halfway along. I think they were still getting over the long-finished Euro 2012 football and not yet geared up for the Olympics, due to start the next day. A pub that's suffered, like so many, from being Tied to the brewery, who then charge a premium on the wholesale price of the drinks the licensee is obliged to purchase.

Many of the clientele, at least traditionally, of the Prince are Prison Officers. Rumour has it that the Red Lion was more popular with the inmates who would slip out the back gate. Probably no truth in that rumour!

The prison was built in 1820, as the Surrey House of Correction. In 1853 it became a women's prison for those that preferred that to penal transportation to Australia; a military prison between 1882 to 1898; and until recently a 'trial and remand' prison. According to Wikipedia, 

the communal areas are overrun with mice and rats. The footings for the treadmill remain and are visible and the former 'hanging i.e. execution suite' is now an enlarged cell with six beds.

Before reading this I hadn't realised that, last year, it stopped being a local prison and is now a Category C training centre. I believe there has been another report recently recommendin it be closed and sold off. If it's no longer being used as a 'local' prison I imagine there's little rationale for maintaining this highly inappropriate building. I imagine the sale of the land would be handy receipt for the Exchequer. I wonder if the building would be convertible into Yuppy Flats, or whether simpler to raze it, and create a new development. It would be nice if there was social housing, or a mixture of social housing and 'affordable' private housing. Although the current definition of affordable is a bit of a joke; requires an annual income of up to £70k. Easier to pre-sell to buy to let landlords and overseas investors and create a transient set of people with no motivation to invest in building a community.

And Mr Woodley, a local institution supplying newspapers to the prison and local residents. He's never open when I go past. Perhaps he's permanently closed. Like an Aladdin's cave out of Dickens.

The Waggon still looks like a pub but I had to search on the internet to find out that it's now used as a private school - a slightly bizarre alternative use, at least to my mind, and one that questions the extent that they provide a broad enough curriculum in what was never a big pub. Probably not accessible for disabled children or staff, either.

The top of Lyham Road is pretty much the highest point for some considerable distance and often affords great views of London. The best view of all is from high up in Courtney House on New Park Road or the roof of an erstwhile friend's former flat on Felsburg. With binoculars you can read the time on 'Big Ben' or see Wembley Stadium and the hills to the North of London. So this is a pretty rubbish picture of the view. I didn't realise quite how tired I was from walking there and back, and standing and waiting, in blazing sun.

All Saints, a modern Anglican church is near the corner

Through the sheltered housing we can peek at Richard Atkins Primary School, a listed buiding

These houses are also listed, although since I took the photo they have been let out as sub-divided rooms and 'sheds' for migrant workers and are now undergoing renovations, including some deep excavation, which I'm not convinced is consistent with their listed status

I'm rather fond of the "Tulse Hill" Telephone Exchange, as it officially is, despite being nowhere near Tulse Hill. Makes my broadband faster than average.

And on Streatham Place, a brand new block of flats, which was marketed if I remember as the somewhat optimistic Park View Apartments

 As it turned out, this was not the best day to take photos, being that it turned out surprisingly bright and sunny. I suppose I should re-do the walk, but, life's too short.

Boqueria Tapas

I am so behind with my blogging that before I have got round to writing about my June visit to Boqueria on Acre Lane, I have revisited. We have been three times this year, which is probably an indication of how much we like the place.

It helps that it's very close to home, eminently walkable - but why walk when there's a bus service practically door-to-door! The staff are lovely, can't fault them. Don't interrupt you when eating, in order to ask spurious questions about 'everything okay'* and yet are very approachable. Also, as happened on Saturday, we didn't quite finish everything on our plates. The waiter, who I think is also manager, asked with genuine concern whether there was a reason we hadn't finished. I reassured him that we had been in that awkward position of being hungry but perhaps not hungry enough to eat a full meal, had had rather a large breakfast (and rather a large snack at the Lambeth Country Show). 

Boqueria do some things extremely well. The seafood paella we had in June was exceptional, better than paellas I have had in Spain. I enjoyed the Rape a la Catalana con gambas - monkfish and prawns I ate Sturday (but forgot to photograph!) And you can see from the photo above an excellent example of how to present a simply described 'Mixed salad' with fresh succulent ingredients.

Less successful was Espinacas a la crema gratinada con piñones (fresh spinach with melted cheese raisins and pine nuts). It was eatable and not unpleasant, but I found it to be surprisingly bland - perhaps I expected more of a piquant taste from the goat's cheese. It was a generous portion of spinach, which led to the dish seeming unstructured.

I also enjoyed the Crema Catalana. Although, it  wasn't as delicious as the supreme tarta I ate in January, and, to be honest, it's difficult to find a commercial Burnt Cream to match my own!

On Saturday, I started with a gazpacho, which was perfect, especially given that I had arrived somewhat dehydrated from a trek through the Lambeth Country Show.

As we left, I said to the staff "See you again soon". A welcoming and relaxed restaurant with good food and friendly staff. 

*I hate it when restaurants do that - it's paying lip-service to some artifical notion of customer service. Good restaurants such as Boqueria are sufficiently observant to tell that customers who are chatting away and eating their food are probably very happy. Interrupting conversation diminishes this.

A quick trip down to Brixton

This was ages ago now, but I decided to bring my camera when we went shopping. It was just before the Diamond Jubilee. I am fervently anti-Monarchist, but I always like Morleys' window display, even if it's Christmas in November, or promoting Valentine's Day, the ultimate miserable capitalist corruption of imagined romance. And their Diamond Jubilee display was eye-catching!

A queue formed behind me of other people also wanting to photograph it.

We went into Market Row to stock up on fish and vegetables. At which point, being that it was Friday afternoon, and the start of a long Bank Holiday weekend, it seemed wrong not to go for Cocktails at Seven.

I ordered an Electric Avenue, named after the Eddy Grant song, which was about the famous Brixton shopping street. I was warned that this was pretty much the end of range, because they were bringing in the summer menu and they were to introduce the Guns of Brixton cocktail.

I was also tempted into trying a mushroom boccadillo. Simple but tasty and filling. It's a nice little bar. I understand that there are Art Installations upstairs, although we didn't venture that far. Some people sat out the front on deckchairs, playing board games. It's a good spot to people-watch. I tweeted:

Twenty-something dual-heritage hipster bloke walks past rolling a crystal ball in his hand

Lots of little black kids - but no whites - walking around in cardboard crowns. Seems a pretty cruel act of deception

And later

A cream coloured Morris Minor festooned in Union flag bunting. Suspect a more modern car wouldn't get away with it.

Sometimes I think...Live theatre or the fillums cannot compare with Brixton on a Bank Holiday Friday afternoon

Seven cocktail bar stays significantly this side of hipster wank - someone trying to copy it might end up too far up their own arses. But, nevertheless, I was not oblivious to the elderly, poor-looking, largely Afro-Caribbean people walking by with looks of bemusement on their faces. There is a lot of discussion about the so-called gentrification of Brixton, and much of the discussion ignores the wider economic context, and the housing crisis in London and the South East. But with similar and disparate discussions about everything from opera to Olympic sports, the fact that some people have no disposable income should not act as a guilt-trip and a choker on people who are trying to run a small business or who do earn a living and do want to spend their 'disposable' income. It's almost as if the anti-gentrification hardcore want Brixton to be somewhere that shops lie empty, part dormitory, part ghetto.

 

Open Gardens

Various open garden schemes exist, where ordinary people open their ordinary residential gardens to the public on payment of a small fee towards a charity.

I saw that several gardens in our area were to open as part of the 'Chelsea Fringe' - timed to coincide with the Chelsea Flower Show. They were raising money for Trinity Hospice. 

It's a good idea but it was rather poorly executed. We paid to go into two gardens. £3 per person a time. Yes, that's £12 for two gardens. In retrospect, perhaps the tickets were transferable between gardens. But they didn't say so, and I've checked the website again, and again it seems to imply a separate entrance fee for each garden. It gets rather expensive. Some places advertise that they served refreshments, with some implying that the refreshments are inclusive and others implying the opposite. So, basically, poor communication!

Still, we went to a very nice garden only a few roads away from us. The people were very pleasant and welcoming, although I found it an odd experience walking into someone's back garden, nosing around and making sotto voce observations. They have a relatively long garden, and have divided into three phases, each of which resembles a garden in its own right, but also mesh well together.

 

We went to a second garden, where again, the people were very nice and welcoming. We were surpised that their garden seemed no bigger than ours, although they have a lawn as a centrepiece, whereas ours is based around a paved area. It's informative to  see how other people use the space, and to ponder whether we could learn anything from them. And, of course, for about ten minutes, I had this mad idea that, of course, next year, we'll open ours to the public, too. Of course we won't. We're far too sensitive. It would only take malicious criticism from one ill-mannered buffoon to cast a cloud over our entire existence. Also, I guess it must take a lot of work to bring them absolutely to standard, whereas if you're just entertaining friends, you can get away with a stack of empty plant pots or a patch that's unplanted.

 

Deciding we didn't want to pay any more, we went for a coffee on Clapham Common, which was so horrible I blogged about it that day

From there we moved on, and found ourselves, somewhat inadvertently, on Northcote Road, the beyond trendy shopping parade on the Battersea-Clapham borders. By chance we found ourselves in Gail's, from where we purchased some artisan bread to take home. We stopped for a snack. This was my coffee and cake. Very nice. 

A stroll around the North East of Clapham Common

It was one of those days. I was taking the day off Sick. I was told in no uncertain terms that I would never not be sick if I don't get out and do some moderate exercise. The plan was, to walk across Tooting Commons and catch the bus back. But the sky looked ominous. I didn't want to be out, let alone walking, and I certainly didn't want to be caught in a downpour in the vast open space of Tooting with no shelter. Change of plan and bus to Clapham.

Stroke of genius, rather than get off the bus at the Underground station, as one usually does, stay on for an extra stop, traversing the Common by bus along the A3 and alighting north of North Side.

The fun is in observing the detail. Cedars Road is flanked by two glorious 19th century buildings now converted into modern 'luxury apartments' ie Yuppie Flats. I tried to take photos but the view was blocked by a constant parade of coaches and bin lorries. Instead we strolled along to Trinity Hospice. Trinity Hospice is a well-loved local institution providing skilled compassionate end-of-life care. The blue plaque is for Eminent Architect Charles Barry, who lived at the house long before it was a hospice. 

There are some very attractive houses along North Side. I pass occasionally on the bus, and very occasionally indeed on foot. I have often thought about stopping & photographing. Today was my opportunity.

 

 

 

The row is full of history.  Two new blue plaques were installed in 2011. One, by The Music Hall Guild of Great Britain and America for Marie Kendall and one by English Heritage for Graham Greene, whose The End of the Affair was partially set locally. The internet tells me there is also a blue plaque for Edvard Grieg, but I overlooked it.

Indeed, another blue plaque was actually being installed on The Chase by a man in red trousers as we walked past, so I went to have a look. And nearly fell over laughing. There was already one up to commemorate a street party held for Edward VII's Coronation. This second plaque was to commemorate a street party held for the wedding of Kate Middleton. I later saw that that particular road got BBC Dumbed-Down London News to film their Diamond Jubilee Street Party. I have to say, if the zenith of your life's achievements is organising a barbecue, I'd keep quiet about it and reflect upon the empty pointlessness of your life!

  Clapham is synonymous with the Clapham Sect, known for their tremendous work in abolishing Slavery, lead by William Wilberforce. They were Evangelical Christians within the Church of England, but their reforms were opposed by the always conservative/reactionary Church of England no doubt eager to protect its entrenched privilege of maintaining slaves on its Caribbean Plantations.

They attended Holy Trinity church. This is actually - and, at least in my experience, unusually - on the Common. The 'Trinity' in its name is lent to other local institutions not least Trinity Hospice and the ought-to-be-Michelin-starred Trinity Restaurant.

 

 

 

The Church seemed to be closed - entirely understandably - and, to be honest, it doesn't seem particularly appealing as a building, at least from the outside. Rather stupidly, I wondered what could possibly have caused damage to this plaque, stubbornly denying it was bomb damage. It was almost as if I hadn't walked past the Graham Greene plaque and mentioned 'that film we watched' which was set on Clapham Common!

From the Church we strolled along to Old Town, most famous for being a bus terminus and hard standing. Also, site of closed down toilets. I think I have forgotten more about toilets on Clapham Common than most people ever needed or wanted to know, but they are good solid brick public conveniences and could probably make a nice chic on-trend café.

Instead, we went to Nardulli's. A decent enough coffee. Remarkable neither as excellent nor poor, I would return. My ice cream boy tried a couple of scoops of their ice cream. He has returned several times. It has become a destination for him out on his bike, when I'm working, or not well enough to go out. He says it's the best he's had in this country. He says it's better even than Lab-G in Brixton. I'm happy he has ice cream places to go to in both Brixton and Clapham.

When you've lived near somewhere for a long time, you tend to take it for granted and often just see it as a transition, so it's actually nice to stroll around and look at soem of the details in just a small area.

I was intrigued by this building. Granted, I haven't searched the net exhaustively or asked a direct question of Claphamites, but I don't really know what it was.

  
Then there's the statue to Temperance. Jimmy pretended to be quite angry later that I had 'dragged him' along to look at such blasphemy.

 
While we were standing there, something very odd occurred. I think there was a drop in air-pressure but that may be the product of my post hoc imagination. But, suddenly, all the birds swarmed. There was n eerie silence. They hadn't been disturbed by a dog, a siren or a bang. But they all swarmed and sat at the top of just a couple of trees. Vaguely Hitchcockian

We walked to the bus stop as it started to drizzle. Just after we got home, it started to rain properly. And I went for a lie-down.

Bistro Union

This is newly opened, and, as I write, still doesn't have a website, except for booking.

It is related to the superb Trinity down the road, although aiming at a different slice of the market. I commented to our waiter that I was expecting red gingham tablecloths - the tables are actually bare - and he commented that at Trinity they iron the tablecloths.

They run a very good Twitter account, posting photos of their current food choice, which looks so tempting. This photos is theirs, showing their barsnack menu

They've put a lot of thought into the decor and theme. Clearly designed to be a bit reminiscent of school or the 1950s, or both, but not quite.

The menus are presented in a folder which is essentially a school exercise book such as I remember from the 1970s. The water glasses are like these Gigogne ones. Ours at school were Arcoroc, but essentially the same. The dishes and plates were similar to the odds and sods that still populate mother's kitchen, dating from the late 50s and early 60s.

I noticed on the drink menu that if you wish to buy your spirits by the bottle, you can store your bottle in a locker above the bar - you keep custody of the key. Very clever, I thought. Encourages the customer to return.

The bar is at the front, and you can have the full menu as well as the bar snacks. At the back is a dining room. I think we arrived at 7pm, with twenty minutes or so it was full. A noticeably young crowd, compared to many restaurants.

We both started with mussels in cider, and were very pleased. Mussels aren't that hard to do, and handy for restaurants because they're so quick. But so many places get them wrong. These were cooked just right, juicy and succulent. Good ingredients.

 

I followed with a fish pie. This was reasonably good. It was packed with salmon, and I'm pretty certain it was farmed. It could possibly have contained a greater variety of fish, although the clam decoration was a nice touch. The mash was well done, smooth but with a crunchy top. However, the portion was far too big, even for me, and I rarely have problems tucking things away. And serving it in a metal dish was a big mistake, because it never got a proper chance to cool down to a temperature where you could eat it properly. It was, overall, veering to the slightly too salty. (Note, I have a slight aversion to salt. Note further, this does not affect my ability to enjoy eg salt-caramel, or butter sprinkled with sea salt). 

This photo adds no further info but I like it as a work of art!

Jimmy went for the catch of the day, which on that day was John Dory. He was not impressed. I don't think he'd ever had John Dory before. I'm not sure I'd even heard of it until a couple of years ago. The bones: flesh ratio isn't satisfactory. Additionally, the menu hadn't made clear he should have ordered a side dish, too. It did come with a horseradish type sauce, which he thought was horrible. He noticed the woman on the next table also abandoned her horseradish and was struggling with the bones:flesh ratio. To be honest, I'm surprised he ordered it: there were other dishes on the menu I'd have thought were more him.

We finished with pudding. Again, he chose ice-cream, and again was disappointed. He ordered three scoops, which isn't clear in this photo. Each scoop came in a separate jar. I thought that was a bit gimmicky. One was described as mint, but didn't really have a mint flavour. The others had beguiling flavour-titles, and he confirmed that they tasted all right. But he didn't rate the quality of the ice cream. I think he has finally realised - ably abetted by his new favourite place, Nardulli by Clapham Common - that if you want decent ice cream, don't order it in restaurants.

 

 

 

 

My pudding was blackcurrant jelly, shortbread and clotted cream, which, all things considered, is a perfect little pudding. Everything just right, and so beautifully presented. The shortbread was delicate and mouth-melty. the jelly was the right balance between sweet and sharp. And who can resist clotted cream?

I would go back to Bistro Union again, but I think Jimmy would need some persuading. He feels that - setting aside alcohol prices (and he only had two glasses of wine because he was driving) - it's no cheaper than Trinity. The food is aimed to be more 'cheerful', not 'fine dining' and the service was less formal - although very good.

I've looked at a few 'professional' reviews. Once you've waded through the hackneyed 'I didn't know restaurants existed south of the Thames' crap, or describing Abbeville Road as a 'backstreet', (which suggests the 'professional' critics know less than they think), they seem to concluded that there are some real strengths in the place but also some weaknesses. I hope - and assume - that as a new place, they can address the weaknesses, because, Jimmy's reaction aside, I think it has a lot of promise. And seems like a breath of fresh air.

whatiate-whaticooked

All the Food I Eat

no kitchen orphan

Crap park cafés

I like to walk in a park, find a nice café and sit down, have a cup of coffee, maybe a cake, maybe even a hot meal. If you have a café in a park, you're sitting on a goldmine. Effectively, there's no competition. Customers generally don't have anywhere else to go. Even if there's another café somewhere else in the park, or on a neighbouring street, the customer has to walk there. Easier to go to the park café.

In prosperous areas of South West London, and, I daresay, elsewhere, good or adequate park cafés are great social places for 'types' to congregate. Lonely 'yummy mummies', dogwalkers, pensioners can meet up with similar people to talk about what they have in common. Other people can break off their walks and enjoy the fare on offer. Couples can go for an escape from the rat-race.

On Saturday we went to the café by the Windmill in Wimbledon. We should have seen warning signs. A huge place, but no one was sitting down indoors. Most outside tables were unoccupied. The dog walkers sat alone with their dog, not in groups of regulars. It did not seem familiar territory to the small children demanding ice-creams.

An appalling place, that really should be ashamed of itself. We'd walked quite a way, and this was the first eating place we had passed in an hour and a half. We went in. I decided I would have a cup of tea, and, ooh, why not, a scone! 

The manager - straight out of Jennifer Saunders or Victoria Wood - asked if I wanted a fruit scone. Ooh yes, I said. We then had to move along and instruct one of 'the girls' what we had ordered, whilst the sit-com woman instructed 'no more than one girl on each thing' (filter coffee machine, teapot, microwave) - she was having to micro-manage schoolchildren. The cup of tea was pushed at me, with a mere mention of milk. No oppotunity for topping it up with further milk. And the scone, butter and jam were presented on a paper plate.

Note the lack of fruit in the fruit scone. Note also the plastic pack of strawberry 'jam' - jelly with seeds, never seen a bloody strawberry.

What this photo can't show you is stale saltiness of the cheap scone, mass produced in a factory. Or that the tea was stewed. It's not really too much to ask, is it, to have a cup of tea made properly, to be able to add my own milk without being under suspicion of wanting to steal it. And a scone that was made this month? Last time I had tea and scone, the tea came in a pot. The crockery was crockery: cup and saucer, plate, milk jug. The scone was big, bobbly, rustic and fresh. The jam had pieces of fruit in it, and along with the clotted cream, was served in a little ramekin. Apparently we can't expect such luxuries in Wimbledon.

It is entirely possible that tourists might come to Wimbledon. A town that is famous around the world for its tennis and its Wombles, an Olympic town. Disgusting.

On Clapham Common is a café called Oasis. Someone sat down one day and thoughtfully designed a chilled place. Inside, cushions on benches round a central table. Outside, picnic tables on decking. We should have been alerted on arrival by how empty the decking was - this photo was taken as we left, this woman's man had just gone inside. Don't know if they stayed.

An attractive-looking menu, with mint tea and green tea, with paninis filled with crayfish or mozzarella and tomato. 

The amiable but dim server tried to charge immediately after we (two people) had ordered just one drink. Neither Jimmy's espresso or my latte actually tasted of coffee. Several Clapham types came, took one look, and walked away. They seemed to be doing a roaring trade in selling chips and fizzy drinks to the kids in the new, nearby skate park. Which, by the way, is great. The kids looked happy, and occupied, and I'd hate to see a café that turned kids away for being, well, kids. 

The cushions smelled.

What a waste of a great location and a good concept. We didn't dare eat, didn't have confidence that the current management knew the first thing aboout food hygiene - no certificates on display. Would you buy a crayfish panini in a café that smells as if someone's been sleeping there?

It's increasingly an irritation to me. How do these people get away with it? How have they got the franchise or lease to run these places? There are so many people with a passion, the drive to make a success out of business, understanding of customers, who could make these places a destination, but are denied that opportunity by these complacent dullards who are happy to serve up crap from te 70s, or  who mess up a good idea and drive people away?

Reviews by others:

Windmill Tea Rooms by Wimbledon People

This place provides the sort of customer experience which I thought had disappeared along with Communism!...A cup of coffee and a rather overcooked flap-jack came to over £4...Overall, a disappointing experience which I won't be paying to repeat.

Windmill Café & Tea Room - Virtual Tourist

She had pre-warned me that she hadn't had very good experiences there in the past, so I wasn't expecting much.

Dinner at the Lido

Last month was the first time we'd ventured to the Brockwell Lido café for dinner. It was interesting to see how they transformed the place from a spot for coffee, snack or casual lunch to somewhere to eat an intimate dinner.

Most obvious change was to décor: bare wooden tables transformed by table linen. Candles and dimmed overhead lighting. The play area removed. And a different menu.

We went on the third Saturday of April. It already felt like it had rained for ever, and yet it seems so long ago. Because of the forecast rain, we did the two bus trick, change at Windrush Square. We didn't want to risk a drenching walking across the park - who would - but, actually it didn't rain. Part of me was a bit sad about that, because I had already planned to blog or tweet "Dinner looking out as the rain pours into the pool. Just like being on holiday".

The dinner menu is fancier than at lunch time. They change it every month to reflect the seasons, although some items appear to be perennial, and not every single item seems to change every month.

I very nearly ordered Smoked salmon with pickled beetroot and rye bread as a starter but, in the nick of time, realised this wasn't the wisest starter for my preferred main. I always choose my main first. The starter must fit round that. Instead, I had smoked haddock fishcake, creamed spinach, sorrel and a poached egg. Perfect dish in itself. I could happily live on poached eggs, except that making them myself is so hit and miss. always great to order one when out, and this did not disappoint. I'm also a big fishcake fan, having loved them when I was a kid. They seem to have gone out of fashion for a long time, so it's great to see them back on menus.

For my main I had Sea Trout with crushed Jersey Royal potatoes, White Wine herb sauce and Spinach. Which of course means that I had spinach for both courses. A fate I could have avoided by having both salmon and trout. I see in May's menu, one could have either a pea starter or an asparagus starter, and then an asparagus and pea risotto. Not so much a criticism as an observation. It doesn't bother me in practice as it does in theory!

I couldn't fault the taste or presentation of either dish. I think they have a a splendid combination of elegantly presented fresh food that nevertheless veers to the accessible, rustic or homely - in a good way. It's not pretentious or poncey, and the prices are modest. The prices for alcohol are less so, but I have absolutely no problem with places that hike up the booze prices to keep the food reasonable.

I finished with Almond and pistachio tart with orange and cardamon. This was perfectly fine, with no cause for complaint. But, having declared in February: 

I feel my future lies in roaming round Brixton eating almond cake

this almond cake felt like a poor relation to the ones I had tasted in Brazas or Boqueria. But it didn't detract from the evening, and was at most a minor quibble. I no longer recall the eminently quaffable wine I enjoyed with the first two dishes, but I do recall I started with a Manzanilla, and enjoyed a Pedro Ximénez, as recommended. Service was fine, and ambience was pleasant and relaxed, and far more intimate than one would ever imagine from what is essentially a cafeteria attached to a 1930s municipal swimming pool.

It is entirely possible we ill return to sample May's menu. If not, flaming June!

Bubba's Restaurant, Tulse Hill

We went here in mid-April, a month after it opened. I don't go to first nights, for restaurants or for operas. The critics cast their judgements and this becomes the accepted wisdom. I don't fully trust professional critics, anyway. I read a review of this restaurant which suggested that the customers were 'uncomfortable' with the 'formal setting'. A restaurant that is owned and managed by Black people, with a Caribbean-influenced cuisine, and, going by both their own photos and what I noticed when we visited, quite a lot of Black customers.The professional critic thinks Black people are uncomfortable in formal surroundings. Hmm.

Location. Challenging for professional food critics. With no parking. It's converted out of part of Tulse Hill Station, even having a ticket machine outside. But once inside, I didn't hear any trains and forgot I was near a station. Just along the South Circular from us, but too far (for me) to walk. So we bussed it, because loads of buses pass nearby.

Bloggers who had been before us made a big deal of the blue light. A blue light that makes photos of the food look either washed out or strangely, well, blue. I would say my biggest criticism is the blue light. It's not just about photography; it tinges companion and food (less obviously) with a slight but disorienting blue rinse. If I had one piece of advice, I'd say, get rid of the blue light.

Otherwise, I liked the decor. Clean and crisp and clear. It even smelled of new-ness. Lights that were optical illusions and looked like they were small alcoves with a distant vanishing point. I've been to restaurants where the decor is tasteful, modern and crisp - and bland and impersonal. Take away the blue light and Bubba's would verge on this. I prefer some details or touches that give it individuality and personality. There again, I don't like places where the decor becomes the dominant statement. It's a fine balance to achieve.

I'm not familiar with Caribbean food despite my decades living in South London. Jimmy, on the other hand, claims to be an expert. And this is where I made a mistake. He ate jerk pork and curried goat. Classic dishes with a 'fine dining' twist. Being that I don't eat meat, I didn't have those, but I should have stayed close to what I am familiar with.

We started with cocktails. I had a Gin Smash, which was luscious. My starter was Black sesame, kidney bean camembert fondants with plaintain smalls and glazed boad beans, elegantly presented and interesting to taste. I really liked the taste, but bizarrely, I'm not sure I'd necessarily have it again. A lot of complex flavours battling with each other, satisfying but perhaps rather heavy-going for a starter. Jimmy declared his jerk pork belly with apple and nut crunch and apple and cinnamon puree a great success.

Service was of a high standard, perhaps veering towards the deferentially subservient. The front-of-house manager and the waiter both introduced themselves, but didn't then give their life stories or attempt to engage in unrelated chit-chat. Attentive and prompt, without hovering and intruding. We'd booked for 8pm but arrived closer to 7.30pm, when there was only one other party. By 8.30, the place was full, with a good lively buzz. I've read reviews praising the RnB soundtrack, but I can't say I noticed, which is good, because RnB is one of those genres where I can get very quickly annoyed at the mediocre formulaic offerings.

I made a mistake with my main course. I saw the word 'crab' and pounced, not noticing or processing the words 'soft-shell'. And I have to be honest, I didn't like it. I think that was me, not a criticism of the restaurant. I liked everything else on the plate but really struggled to eat the crab. I just felt that it was a lot of salt water. So many other things on the menu I could have chosen. But I loved the plaintain chive mash and rustic tomato sauce. I ordered a Singapore Sling, but I don't think the drink that turned up actually was. In a fog, I'd recognised the phrase 'Singapore Sling' as something I like but not being able to remember what it was or what I liked about it. (And, no, I'm not stupid. the fog is a side-effect of fibromyalgia; not only does it occur, but it also diminishes one's confidence so you doubt you're remembering properly).

Jimmy was very pleased with his Authentic Caribbean curried goat in a roast petal tuille basket served with avocado puree and plantain rings. The goat was tender and well-flavoured. He didn't eat the filo basket, but, looking around, nor did other people. It makes for attractive serving, but I'm sure isn't really intended to be eaten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jimmy finished with a selection of exotic ice creams. Yet again. He loves ice cream, almost invariably picks ice cream as his dessert and, more often than not, the ice cream isn't what he expects, and he's disappointed. I'm sure everybody else who likes ice cream would love these, but he only cares for ice creams made from organic unicorn tears and the noble perspiration of passionate artisans. This wasn't!

 

 

 

 

I had carrot cake with carrot and rum sorbet and spiced puree. The carrot cake was beautiful, dense yet light. Too many carrot cakes are stodgy; this was melt-in-the-mouth but substantial. I also enjoyed the trimmings. But the sorbet wasn't for me.

So, I am definitely going back to Bubba's and would urge other people to go, too. Remember, right next to Tulse Hill station, and close to a plethora of buses. And a cab office just round the corner. Next time I go, I shall opt for dishes that are closer to my comfort zone.

I think I concur with several other bloggers that there are a few hesitations about the place, but I feel that these are inevitable when an establishment is clearly ambitious and wants to be innovative. If you want to avoid this go to a chain restaurant or somewhere that has been cooking the same old same old for twenty years. 

Other blogposts:

Noshable

The Picky Glutton - special thanks for photographing the menu

How to Cook in High Heels

Hollow Legs

The restaurant has its website but as I write it's not really up and running. They are active on Facebook

Lunch at the Manor

I wrote at leangth about the Manor Arms Streatham in October, so I won't repeat myself. suffice to say we have been back several times. Most recently for a Sunday lunch on one of those hot days in March that seem so long ago.

I had Jersualem Artichoke soup

followed by John Dory with shrimps and mussels

Jimmy had beef and Yorkshire (he was a bit disappointed that it was slow-boiled beef rather than roast)

I finished with Burnt Cream

Very nice all round.

Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 3

For earlier stages see Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 1 and Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 2.

The final stage is from Brockwell Park to Ruskin Park.

To be honest, it doesn't really a merit a stroll in itself. But, when he tackled the earlier part of the walk, we had finished with late lunch in the Lido Café and had preferred to walk home across the park rather than continue to the end of the walk. The Lambeth guide includes a partial tour of the park, including the Walled Garden, the Mansion House and the Miniature Railway, but we're familiar enough with the Park. 

Instead, after a mooch round Brixton Market, we caught the bus to Herne Hill Station, and re-started our stroll. This was "built in 1862 in the Gothic Venetian style and is typical of the period. The square tower contains a water tank that held water for the steam engines."

It's a complicated junction, with 6 roads meeting and on the corner stands the Half Moon pub. For years, I assumed it was a Wetherspoons, given their liking for 'moon' in the names of their pubs, eg Lord Moon of the Mall, and, more ubiquitously, the Moon Under Water, after George Orwell. Jimmy remembers it as a boxing venue: his boys, now in their late 30s, attended a gym there. It's also renowned as a venue for live music and comedy, but I'm not sure its claims to be a 'gastropub' are really supported by a menu consisting only of pizza and burgers, albeit homemade, and Sunday Roast. We didn't go in.

We started the slow ascent up Herne Hill, pausing to note the former Fire Station

Built in 1906, it dates from a time when fire engines were pulled by horses. The fire station closed in 1920.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next door is the former postal sorting office. I couldn't resist photographing the sign, noting in particular its missing apostrophe.

And, of course, its statement of employment practice! It only closed in 2007 or 2008, as far as I can make out from the internet - it's now a dancing school.

I have no objection to historic buildings retaining signs that point to a bygone era when women were not really considered to be workers - or, often, people in their own right. And I photograph them as a reminder that women have had to fight for what resembles equality today. None of what we have achieved was by baking cup cakes!

Incidentally, the Herne Hill Society doesn't seem to know the origin of Herne Hill as a name.

Not mentioned in the Lambeth Walk, but worth a deviation from their suggested route to have a look at St Paul's Church.

The original church built in 1843-4 by G Alexander was damaged by fire and rebuilt by Street in 1858.  The west tower, spire and long outer walls of the Commissioners' church were kept and the chancel was enlarged and embellished. It is Grade II* Listed for its special architectural or historic interest. (The pub and railway station are also listed). It seems that it is a joint parish with St Saviour's at Ruskin Park, perhaps more evidence that South London is over-provided with 19th century Anglican churches.

 

 

 

Some interesting views from Herne Hill - this of Battersea Power station

 

 

 

 

 

The Lambeth Guide suggested we walked along Fawnbrake Road.

Enjoy the late-Victorian houses and variety of doorways, some set back and at an angle. A few upper windows have original stained glass. Look out for pretty tiles beside the doors on the left.

At the time, the Bill to privatise the NHS was about to go through Parliament, so this sight was no surprise.

 

 

I enjoyed how the terraced houses were joined together behind the main line

I suppose it appeals to the snobby, who can almost pretend they live in a semi, but I suppose it also means that the main habitable rooms only share a party wall on one side.

 

 

A nice little touch, with flowers planted where you normally only see soil or litter.

 

 

I photographed the front of this house, not realising that the owner was there, tending to his plants. He, Mr Brooks, invited us in to view and photograph the rest of his garden, out the back, and show us some traditional hospitality. It is certainly impressive what he has achieved, and it is very different from anything I have ever seen in a suburban house. He has at least 120 hanging baskets, and can spend up to three hours watering the plants. He is a retired builder, and has constructed the double decker, and the system for capturing rain water.

I thought there were some lovely aspects about the garden, and it is evidence of hard work and dedication. I suppose, ultimately, though, it isn't really to my preference. I think I would feel hemmed in, and I'd miss chance to sit or lie in the garden, to dine al fresco.

  

 

       
At the end of the road lies the magnificent Carnegie Library. Closed on Sundays, of course.Grade II listed, it was opened in 1906 after Lambeth received a grant from Andrew Carnegie. I'm not sure if he had any connection with the area; he was born in Dunfermline and emigrated to Pennsylvania at the age of 12. He made a fortune from steel, and spent his later years as a philanthropists, donating to public libraries. Perhaps motivated by a childhood in extreme poverty.

Also an interesting view from the road opposite

Unfortunately, that ugly St George Wharf Tower, like The Shard is set to dominate too many cityscape photos in South London. Talking of which...

We wandered into Ruskin Park, which for me was hitherto mythical. Not only have I never been there, I don't think I've even been past it. And, I have to say, it probably isn't the most exciting park in Lambeth's portfolio. But pleasant enough. Or would have been if the weather hadn't deteriorated sharply. I was sensibly clothed in layers, but Jimmy had been over-confident about the temperature, and was beginning to feel cold. Still, it was good to see another park that's had money spent recently to do it up.

View over London

 

Another church, St Saviour's lies just outside the park. There's a lot of St Saviour's around these parts, and further afield, but is not listed by the Catholic Church. According to Wikipedia, Saint Saviour may refer to: 

Sanctus Salvator, a Latin dedication of churches or places to Jesus, translated in English as "Saint Saviour" or, more accurately, "Holy Saviour"

so, it seems to be somewhat of a historical 'head desk'! I assume this is actually the church hall (listed).

 

 

 

As we walked parallel with Finsen Road, I had one of those lucky moments. Despite the looming dark clouds the light was surprisingly bright, combining to set off the fresh colours of the housing terrace

 

 

 

 

 

 

We strolled around Ruskin Park, which was largely empty, except for the children's playground. I don't photo children's playgrounds unless unoccupied, for obvious reasons.

 
 

 

 

 

We retired to the Cambria for a drink. I can see that they're trying to make it a very nice place, but I'm not sure I'd return, even if I happened to be in the area, which, hospital visits aside, is unlikely.

On the way to the bus stop I saw a couple of random sights worth snapping. Or so I think, anyway!

 

I think they've rather ruined the stucco by painting it. But each to their own, I suppose.

Unfortunately, we made a right mess of getting home. There's a bus that would have taken us almost to our door (45), but the bus countdown app said it wasn't sue for half an hour. So we thought we'd beat the system and get a bus via Brixton (35) to intersect with a bus coming from Clapham (137 or 417). We waited more than 15 minutes for the 35, and then had another 12 minutes waiting for the second bus. And the weather was getting colder and colder.

Still, I'm glad we finished off the walk.

Lambeth's guide is found as a PDF here and more about Walking in Lambeth here. 

Upstairs, Acre Lane

If it wasn't for the hyperlocal social media internet, I would never have known that Upstairs exists. It has been there about five years, and is not very far from home. An interesting restaurant, quite different from anywhere I've been to before.

It's not easy to find, the entrance being a door on a side road with a very small sign visible only when you are actually at the door. Buzz the entry-phone and climb several flights of stairs to the bar. We made a mistake in not going to the bar; I think you're supposed to sip cocktails and peruse the menu until called to the dining room. Part of an attempt to create a more intimate setting than one usually finds in a restaurant.

The dining room is several floors up, and a window seat gives a good view of Acre Lane, and, until the sun sets, the far vista of London. Cocktails and an amuse bouche were followed by our selection from a small menu - which changes every two weeks. I'm becoming more a fan of the tiny menu. Even though my non-eating of meat limits me, I feel more satisfied making a choice from just one fish and one veggie dish than worrying whether I've made the 'right' choice out of several, or wishing I could have this piece of fish with that accompaniment. Also, a smaller menu gives a higher guarantee of the food being cooked fresh, rather than taken from vast reserves in a freezer and pinged in the microwave.

I started with a Warm Jerusalem Artichoke Salad. I doubt I would have chosen this from a vast array of starters, simply because I'm unfamiliar with Jerusalem Artichoke, warm or otherwise.

It turned out nothing to be frightened of! The waiter explained the various ingredients, but this was some time ago, I didn't take notes, and I had a fair amount to drink - hence my current frustration. But note the dainty arrangement of ceps, and an emulsion, which, IIRC, was made from a root vegetable. The Jerusalem artichoke dominated, but the dish tasted as a coherent whole, not a main ingredient indifferently supported by others. Jimmy had Confit Pork Belly & Kumquats and expressed his satisfaction.

  For my main course I went for Lemon sole, Alexanders, and Jersey Royals, a daringly early exposition of Jersey Royals, which has clearly become a 'must-eat' of this season. Is this despite or because of their drought-caused rarity value. Nice to see something so traditional and seemingly humdrum as a potato acquiring almost celebrity status. 

I was not previously familiar with Alexanders, which is, apparently, also known as 'Horse Parsley' and has a flavour between parsley and celery. "It is common among the sites of medieval monastery gardens".  I was not overly thrilled at the prospect of a lump of fish, some boiled potatoes and an indeterminate greed veg, so was relieved and pleased when presented with a thoughtful dish. Again, the flavours all complemented each other. Most importantly, each element was cooked perfectly, allowing the flavours to linger tantalising in my mouth. Jimmy had Blackleg chicken & walnut gnocchi, with a veritable cabaret of additional adorning ingredients, each patiently explained by the engaging waiter.

We were undecided about pudding, changing our minds several time. Against my better judgement, I was talked into having the Blood orange & gingerbread, which turned out to be a delicious combination of all sorts of seemingly random ingredients. They included gingerbread (obviously), fresh and frosted blood orange, quenelles of mousse and sorbet in subtle flavours. There is another ingredient, visible at the front on the far left, that added some extra crunch; again, I can't remember what it was. The surprise ingredient was beetroot jelly. Slightly anxious, not being a big beetroot fan, but this Really Worked. A gently sweet taste and a smooth jelly substance, it didn't really taste like my bad experiences of beetroot. Perhaps close to a blackcurrant jelly but without any tartness. And, of course, adding an extra dimension of colour.

Jimmy went for Mint mousse, chocolate spaetzle & raspberries. Overall, he enjoyed it, including the additional unlisted ingredients, but the spaetzle just didn't work for him. The internet suggests that 'spaetzle' are German dumplings, typically an element of savoury dishes working similarly to pasta. Chocolate versions seem to be one US cook's idea, and, according to Jimmy, not that good an idea. But of all the ingredients in six dishes, this was the only one that didn't work.

We came away with mixed feelings. Very good service and an intimate atmosphere. Good attention to detail. I really liked everything I ate, and found the presentation fun and appetising. Jimmy enjoyed just about everything, appreciating the fresh ingredients and the attention to detail in the cooking. But, I think, ultimately he was disappointed. The dishes were too delicate, too 'poncey', and too much about presenting a variety of different ingredients. He didn't  feel as full as he felt he should have done after three courses. But he's a bit capricious. He referenced another restaurant previously visited as being 'hearty and wholesome' yet just a few days ago he stated he wouldn't go back there 'because it's nothing special'.

We also enjoyed the cocktails, which were different from the usual run-of-the-mill predictable names. He had several of an Irish whiskey based one, with 'Celtic' in the name, and I had a couple of gin-based London ones, which I would definitely have again.

We will definitely return to Upstairs. With an ever-changing menu, I'd happily go every month, if not more frequently, and I'm sure Jimmy will entertain another visit some time this year. Not least because it's so close!

Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 2

For the first part of this route, please see Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 1

After we had strolled around Windrush Square and its immediate surroundings, we turned into Coldharbour Lane 'once a winding country lane connecting Brixton to Camberwell' and followed the directions through the area dominated by the market. If I was a serious photographer, or fancied myself as one, I would take lots of photos of the market, the vibrant product and the 'interesting' characters, stallholders and shoppers. That's where I have a problem. If you are very self-absorbed I suppose it's easy to see people merely as objects to be photographed. I also feel uncomfortable being white and middle class and, somehow treating people who aren't as a curiosity. Either in far flung places or in my own town.

The first interesting sight to be photographed was the Six Sided Clock on the Railway Hotel. Several times subsequently, I have approached this corner from a different direction, and there is a much better view. But either I don't have a camera, or the weather is wet, or it's dry and I have a camera, but I'm also encumbered by shopping.

After I had started drafting this post, the Urban75 blogger posted some much better photos Brixton landmarks: the Brady’s clock tower, Atlantic Road. Brixton, London SW9 and links to further posts providing a bit of history.

...there's railways all around, with three separate lines passing within metres of the pub and this was reflected in the design of the clocktower: its six-sided design ensuring that it could be read from trains passing in all directions

Still, I accidentally managed to capture a couple of people on this photo, which seem, at least with this obscured view, to represent two of the many types of Brixtonians!

The route is supposed to go through Brixton Village, but we decided to by-pass it rather than spend/waste time, and I've recently blogged about an aspect of it.

The walk took us along Railton Road. I think this was taken along Kellett road, a distant view of St Matthew's shimmering in the haze.

This roadsign, and the housing development it describes, I suppose was a well-intended attempt by the council to remind shivering newly-arrived immigrants of sunshine, sand and palm trees. Unless it was meant to be homage to a British Leyland car

For some reason, we were then directed along Barnwell Road, which isn't exactly the most interesting road in Brixton, despite the council's attempt to convince us of the architectural interest of an incongruous bit of infill and the different styles of arches over the front doors of the cottages.

 

The most interesting garden was sadly obscured by a car parked outside

And so we came to Brixton Water Lane, which follows the line of the now buried River Effra.

A delightful Georgian villa, although I'm not entirely sure about the colour, which is better suited, in my opinion, to artisan cottages

Talking of which...

These were built around 1820 to house the staff of Brockwell Hall. 

This is called 'Surrey Lodge'. The internet throws up a historical reference to a Surrey Lodge, Brixton Hill, but I doubt this is it. I suspect it's a modern-day pretension, not necessarily by the current occupiers.

The walk then took us into Brockwell Park, a place we know reasonably well, having visited it numerous times. Nevertheless, it was a rare thing to enter from this particular entrance and take a walk along the Eastern side. 

This is the view of the rather ugly looking flats on Dulwich Road. I imagine though, that they're not necessarily a bad place to live, given that the higher floors will have a particularly pleasant view.

This is St Jude's church,

A very large church (originally 1000 seats). Last used for worship in 1975, it was declared redundant in 1979 and sold freehold in 1980 for £38,000 as a furniture warehouse (Budget Furniture plc) which was still in business as of 2005. An alternative sale to a wine merchant was rejected as an unsuitable use. By 2008 it was the home of Mark Allen Group (publishers). There were no burials in the churchyard, nor memorials of note in the church. The Willis organ was allegedly sold to a school.

The parish is united with St Matthew's in Brixton. It does seem to be further evidence of over-provision of unwanted churches in 19th century England. Unwanted now, probably not wanted then, but preserved in aspic for all eternity. I feel a future blogpost coming on, questioning the wisdom/public utility of the heritage-of-unimportant-churches industry!

The leaflet describing the walk suggests walking past Brockwell Lido, but we thought we would pop in for a coffee, as one does!

 

A coffee that 'magically' became the best mushroom burger I have tasted, lashings of umami.

While we were there, the actual pool was being pained in readiness of its re-opening (on 20 April). I worried that these chaps would end up surrounding themselves with wet paint and become trapped. The didn't.

As you can tell from the photos, it was a gloriously sunny and warm March day, but as school home-time approached, the warmth of the day was gone, and we decided to walk home across the park, leaving the final leg to Ruskin Park for another day, and another blogpost.

 

 The Shard, and other ghostly towers of London

Newly re-landscaped duckpond

The new children's playground

I laughed - cruelly - at the thought of a small child sliding down the slide, and down the hill, into the flower bed. Oops!

Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 1

London is full of interesting walks; you can make your own way, or you can rely on the research of others. If you  make your own way, you can discover some gems, if you follow a guide, you will find out more about the history that lies behind the sights.

Lambeth Council has several walks on its website. They use the term 'Lambeth Walks' somewhat hesitantly, with a knowing air that they'll be damned if they do and damned if they don't. In any case, one shouldn't confuse Lambeth Walk, in the old area of Lambeth, roughly Waterloo and Kennington, with the London Borough established in 1965, expanding from the 1900 Metropolitan Borough, which even then included Brixton, West Norwood etc

I have been to many places in England and beyond and taken a great many photographs - close to 20,000 - and very few of the place where I live, Brixton. so, one amazingly sunny and warm day in mid-March, technically still in winter, we set out on our epic journey.

We got off the bus outside the Town Hall and crossed over to inspect the Tate Library. What we mainly noticed was the shocking waste of having ground-lights on full beam in glorious sunshine. Frustrating when you know that Lambeth, like all authorities, is having to cut back vital services.

The walk starts at Tate Library, named after Henry Tate, who philanthropically donated towards the founding of this of and several other libraries, and an Art Gallery. The Lambeth leaflet describes him as Tate of Tate & Lyle, who invented the Sugar Cube. But Wikipedia says Henry Tate & sons only merged with Abram Lyle & Sons two decades after his death, and he only bought the patent for sugar cubes from a German concern. 

He lived in Park Hill, in the more rural part of Streatham. His house was a Convent until the late 90s, and is now a Gated Residential Community, providing some enviable Property Porn on Google Images.

 

I have heard accusations that he made his fortune from Slavery, which Tate & Lyle deny, somewhat disingenuously. I think it's probably fair to say that the business prospered on the back of ex-slaves and their descendants labouring for low pay and in questionable conditions. But the same could be said for much of Britain's Industrial Heritage. In his defence was his philanthropy; on the other hand, he made a major donation to the fraudulent quackery known as Homeopathy, which I had no idea dated back to 1796. His bust stands outside the library.

 

A major recent change to Brixton town centre was the landscaping of Windrush Square, which was formally opened in 2010. Previously, much of it had been Brixton Oval and Tate Gardens. An otherwise vacant piece of once derelict land was renamed Windrush Square in 1998, because its cleaning-up happened to coincide with the 50th anniversary of the arrival of the MV Empire Windrush. This brought the first large group of West Indian Immigrants to the UK. They were initially housed in the deep shelter at Clapham South, and some went to Brixton's Labour Exchange; this is why Brixton became the capital of Black Britain.

We walked into the gardens of St Matthew's Church. A large church with a capacity of 2,000 people

It was one of four new Lambeth parish churches commissioned under the Church Building Act of 1818, in which Parliament granted one million pounds for the building of new churches...to ensure that the masses were kept well instructed by the church and attention diverted from revolutionary ideas filtering over from France

The architect was called Porden; he is remembered in a pokey little road that goes round the back of the Town Hall and acts as a handy shortcut to Tescos.

I have read that many of the churches in Brixton, and, I daresay, elsewhere, were built by local industrialists and property developers. Their purpose wasn't particularly to meet the needs and wished of the local population but as an ostentatious sign that they were full of Christian virtue and not seeking to make a vast profit, oh no. I don't know whether this includes St Matthew's, given the history quoted above. In any case, it is under-utilised and various parts have long been used for more worldly pursuits, the rent for restaurants and nightclubs funding upkeep of the building. I miss the wonderful Bah Humbug restaurant which in the late 90s was probably my favourite; two nightclubs have recently defaulted. The rents seem prohibitively high, but are presumably what is needed to maintain the building. I wonder how much public and private money is going to keep old churches preserved in aspic for fear of destroying our 'Heritage'. 

For a long time, the so-called Peace Garden was dominated by drinkers, druggies and other down-and-outs. It seemed almost bereft when we wandered through. It's nice to have an open space so close to a town centre; it's not something you often see in towns, whether they're part of big cities or stand-alone in rural surrounds. My eye was caught by an appealing park-bench, and the strong shadow it cast. 

 

At the northern end of the park stands what I firmly believe to be the worst statue in London, the Richard Budd Memorial Mausoleum. It also commemorates his son Henry and his wife Charlotte. They lived in Russell Square.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We looked to the left to capture Lambeth Town Hall, venue of perhaps far too many evenings of my life. Four figures represent  Justice, Science, Art, and Literature. Your guess will be as good as mine as to which we can see in this photo.

We then walked to the right, past the Ritzy Cinema, where, nowadays, the Trendies & Yummies congregate for coffee. I suppose if you're walking through the market, this is probably as safe a place as any to park your bike. I don't suppose many are taken from here.

We carried on into Coldharbour Lane, but that will form another blogpost on another day.

Brixton Village Market & Casa Sibilla

Brixton Village is nothing short of a phenomenon. Housed in the market hall previously known as Granville Arcade, and with some overflow in spirit if not in strict technical fact into Market Row. For years, the home of stalls you'd expect to find in any market. A useful if now somewhat dated article from the Evening Standard How Brixton's arcade got a new lease of life explains the background.

For a long time, there was very much a feeling that there's hardly anywhere worth eating in Brixton. I feel the renaissance of the market has had a knock-on effect more widely. I also feel that Twitter, Facebook, and sites such as Qype also help. I know you're supposed to find restaurants by word of mouth, but I've had too many people tell me somewhere's 'amazing', but their tastes extend no further than freezer-to-microwave-to-plate.

One Saturday in February, we made our way to the village. We had already decided on where we wanted to eat, although we also knew that if it were full, there were other options. We had been to Casa Sibilla before, and were pleased that a table for two, inside, came available just as we arrived. It is possible to sit 'outside' - actually under cover of the market, and most of the restaurants provide blankets, but at that time of year, inside is better.

 

I am amazed at how Casa Sibilla and other restaurants (I was similarly struck at Etta's Seafood Kitchen) do it - create a range of gorgeous food in kitchens that are smaller than mine at home. As far as I can see, there was only one person cooking and two serving, hence my biggest 'criticism', we did have to wait a while. I don't mind waiting for a main, but I did start to feel slightly impatient when I felt I'd been waiting an age for our bread selection, wine and tap water. I wouldn't wish to labour the point, though. The bread selection was a nice selection of sourdough, grissini and plain but delicious rustic white.

I opted for the spinach & ricotta tortellini, whilst Jimmy went for roast chicken with veg and roast potatoes. He was perfectly satisfied with his, and he's a hard man to please when it comes to roast potatoes!

I would have thought that there's very little one can say about spinach & ricotta tortellini. A staple of supermarket ready meal shelves, it is what it is. But this a tortellini which highlighted how poor the supermarkets are. Smooth and delicate pasta, filled with a subtle combination of flavours which remained in the mouth to savour after the substance had been swallowed. Simple traditional food, prepared and cooked to perfection. But photographed out of focus...!

Although the pudding selection was tempting, we decided to move on, and savour Laboratorio Artigianale del Buon Gelato, or Lab G, which is what it says it is. I loved my white chocolate and salt caramel combination; Jimmy, a connoisseur of good ice cream, highly rated his chocolate and pistachio scoops. 

Another highlight of the market is Dagon's fish stall, which supplies many of the restaurants not just in the market but in the wider area. They've been there 25 years, so are not part of the new hip Brixton Village sensation. We bought some very nice monkfish, which I had for my Sunday dinner while Jimmy and our guests had roast beef.

 

 

Brixton Village is a remarkable place, even if there are compromises - Metro

 

 

The Lido Cafe & Brockwell Park

One mild if cloudy Autumn day we decided to take a walk across Brockwell Park.

I sometimes describe Brockwell Park as my local park, but it really isn't. Both Tooting Common and Agnes Riley Gardens are nearer, as is Rush Common, which I have to cross to get to Brockwell Park. Streatham Common and Clapham Common can be reached directly by bus. Brockwell Park requires two buses, or, of course, can be reached on foot via some rather boring and steeply undulating residential roads. So, over the years I've tended to ignore its existence too much.

Considering it is a formally laid out and maintained park, Brockwell is full of surprises. Wide open spaces, some of the best views in London. Managed wilderness and areas devoted to specific activities. 

It is currently undergoing a programme of refurbishment, a process that is bitter-sweet to watch, knowing that the money being spent is probably among the last vestiges of the previous Labour government. I wonder how long it will take for our public parks to regress to the derelict, threatening no-go danger areas I remember from my teens and young adulthood.

The ponds are being dredged, re-lined and re-planted. I believe work is being done on drainage. A refurbished adventure playground is due to open in Spring 2012. And, over winter, the secret walled garden has been closed. The model railway isn't running, certainly not on weekdays. The tennis courts are empty, the BMX track barely used. Presumably there is relatively little to do in the Community Greenhouses

A new play area, using water and sand, has been developed, although the water is off during the winter months. We realised after we had walked round that, strictly speaking, as adults unaccompanied by children, we shouldn't have even been in there. Hopefully, as there was only one mother and child there, and we kept our distance, our mistake can be overlooked.

Each time we visit Brockwell Park, we try to take a different route. I often lose my bearings, never quite grasping its vastness and the different communities that abut it. And being high up, and vast, one can see for miles.

Previously, we always used to go into the café in Brockwell Hall, but were becoming increasingly dissatisfied. Basically, we found their coffee undrinkable, which makes one reluctant to try anything else.

It was purely by chance we heard about the Lido Café. We had both been to previous incarnations, but once you absorb the message that it's closed, you just forget it ever existed. But we decided to try it. "I'll have a coffee and some carrot cake," I decided, looking at the tempting display of cakes on the counter. One of the staff suggested we sit down, she'd bring us our coffee, and why don't we look at the menu. One French onion soup later, I was able to exclaim 'No wonder people rate this place so highly!'. I didn't take my proper camera out of my bag but was very pleased at how this phone picture turned out

Fast forward to February. Jimmy was due to have a minor hospital procedure on a Monday, and I decided to take the Tuesday off work just in case he needed looking after. It turned out he didn't even have a general anaesthetic, so he was more or less fine the next day. The next day was Valentine's Day, and neither of us wanted to go out for a Valentine's dinner. Nothing says 'Unromantic' quite like being spontaneous to order from the multinational conglomerates, or even spending an evening among the slight desperation of couples who think a Valentine's Special dinner is the only way to show they care. Yes, I know most decent restaurants do a Valentine's special, unfortunate for the numerous friends and acquaintances who celebrate a birthday that day or work away from home. It's business...

So, instead we booked ourselves a lunch at the Lido Café. We chose to walk there, along the uninteresting and hilly residential streets,

We took a different route around the park, and saw different sights.

The upper most duck pond being refurbished

Pond still frozen

The remnants of the previous week's snowmen: although it wasn't warm on our walk, the snow and the bitter cold of early February seemed distant memories

 

A random snapshot of the trees on the pathway next to Brockwell Park Gardens (a residential road)

Odd traffic signals at Norwood Road

 Mocking the stone-cladding

 I like this view but was too impatient to wait until a train passed. Stupid of me, because the grace and elegance of a train skimming across the sklyline is a sight to behold

 And finally into the Lido Café to fulfill our lunchtime reservation

 Mackerel bap with tartare sauce, crushed peas, and triple cooked chips; & Luscombe organic (medium dry) Devon cider. A simple cheerful meal, tasty and cooked to perfection, with some nice little presentational tricks. Incidentally, the novelty tomato, so often a disguise for cheap and nasty ketchup thankfully contained good quality stuff, Heinz or equivalent.

 And pudding was ginger chocolate pot with orange sorbet. Again, a simple dish most of us could probably make at home, if we could bothered, and presented in an attractive way that complements the tastes.

 Arguably, it's a misnomer to describe the Lido as a café. It's in a different league, and a different priceband, than the other café in Brockwell Park, and in some other neighbouring parks. But you can go for a coffee or soft drink, as well as a three course meal with choice wines and beers. I've never been when the pool's been open, and I've not been in the evening to this incarnation. I guess I'll just have to go back (and have been since I started writing this blogpost!)

These and other photos are in my Brockwell Park album

Brazas, Tulse Hill

I'd read positively of Brazas, and decided that it was worth trying. It's sort of quite close to where I live, but I just never go up Tulse Hill, never have any reason to. Once  upon a time, it used to be the Two Woodcocks, which I've never been in. I like the way that the interior is recognisable as having been a pub, and yet modernised. Accusations of gentrification, of course, because this is Brixton, and Brixtonians are never happier than moaning about Gentrification, which results from Yuppie Flats.

It's a good, local restaurant, and one we intend to go to again, and fairly soon. It was probably not wise going here just a week after going to Trinity. They're aiming at different markets. We went to Trinity for my birthday; we went to Brazas for a pleasant Saturday night out. We paid three times as much at Trinity.

One thing that attracted me on the website was a clear distinction between meat, fish and veggie dishes. It's like they take veggie seriously, not just tack something on grudgingly because they feel they have to. They also had a Specials board, offering a 2 mains for £15 deal

I started with Wild Mushroom Strogonoff in puff pastry sheets; Jimmy had Chargrilled Chorizo w black honey syrup & toasted bread. I'm sorry I didn't photograph that, because it was very eye-catching, even to me, although I wouldn't have eaten it! And their website Gallery is not good. They'd be better off without one - it makes it look like a cold unwelcoming place, which it isn't, and there are no photos of the food.

There was no sophistication in how the stroganoff was presented, but it was very tasty. The puff pastry sheets were noteworthy - a nice crumbly texture - and the Stroganoff was comforting. The right consistency, creamy but not greasy.

 

For mains, I had Chargrilled Whole Filleted Mackerel, crushed potato & fennel w gremolata. I Googled gremolata on my phone, having never previously encountered it. The presentation was rustic, unfussy, good home cooking. The photos don't really do it justice, partly because I didn't use the flash, and partly because their presentation doesn't do the food's flavour, preparation and cooking any favours. It's a moot point, I guess, because too much focus on plating turns it into poncey food, which is less comforting. Jimmy had the chargrilled piri piri chcicken and new potatoes, which he really liked, although he could have done without the sad salad - undressed green bits and only four halves of cherry tomato worth rescuing.

I finished with Blueberry, Raspberry and Amaretto Cake w vanilla ice cream, which again didn't really look all that, but tasted  delicious as it melted softly on my tongue. I also had some booze, so I tweeted 

Like the Flying Dutchman is doomed to sail the oceans forever, I feel my future lies in roaming round Brixton eating almond cake

 

I guess at the time I thought it was poetic!

So, to conclude, a good quality local restaurant that I couldn't really fault. Friendly staff, relaxing atmosphere, well-made lovely tasting food. Good value for money.