King prawn curry
It is with extreme astonishment that I am capable of producing any photographic evidence of this week’s nibble, the Lahore Kebab House, apparently one of the best Pakistani curryhouses in London. But here, to the left, is a sneak preview.
I’m surprised simply because, although it’s been a recurring theme that poor ol’ photoboy has to wrestle me and my little nibblers away from the dishes in order to do his job, this time he was up against a veritable pack of starved wolves. He now sports a half-moon of teeth marks on his hand from his attempt to snap a naan bread before it met its untimely end amidst my gnashers. read more…
I will start talking about this place - but first, a little feverish rant...
Actually, it might well be that there swine flu they’ve been talkin’ about.
Whatever it is, it’s confined me to my hotel room in Philadelphia*, where I’m busily swinging between one gazillion degrees and minus freezing, and discovering the ‘joys’ of subsisting entirely on room service. For an up-to-date account of my temperature status, I am in the ‘overheated’ stage. This was the thought process that went through my feverish little brain:
‘Hmm, wonder if in my slightly weakened state I can muster up the strength to attempt to make wifi work, maybe writing a blog entry would keep me occupied and out of trouble.’
(I make wifi work)
For me?
Imagine this.
You take a deep breath and dive headfirst into a large pool of cocoa. You are immersed – rich, toasted chocolate aromas fill your nostrils, cocoa beans suffuse your every pore and, all of a sudden, you are magically transported to a time long ago, where, like a whimsical character from a Tim Burton movie, reality actually is floating on chocolate clouds and frolicking in chocolate fountains, to a backdrop of opulent purple velvet and gold dust. read more…
**This post is dedicated to my grandfather, Alfred Priest, who taught me to lick the knife of life – gleefully, mischievously and appreciatively. He will be greatly missed.**
Food and memories are inextricably bound for me. I think of people, and I think of the meals that I ate with them – food as social glue. A food experience is rarely as enjoyable without friends, family, loved ones and even strangers to indulge in the food find with. And so, each of my discoveries around London/the world tends to be in the company of many other tastebud ticklers. read more…
Hustle/Bustle
I wasn’t predisposed to liking Wahaca.
I mean, for starters – ouch. What is with that insult to the (Mexican) Spanish language? That is NOT how they spell the name of this small and incredible market town in the middle of Mexico! But when you see the reality – Oaxaca – and imagine all u
s Londoners trying to figure that one out, weeeell, you might forgive them for making their changes.
What you may not be quite so understanding about, however, are the queues at Covent Garden ‘Mexican market eating’ joint – and this isn’t the sort of queue you are whipped through at the rate of knots, oh no. This is a killer of a queue. read more…
How to up the ante on my FroYo forays? Arrive by motorbike.
On Saturday, I hopped on the back of my photographer’s bike – a formidable beast that would terrify the living daylights out of yer granny – and off we roared to the next one on the list: Frae, in Islington.
Complete with helmet, leather jacket and a…minidress…I attempted Megan Fox’s ‘pull-your-helmet-off-whilst-keeping-your-hairstyle-intact-and-looking-utterly-gorgeous’ thing. I failed miserably.
Comfort was on hand, however. read more…
London’s finally been saved.
Until only recently it was a tough task to get your hands on real, live examples of genuine Mexican cuisine –either imposters served up unappetising slop in an attempt to pass it off for refried beans, or tumbleweed blew through the texmexless streets. I’d been considering a drastic move back to the states to get my Tex Mex Fix.
Thankfully, this wasn’t necessary, as a rash of decent burrito bars and Mexican street food outlets have started to splash town with their audacious colour palettes – and how can you ignore eateries bedecked generously with electric blues, and bright pinks and greens?
First up: Chilango.
You know you want me...
I’ve a rather slapdash food find to share with you.
Don’t you just adore it when a moment of mad spontaneity comes together?
In a fit of last-minute inspiration, at 7.30pm I rang a friend, who I’d not seen (we worked out with horror) in over 8 months. But she’s the sort who I knew, if remotely possible, would readily do something completely unplanned. And lo and behold, less than 15 minutes after we’d talked on the phone, I had pelted out the door, coat in hand, sprinted desperately towards the number 24 bus and, breathing and frothing at the mouth like a fighting bull, tumbled out the bus door on the edge of Charlotte Street.
Destination: Yog.
Caffeine and I, we have, well, a ‘mixed’ relationship. Love-hate, some might say. I love it at the time, but it makes me go completely bonkers. I like to think that this is in a good way – others might not agree as readily. So, I now have a weekly allowance of one, seriously good, cup of coffee. And, as I search throughout the city for the bestest way for you to get your caffeine hit, you can travel along with me, ladies and gents.
First up, Manon coffeeshop, at the Ludgate Circus end of the roundabout on Fleet Street. read more…
The magic happens...
If the date you’ve lined up is hard-to-please, then boy have I got the venue for you.
Here’s the scoop:
The Icecreamists – pop-up guerrilla ice cream team all intent on saving the world ‘one lick at a time’ – are tucked deep in the basement concept area of Selfridges. And you have until 1st November before it and all of its oh-so-tantalisingly frozen delights pack up and head off into the sunset. That’s precisely one month to wow that one lucky lady/guy you’ve had your sights set on for months. Commence your love affair now people.
Coz ice cream has never been so rock’n’roll. read more…
