An Ode to Something British: The Sunday Roast

The Sunday Roast is a deliciously unique British culinary experience. For those of you who have known it your whole lives, you must know and feel a close and intimate bond with the dish itself. I know I've experienced the same feeling with my Dad's monthly langoustine platter. It's a special relationship. But for those of you who are becoming familiarised with the dish, it's a matter of time, you'll see. For me, the Sunday roast represents my experimentation with British food, but more importantly, my eagerness to embrace all things British - including, but not limited to, pubs, two-tiered busses, jacket potatoes, Marmite on toast, fish n' chips, tea and scones, James Bond, Wimbledon, the Queen, bowler hats, Wayne Rooney and last but not least, Yorkshire Pudding. To this day, I still ignore the properties, which make Yorkshire Pudding taste so fluffy and fantastic. But I will continue to test its value, on Sundays, as I continue my quest for London's zesty roasts.

Last Sunday was the first of my many zesty escapades down Sunday Roast lane. Camera in hand and a massive appetite to satiate, I walked into The Albion in Islington. The Albion has been a London Sunday Roast staple for many years and continues to thrive on the one divine British special and simple recipe for success- beer gardens and Sunday Roasts. What's not to like? This was my second visit to the Albion so I was therefore inclined to book a table a week in advance to get the time slot of my choice in the room of my choice. The pub's dining room is a relaxing place to lazy around with your mates in the cold but cozy winter days, while the beer garden is gorgeously green in the spring and summer days.

I ordered the Roast, without even taking a glimpse at the menu. I was not deceived and I was not mistaken. My memory had not failed me, this roast was by far the best one I'd tasted since my early days as a Londoner. I scarfed all of it down, scraped the plate to its very last crumb, to the point where my jeans cut into my belly like a sword. I looked around mischievously to check whether I was the only one with nothing left on her plate. Indeed I was- others were still chewing on crunchy potatoes dipped in gravy and cutting into smooth and red-tastic slices of beef. I was envious. I wish I had lingered a little bit more on my plate, tasted the flavours a little better, let the buttery potatoes and horseradish sauce melt on my tongue a little longer. But hey ho, all the more reason to try this again. 

In hindsight, I can't stop thinking what a gorgeous meal that was. And I'm ready for a redo. Anytime, anywhere, you name it, zesties.

The Albion

10 Thornhill Road

N1 1HW

0207 607 7450

Yummy Mummy Heaven

I'm young. Okay, I'm not that young, but I often daydream about what my life could be like as an adult. I have this vision of life in London a few years from now- lovely rich husband and kids in tow and gorgeous Victorian house in Holland Park, no professional obligation. Country house, beach house, fancy car, walk-in closet, nannies, live-in help, first-class travel, dinner parties. The list goes on. But it's only a fantasy - an artificial dream. Is there a job in my dream? Nope. Are there problems, financial, professional and personal, in my dream? Not likely. I am a Stepford wife in my dream; and then I wake up, and I hate that dream - this isn't what I want! 

Certain areas of London sometimes feel like that dream. Not only are the women gorgeous but they just look so relaxed, fulfilled and perky! They go on daily walks around the neighborhood, stop for tea, or - a low-fat, no-foam, extra-hot cappuccino (just so), shop at the Matches around the corner, attend 3pm Pilates classes, and send their nannies to fetch the children at school. Yummy mummies have the best life! But do I really want this?

Yesterday, I took a leisurely stroll down to Holland Park and the dream state kicked in. Holland Park is the hood I sometimes refer to as Stepford Central. What a beautiful area, though. Norland Square has it all, the restaurants, the shops, the spas, the gorgeous people, the best of the best, the cream of the crop, the epitome of English elegance. Wait a minute, I like where this dream is going.

Julie's is one of the highly popular spots for the yummies of Holland Park. It's a lovely place to stop for a nice salad. No, but seriously, in reality, you can cozy up and sink into the delicious velvety sofas and enjoy the wintery feel of the dark-wooded walls in the winter and bask in the sunshine on their outdoor terrace in the summer. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this dream sounds amazing!

The dream doesn't end there. After lunch, comes the shopping! Virginia is one of those gorgeous secret gems only a handful of Londoners know about- and those who know about it covet it like a super exclusive members club. This treasure trove is filled with one-of-a-kind vintage designer dresses, shoes and other mysterious accessories from now back to the 1930s. The prices match the intimidation factor of the shop window and you can be sure to find many elegant fashion-forward yummies, and sometimes even celebs such as Kate, Sienna and Naomi, chatting up the very rude but brilliant shop owner, Virginia herself. I think I like this dream?

After the shopping, comes the spa.  If the dream hasn't been tough enough, what with the many coffee breaks and shopping excursions, there is no better way than to really work it hard in Holland Park's luxurious Cowshed spa. Enjoy a freshly squeezed juice or detox green tea to completely indulge yourself after your massage. Invite the ladies, the nannies, but not the kiddies. After consideration, these places sound great. But I like my reality better than my dream. What about you, zesties? Any fantasies of the yummy mummy lifestyle?

Julie's Restaurant & Bar
135 Portland Road
W11 4LW

Virginia Vintage & Second Hand
98 Portland Road
W11 4LQ


Cowshed Spa
119 Portland Road
W11 4LN

Hot Wheels in The City

I've been on a motorcycle once, maybe twice in my life. I was the passenger, of course, clinging the the coat of the driver and closing my mouth, for fear of losing my tongue in the hard whipping wind. I clung to him for dear life and shut my eyes tight. We were driving from one village in France to another, which took us approximately 7 minutes by bike, instead of taking us around 16 minutes by car. We took the scenic route, he told me. I saw none of it. At the end of our journey, I hopped off, well more like, let myself be carried off, and promised myself never to experience this again. 

So when my friend informed me yesterday that Addison Lee's cab services offered a taxibike service, which he had tried last week, I shrieked at the idea of it. "But is it safe?" I asked. "Extremely, they are chauffeured by these expert motorcyclists or something." he answered. "Do they go fast?" "They are twice as fast, and it's awesome, they'll take you anywhere you want for half the time." I couldn't believe my ears. I rely on Addison Lee almost once a week, when too lazy to grab the 390 bus back to Notting Hill from Central London. But this is different. Would I ever consider putting my life in someone else's hands again? Would you, zesties? I'm thinking long and hard about this, still this morning as I write this post. The last time I rode on a motorcycle, I was brought into the harbour safe and sound.  What could happen to me now, with one of London's most reliable taxicab and courier services? I mean, yes, motorcycles are dangerous, and they do kill thousands of drivers each year in this country. It's terrifying how you can feel so powerful and yet so vulnerable on these vehicles. But oh, how exhilarating!

Addison Lee Taxibike Services

www.addisonlee.com/services/taxybikes/

020 7255 4269

LondonZest & the Chocolate Factory

Not being a total chocolate addict like other people women I know, I've never really understood what the fuss is all about. I've always had more of a savoury tooth myself, so it goes without saying that I kind of remained stoic when my friend yanked me by the hand to go check out the Brit-born chocolate shop, Rococo, on King's Road. It's funny. I guess when some of us need that daily choc fix, I get mine from a bag of Kettle S&V crisps. I'm not one to order the chocolate cake for dessert. I'm never one to binge on an entire chocolate bar at the 3pm mark at the office. I enjoy a Ferrero Rocher once in a while but it doesn't send me to the moon. But these are different, she said. Cross my heart, she promised me, once you go Rococo, you never go back. She stared at me, wide-eyed and concerned, as if I were a leper, or missing out on one of life's most heavenly gifts. Perhaps I was.

I walked into the shop with low expectations and no appetite at all, after scarfing down a copious brunch at the diner next door, and walking around all morning in 30 degree heat emanating from the city pavement. But all I had to do was open my eyes to the edible jewels around me, clear my nostrils and breathe in the lovely scent of rich cocoa, surrounding me left, right, and center and I was won over. Chocolates of all kinds found their way into my shopping basket, through no fault of my own; my friend is still in the doghouse for converting me to chocolateism; praline, hazelnut and gianduja; white, milk and dark; rich, light and crunchy, they just kept on creeping up on me.

And then it hit me. Wait a minute, could it be? I like chocolate!? And not any kind of chocolate. Not only is the packaging most delightful and authentic, but the quality is something to write home about. I even purchased an armful of bags of Unsweetened Scorched Almonds as gifts for future hosts, just because they are by far the most scrumpscious drops of low calorie heaven I have ever tasted and I think everyone I know should experience the same kind of joy I felt when biting into one of these. So now, you can have have your chocolate, and eat it too, and not have to worry about those hips. It's a win, win, win!

Rococo Chocolates

Chelsea: 321 Kings Road, SW3 5EP

Belgravia: 5 Motcomb Street, SW1X 8JU

Marylebone:45 Marylebone High Street, W1U 5HG

No Beauty School Dropouts

Jumping back in time on the page has been the general trend this week so I thought it only natural to reminisce on another girly trend, but this time, on the 1950s: glamourette-style beauty parlours.That's right, Pink Ladies, it's time to puff up your lips, paint your nails and powder your noses. I've had enough already. Enough saving-up and enough self-pampering. I'm tired of counting every pence in my coin purse and I'm tired of using my home as a beauty salon. While I am one to generally lean towards the "do it yourself" treatments at home, you know, for the conscience, I also like to think of myself as a working woman, sometimes, albeit very rarely, who needs some QT with luxury and superficiality.

So this is my new haven of girliness, The Powder Room, by the one and only Powder Puff Girls, who successfully opened shop last year on Columbia Road and who have decided to lend us ladies a good hand by opening a Pop Up location on Marshall Street, in the delightful Newburgh Quarter by Carnaby Street. The little boutique is always buzzying with cheeky girliness, as you listen to side conversations of surprise engagements and wedding proposals at the counter next to yours. The staff is delightfully 1950s, with bleached-blonde chignons and long false lashes. Not to mention adorably dressed in pastel pink uniforms. You'd think you were transported back to Frenchie's Beauty School in Grease, and Frenchie is your stylist though she's no dropout.

So go ahead, indulge. Whether you need a quick fix like the "Busy Bee " manicure, the "Speedy Hairdo" or the "Jiffy makeup" for £15, or a more luxurious experience like the "Late for a Date" expert package for £30, you'll be sure to get exactly what you want. And if you're around on the weekend, you can get yourself the royal treatment by snacking on biscuits and sipping on tea while getting your makeup done. Walk in or book an appointment for yourself or a group of girlfriends. I guarantee you, it's well worth it, and well deserved.

Powder Room

Pop Up Parlour
34 Marshall Street
W1F 7EU

Powder Room
Full-Time Parlour
136 Columbia Road
E2 7RG

A Swell Spectacle

With the Mad Men's season 4 premiere just around the corner, it's only natural to start daydreaming about the beautiful 1960s fashion: powder-blue pouffy skirts, frilly blouses, big hair, voluptuous red lips, kitten heels, lace garder belts and secretary glasses. Most of all, secretary glasses. How great that a pair of large reading spectacles can make any regular gal look like a sex kitten. I sort of envy women who can accessorize their face daily with more than a dab of makeup. It always seemed to me like it gave them an extra splash of power and confidence. 

So forget about the secretary thing. My very good friend C. has recently been gifted with these perfect pair of spectacles. Now is it me or does she look like she means business? Meow. Jokes aside, she's alot of fun. As a matter of fact, she's a total hoot. And guess what? She's no secretary, she's an ad lady too. And an important one at that. If I could allow myself one more observation, I'd say it's because of her glasses.

My very special model is sporting the swell and unique Knightsbridge-based Cutler & Gross eyewear, only suitable for over the top fun gals. If you are an over the top fun lady yourself, you could be the perfect candidate for these super stylish twins. They come in all shapes, colours and sizes, but more importantly whether you're interested in reading lenses or sunglasses, C & G epitomise glam and sophistication without screaming "label" or bling like other eyewear brands. They are imaginative and original, fun and playful, vintage and futuristic and always ones to grab attention.  

 

You can find yourselves a pair of reading glasses or sunnies at the very swell Cutler & Gross boutique located in the heart of Knighstbridge. You'll discover that there is a Betty Draper within everyone, even you.

 

Cutler & Gross Ltd

16 Knighstbridge Green

Cutler & Gross Vintage

7 Knighstbridge Green

Snob Food Limited

My unequivocal love for food has made itself quite public through this blog, and I have no shame for it in my heart. I am, and forever will be, a die hard foodie; a closet fat kid if you will. I was once scolded by an English teacher for eating a candy bar in class. It was disturbing my classmates, she said. "It is frowned upon in this school to treat the classroom like a cafeteria." That God awful teacher with a God awful bad ear for foreign languages, and who insisted the sound "the" was pronounced "zhe". Keep in mind, this was the French system, where rules made educators feel more worthy than their students, and most of all - it made them feel powerful. Most of the time, these rules were completely uncalled for or even made up. Since when has eating a candy bar in class disturbed anyone? I don't think so. Ever since I was a little girl, I've tricked my mind into believing that I didn't like sweets - for the sake of keeping my grades up, I guess.  

But now that it's no longer a matter of grades and being liked by your teachers, it's a duty of mine to try to enjoy (and share) my guilty pleasures to their fullest potential. Like this new discovery of mine, the awesomely handsome snob food cafe called Napket. No guilty consciences allowed in here. Licking your upper lip like the first time you stepped into a candy store is recommended. Better yet, it's encouraged. Think of that movie Chocolat. Johnny Depp isn't the only delicious thing worth saving your appetite for. Think of a chocolate torsadé or a double chocolate brioche for breakfast. Think of colourful summer salads, made up of puy lentils, bloody beetroot, fresh parsley and feta cheese for lunch. Think of a bowl of freshly cut tropical fruit for dessert and a frothy chocolatey cappuccino to keep you from falling asleep at your desk. No sin here.

The makers of Napket clearly have a passion for design and beautiful things. What with the oak-wood walls, the library-bar look and the romantic lighting, everything about the decor shouts out elegance and taste. And of course, the yummy dishes are as fancy as they are delicious, and are best enjoyed on Napket's regal chairs, reading the latest Metro gossip under a stylish chandelier - no less.  Who's teaching who a lesson now? Or should I say "whom"...

 

You can find Napket in various locations throughout London:
61 Piccadilly, W1J ODY
5 Vigo Street, W1S 3HD
6 Brook Street, W1S 1BB
34 Royal Exchange, EC3V 3 LP
342 Kings Road, SW3 5UR