Way Down to Chinatown

Not since Milk & Honey in New York and the Curio Parlour in Paris have I been able to find a decent place for a yummy, fruity, splashy, fabulous cocktail in London. It's just not that easy to come by. Paris has recently started up on the trend, while New York has been a pioneer of all things spirits and fancy alcoholic recipes for at least a decade now. But look no more, Zesties, the latest and trendiest cocktail bar in all of London has opened its doors in none other than London's Chinatown. The Experimental Cocktail Club London, known by all the Paris loyals as the ECC, is just a month old but is already buzzying with Central London's most fashionable and exquisite people.

One of the main problems with London, I find, is that most pubs and bars inconveniently close between 11 and midnight. And whether we're talking crowds, music or strict door policies, clubs over here- they just don't cut it. Who wants to pay £££ for memberships to places you end up showing up to only fortnightly, and £££ more extra to pay when the tab arrives in your lap, no less. Cocktail bars and lounges aren't really crowding the streets either. Okay so you've got the uber-fancy-old-man-take-a-call-girl-out Connaught Bar in Mayfair- though I can't say it's my weekly go-to option, considering the Euro-Posh customer base and the up-market cocktail prices. In a nutshell, for any wide-eyed and bushy-tailed London expat like myself, that's just not going to cut it.

 

So when I heard about the ECC's arrival in London last month, after reading rave reviews of its original namesake in Paris, I jumped at the opportunity to book a girls' night out. I was not disappointed. Deliciously decadent, creative and innovative cocktails, like the Spicy Old Cuban and the Experience, coupled with  luxurious velvet sofas and gorgeous crowds in a cozy and romantic speak-easy room make for a delightful and unforgettable evening. No membership. No queues at the door. No maxed-out credit cards. Who could ask for more?

The Experimentail Cocktail Club

13A Gerrard Street

W1D 5PS

En Français, Paradis Means Heaven

If you are a devoted fan of Vanessa's as much as I am; if you've collected all of her albums, and hummed Joe le Taxi, Divinidylle and Sunday Mondays all throughout your teens, and if you've watched her appear in gorgeous Chanel ads and stunning campaigns for years on end, then you'll be delighted to know! Honey-voiced French Pop Princess, actress, fashion icon, face of Chanel and envied wife of Johnny Depp,Vanessa Paradis is popping into town for a once in a lifetime performance of her greatest hits EVER at Koko London in Camden!

Rush now to get tickets as they are selling fast! 

Be ready for a bewitching evening on February 2nd at 7pm at:

Koko London

1a Camden High Street
London NW1 7JE
0870 432 5527

A Real Life Fairytale

Last week, I was in the presence of real life magic. It all started when last Tuesday, I met one of Disney's most popular princesses. Cinderella, my favourite one (she was always the most down to earth - literally a floor washer and scrubber), stopped by my office for an exclusive showcase of her jewelry.

No, I am not talking about the real life Disney Princess, God, get a clue. And no, do not worry about me, Zesties, I'm not going insane - though some Christmas holidays would be very much needed right now. Rachel, the closest thing to the collection's namesake and Brazilian muse, Cinderela, is the mastermind designer behind Cinderela B, a beautifully eclectic and utterly whimsical jewelry collection, which is based right here, in the heart of one of London's hippest area, Spittalfields, E1. And she can even visit your office or a girly night in, if you fancy the VIP experience.

Her line ranges from a colourful set of pearls and beads, necklaces and bracelets, pendants and charms, all made from the real thing and marked with a "made with love" stamp; a wide variety of DIY charm necklaces, for which you have an extensive choice of charms, from cutesy stars and boy and girl kissing, to rock n' rollin skulls and angel wings; and finally chains up the wazoo, gold, silver and bronze, dangly and neck-choking. 

It's a miracle Harvey Nichs hasn't whisked her away yet, and an even bigger miracle that I only got myself this adorable rose quartz star-charm bracelet. I wish I had filled up a cart full of goodies before Cinderela flew away in her pumpkin carriage.

If I were you, I'd give it a visit sooner rather than later. The prices are friendly and there is even a sale going on right now. Or, get Prince Charming to go there instead. Christmas is around the corner after all. 

Here are some of the places you can spot Cinderela B:

Sunday-Up Market (every Sunday 10am-5pm)
Just off Hanbury Street, Spitalfields, London, E1 6QL
Lucas Bond, 45 Bedford Hill, Balham, London, SW12 9EY
Tickled Pink, 2 Bellevue Rd, London, SW17 7EO

Westfield of Dreams

The last time I was in a real shopping mall, I was about 12 years old. Walking hand in hand with my American Grandma, in the dead heat of Los Angeles summer, I could think of nothing better than the Thousand Oaks shopping mall to indulge on a Haagen-Dasz ice cream bar, salty popcorn and an air-conditioned movie. Looking back on those fun-filled American old days, I actually remember enjoying these luxurious moments of convenience and practicality. Today, there’s nothing I hate more than an over-crowded, over-heated shopping center. To me, they’ve always come to stand for everything I dislike about American culture, be it sterility or over-consumption. Or so, I thought.

Never in my wildest dreams could I fathom once again setting foot in the prison cell that is the American shopping mall. My London years have led me to erase and forget about the concept of shopping malls all together. It’s just not something I’ve missed or been longing for - at all.

 

I was taken to Westfield Shopping Center last weekend when I met my friend for a movie at the Vue Cinema in Sheperd’s Bush. Walking towards the designated address, I looked up and was immediately startled by the gargantuan size of this unusual building. I nearly turned my heels in refusal to walk ahead. It was almost organic.  But I fought the urge to walk away and I slowly climbed up the steps of the stadium-looking facility, and little by little, entered the chaotic and euphoric - almost magical world of Westfield. My eyes were gorged with micro-tears of fascination and excitement. How could I have missed this modern marvel these past two years without even the simple curiosity to take a peak? I was disappointed with myself and my judgmental attitude.

So I decided to let myself be carried away. The inside of the monster’s chest is even more enchanting than its asymmetrical and origami-shaped outside façade. While the practical aspect of malls has always bothered me, I’ve never witnessed such brilliant engineering inside and outside the walls of a shopping mall. I looked around me; I transport myself next to Ethan Hawke in Gattaca and Tom Cruise in Minority Report. But this is not a movie; this is not the future; this is real; this is now. This is the pure brilliance of modern mankind. And then I remember to keep walking. I am not in Hollywood, I am in Shepherd’s Bush!

I am surrounded left and right, up an down, by Miu Miu, Dior; Prada; Zadig & Voltaire, Whistles, Massimo Dutti and Cos; Habitat, Waitrose, M&S and H&M; all within a few feet of each other. I suddenly love shopping malls! What was I thinking this whole time? It’s suddenly all about convenience and practicality. I go up numerous escalators and flying elevators and am in awe, even more bewildered by the countless choices of lunch spots. From Pho and Wahacca to Tossed and Chipotle, I cannot think of a better place to be than standing in the middle of London’s best fast food joints. 

I've finally come to the realisation that gems don’t have to be small and hidden. Sometimes, gems are right there in front you the whole time, before you even realize that you are standing right before one. 

Westfield Shopping Center

Ariel Way
London W12 7GF
020 3371 2300

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