Kokopelli’s

Posted on May 22, 2013 by chloe

Oooops – I’ve just found this post loitering amongst my drafts, I’d written it rapidly with sticky little fingers in a whirl of excitement at discovering such DELIGHTS at The Chocolate Festival and then clearly promptly forgot all about it once the focus of my latest affection was scoffed. Sorry. No matter how busy I am, and I am hence this forlorn blog post, I always endeavour to make it down to The Chocolate Festival, held twice a year around the chocolate calendar corner stones of Christmas and Easter, it may be getting bigger and more crowded as each goes by, but I continue to persevere in the hope of coming across chocolates like this to get excited about.

I’ve been following Kokopelli’s progress on Twitter for some time, well the lovely Steph anyway, she’s only been making chocolates commercially for a short period, slowly swapping days in the office for days making chocolates, until eventually it’ll become a full time business. I’ve heard impressive things from trustworthy source Chocablog, and so I leapt at the chance to try some of her range for myself when I heard she was exhibiting at the festival.

I find Steph swaddled from the cold and fidgeting to keep numbness at bay, she’s cheerful and helpful beyond the call of duty, even in the face of my dithering, and the appalling weather. It has to be said though, that the chocolates themselves are no doubt happier than the previous year, that in stark contrast to this, was melty hot. I eventually settle on a pre-madeup box with a couple of her Easter specials swapped in. All the chooclates are made from Valrhona couverture and fresh ingredients, packaging is stylish and I cannot wait to get them home to savour (hoover them up).

I wrote these notes very quickly as I was eating them, over a couple of evenings back a couple of months ago, so I’ll leave them as they are, I’m sure you’ll get the gist…

Ginger Triangle – I love that these chocolates are PUNCHY. A milk chocolate shell goes some way to tempering a full on dark ganache literally exploding with ginger, both fresh and with a dash of liqueur too. This is incredible and everything I want but never get in other supposedly ginger chocs, I congratulate myself on finding a second of these in the box.

Sea Salt Caramel – Dark shimmering chocolate is the foil for this super buttery, sultry caramel number made slightly savoury with that hint of salt. Grown up.

Roasted Hazelnut – I dip in and out of my love for praline’s, they can become very samey, most too sweet or just lazy cheap box fillers, but this has rekindled my love with relish. What starts as a simple and classic nutty praline flavour, soon develops a lick of salt, then deepens and develops toasty hazelnut notes, the finish long and satisfying. A white chocolate shell perversely lifts the richness and adds a sweet point of difference.

Peanut Butter Praline – This has a perfectly tempered and decorated shell and yet on biting through I’m slightly surprised by what appears to be a very dried out in texture filling. However it’s surprisingly good, a, slightly on the fondanty side, praline, it’s pleasingly gammy as I think any peanut butter chocolate should be. There’s something about the sophisticated dark shell that baffles me and I feel as though I’d like a smidge more salt; I’m just not sure that old American sandwich stolwort can ever be elevated too far above the trashy…Mind you, this is an excellent attempt!

Malted Milk Egg – Oh, this is unbelievable dreamy. Inspired by an Askinosie bar of the same ingredient, Steph wondered if she could push that malty flavour further. She can and she has, it’s a brilliant bauble of milky malty heaven ganache in a glossy milk shell. Seriously comforting.

Lemon Caramel Egg –  This is another winner for me, I find I’m liking citrussy chocolates far more as I age. No idea what that’s about?! Here, a dark shell with burnished golden sheen contains a tart, curd like, lemon caramel filling. I think I could eat these all evening…..

Raspberry and Black Pepper – This is the only one I’m not enamoured of; I find the raspberry slightly jarring with savoury pepper against the rich dark chocolate. It’s more than possibly just me, but I often find dark incarnations of this combination a little too full on, like I’m getting too much of the bitter pip flavour and wanting the sharp raspberry notes mellowed out.

My funny taste buds aside – this is an astonishingly good selection; it’s refreshing to find such a confident use of flavours paired with clear skill in how to work with them. I’ll certainly be buying them again for gifts and, rather more likely, my own greedy indulgence.

Despite my earlier aside re. ‘hoovering’ them up, I’m actually very restrained when it comes to eating chocolate, never indulging in more than one or two. These, THESE, lasted all of two evenings. That probably tells you all you need to know.

 

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Bread Class at E5 Bakehouse

Posted on May 17, 2013 by chloe

Bread. My love. My nemesis.

I’ve been aching for this class at E5 Bakehouse ever since I made the frankly unrivalled decision to book it, and lucky I didn’t dither any longer as it was literally the last bread spot available, they also do a pizza and a cookery one. I clapped myself in glee whilst feeling a twang of guilt that my friend couldn’t join me – I’d been meaning to book a place for ages but never quite clicked that button, an inspiring chat with Bittersweet Bakers however one evening at a party had me all fired up – and we’d hoped to spend the day together.

My history making sourdough is a short one; I managed to get a starter going, following never quite simple enough instructions garnered from a vast number of references, all slightly different. I fed it, and fed it some more, loved it, nurtured it and then one day I came home to find it’s little glass home all empty and clean, sitting forlornly on the kitchen sink draining board. With a tremble of my bottom lip I asked the boy where our little fella was, his response knocked the wind out of my sourdough sails – his Mum had apparently had her eye on it for a while and could stand the mucky jar no longer, my little innocent baby was washed away. I started another, but this coincided with the time I left the boy for a period, and the same fate, I can only imagine, suffered my second attempt. Clearly I am a bad, bad starter mother.

I haven’t had the heart to start again. Until now. What better fresh start than to put myself in the hands of the creators of arguably the absolute best sourdough in London and certainly my favourite; Hackney Wild. That stuff is absolute flour based narcotic and dangerous deliverer of dairy, sometimes I up the ante with a smear of glorious London Borough of Jam. In fact the first time I tasted that particularly effective combo was at the utterly charming 46b Espresso Hut, one of my favourite coffee spots, I dream wistfully of it being closer….

The morning of the course arrives and I’m brimming with excitement, looking forward to the prospect of wielding the real alchemy of sourdough at home. I’ve tackled most other types of bread with varying success, but sourdough has remained out of my reach, a palpable, whiskers breadth of confidence from my grasp.

Without giving you a blow by blow account of the day, suffice to say it was worth vastly more than it’s price tag of just under a £100, seven hours of intense, hands on tutoring, a huge vegetarian, wholesome lunch, coffee (Nude and tasting pretty good, the level of care and ‘slow’ ethos permeating everything they do here) and teas, afternoon cakes, no shortage of samples throughout the day, mother and four different bakes, not to mention the confidence garnered from hands on help. I’ll go into more detail when I, hopefully, master each different recipe.

First of all, owner Ben is a fabulous and patient teacher, answering all our benign and multiple questions over and over, never condescending, always crystal clear and concise; he simplifies things in a way that my brain would find unfathomable. We’re secreted for the day in a large arch parallel to the active shop and bakery, privy to much of the activity and all the stomach nudging aromas of the bakehouse. We start with pleasantries and quickly launch into full on bread making; weighing, measuring, mixing, squidging, squelching, folding, kneading, shaping and generally revelling in every stage of the process. Unlike some classes, this is a complete immersion in the bread making process, apart from the leaven which, in some cases, has to be started several days in advance, we make each of the four breads from scratch. More than once we look at each other in amazement and wonder at the magic we’re creating.

There are, as you might imagine, a number of revelations and joys I experience on the day. Although I feel I’ve enjoyed a certain amount of success up to this point with bread at home, it’s been mainly with flatbreads, pizzas, soda bread, corn bread and sweet baking. The moment we start wielding this sourdough enriched beast the difference is clear, it acts as though alive, there’s an effervescence and shifting that almost suggests it’s a living, breathing alien being. The ciabatta dough is particularly alive with bubbles; a pillowy, writhing cloud that needs the merest of nudging to manoeuvre into shape as it ripples and wrinkles alluringly beneath my hands. Manipulating the dough for the round loaves into shape from it’s final knead is an absolute joy, like the polishing of an unruly child at finishing school, stroking and spinning tactile dough until it becomes an engorged orb, full of potential.

There’s a build of tension and excitement that reaches a cresciendo with tangible suspense as bread enter the furnace and we wait. Wait, for our very own batch to re-emerge. We claim our babies, coo and embrace and then swaddle them in brown paper bags, scooping up espresso cups of mother and one last home work project, the hallowed Hackey Wild that will be ready to bake the following morning….In the mean time the next level of joy is in the pleasure of eating, not just superior bread, but that which has been baked with my own hands. There’s something about that. Deeply satisfying.

Of course, the real challenge will be in mastering the whole leaven thang and maintaining a healthy mother, not to mention momentum whilst hopefully creating beautiful and successful bread at home. My plan is to master the basics and then put my usual spin on those, I’m already whimpering at the thought of the sourdough doughnuts that are now so close within my reach along with all manner of twists on bagels and sourdough bread. I’ll attempt to blog my bread journey and share the recipes once I’ve overcome each, assuming I don’t run out of steam, though that will naturally be determined by my success or lack of…

I’m pretty pleased with the results of the Hackney Wild loaf I took home, refrigerated and baked in my own oven. It didn’t have a great journey home and wasn’t refrigerated till late but I did at least take Ben’s advice and rise an extra hour early this morning to bake it after it’s optimal proving time – there was a long moment where laziness nearly won out. So, fingers crossed, I’ll have a fabulous loaf awaiting me for dinner later, I’ve bought some tasty salted butter in preparation and I *will* eat it regardless of deliciousness (it *will* be delicious).

I’m very much looking forward to the next stage which will be going through the whole process myself and making my own tweaks. I expect (know full well) there’ll also be some experiments with reverse osmosis water and varying levels of TDS to see what effect that will have on the end products. Fun times!

And so, with new knowledge potentially comes my downfall; already a fully fledged member of bread addicts anonymous, with heavenly sourdough at my fingertips, the chances of my ever being skinny again are looking about as likely as my giving up coffee or gin, chocolate or deep fat frying….

 

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Netil Market – Terrone and Cooking Cooks

Posted on May 13, 2013 by chloe

I do struggle to disassociate Netil Market from Lucky Chip. For Lucky Chip was, in the early days, the sole reason for my traipsing that far East and the only way to get my hands on those burgers. A small group us, clearly addicted and desperate for messy hits of salty slippery gobfuls, would meet as often as we could coordinate ourselves for clandestine boozing to accompany feasting on famous names made even more prolific within a small and, I’ll admit, weirdly focused circle.

Of course, Lucky Chip now have their own Slider Bar in Soho, along with long standing residencies at The Sebright Arms and more recently The Grafton, as well as maintaining their spot here every Saturday. Netil Market has also moved on from those early days and there’s now quite the atmosphere on a Saturday, especially when the weather is as buoyant as the one before last. An eclectic selection of traders including quirky and/or vintage jewellery and clothing stalls, the verging on the twee juice and cakes options jostle for space alongside serious food mongerers. Although some of the arts and crafts traders are around all week, jollied by the guys at Cycle Pit Stop, it’s Saturdays that the market really comes into it’s own.

I’m here to see Terrone and to get them finally added to London’s Best Coffee App, now that they’ve taken Nomad Espresso’s spot as caffeine provider for the market, so I try to stay blinkered to distractions for at least a few moments. I spot Edy buying his lunch at The Cooking Cooks hut, a handsome looking bowl of meatballs and a plate of aubergine parmigiana on sourdough of which I manage to steal a delightful forkful. I end up spending the best part of the afternoon back at his shipping container hanging out and soaking up the laid back, sunny, almost festival, vibes of the market.

Having recently survived a pretty devastating fire, the container is looking better than ever; Edy’s added to the front a rather beautiful sign he had made for short lived pop-up at Brixton market, a couple of fancy light bulbs add glitz, a little rack of pastries if you’re feeling peckish and a short menu of espresso based drinks are made at a La Marzocco. The beans are their own blend roasted in small batches, once a week, in Italy and they make a great espresso, sweet and rich with a hint of fruity acidity, helped no doubt by the talented baristas behind the machine – keep an eye out for Callum aka Young Barista who often does a guest shift.

Terrone adds an Italian passion to proceedings, rather than Italian style coffee, nestled in the centre of the market, amongst a vibrant, almost party like energy that mingles happily in the atmosphere with a cacophony of different sound systems battling for dominance and more than a little tempting nostril teasers.

I do a couple of circuits of the market trying to decide what to have for lunch, stopping briefly at OFM (Official Fry-up Material), home of the pimped McMuffin, but decide to save that for the hangover it is clearly designed for and swoop back around to where I started, to linger over a bowl of those meatballs I’ve been dreaming wistfully of from the beginning. Served out of a cutesy wooden shack, the Cooking Cooks counter is prettified by those stunning Sicilian lemons that look like our versions but with gigantism, over sized and knarly knobbly, that Edy tells me they eat like bread back home, whole minus the external zest, and ash coloured squid ink dried pasta nests sit awaiting a hot bath.

My meatballs are hearty, comforting and rustic. Pasta is presumably handmade, I make this assumption based on it’s irregularity of shape and challenging texture, no silky slippery strips but a satisfying rustic chew, doused in rich, herby tomato sauce and soft yielding meatballs, deceptively light but juicy as they collapse into the success of the over all dish.

My dismay on missing out on any given Lucky Chip opportunity duly appeased on this occasion; I have to admit there’s more to Netil Market these days.

 

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Roof Top Pursuits for Sunny London Evenings

Posted on May 6, 2013 by chloe

The first things my simple mind turns to once the sun makes it’s first appearance, poking a bright and cheery head through the glum, lingering dregs of Winter are; flip flops and outdoor drinking. Add to that a rooftop and I’m laughing.

Last week I was invited to the launch of Background Bars latest project, their return to Dalston Roof Park for a summer stint, serving a refreshing selection of cocktails inspired by teas and made using fruits and herbs from their own edible garden allotment. With a rotation of new and up and coming street food vendors, music and a blow up roof should the British weather behave predictably. What’s not to love?!

I sampled a savoury sounding concoction involving gin, green tea and sage, and I forget what else, but it hit the spot, lubricating a blissfully balmy evening dancing far above the East London streets. The cocktail menu also boasts some fruity little punchy numbers perfect for lazy weekend drinking.

I should probably have told you about this before the long, sunny bank holiday weekend but I’m afraid I was far too busy out enjoying it for myself. Don’t fret though, you’ve got six months worth of (fingers crossed) warm, languid evenings to get yourself up there to enjoy the London summer where it’s at it’s best, with a drink in hand and a few stories closer to those illusive rays.

While we’re on the subject of roof top pursuits, the brilliant Forza Win are returning at the end of this month for a second round of pizza parties at a secret location using Pizza Pilgrim dough. Expect lots of that pizza, entertainment, a cocktail, dessert and starter for just £30. These sold out really quickly last year so book your tickets quick! One NOT to be missed, who can resist a pizza party up in the clouds?!

 

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Taylor Street Monument and an Anouncement

Posted on April 23, 2013 by chloe

I’m delighted to announce I’ve just started writing for London’s Best Coffee App. A dream job really, I don’t think I could possibly have picked a better app to write for. To give you some idea of how good it is, even technophobe I, with just the absolute bare essentials of Twitter and Instagram have it on my phone. Hand on my heart I’m not just saying this, but it’s an indispensable resource for anyone who’s ever found their mind go blank wandering around London and in need of a decent caffeine fix, need never be stranded and gasping again. It also means I have a valid excuse to hunt out all the new cafes; yippee!

With my sparkling new coffee app head on I stride out of Monument Station on my first assignment; Taylor Street Gallery and Training Centre. I only heard about their latest branch in Monument maybe a week or two ago and it caught my attention because it sounded as though they were doing things a bit differently, they were also critically open weekends.

Taylor Street Baristas are probably the largest collection of independent cafes in London, with eight right now and growing. Many of their quality locations are hidden away unobtrusively, quietly in busy city locations, perfectly placed to service office workers and coffee guzzlers with a standard far and away above what they might be more accustomed to. I guess this is why I’ve never felt overwhelmed to write about them, as the caffeine tourist that I am, despite glowing reports from all over as well as top class drinks consumed first hand.

It’s a refreshingly sunny, beautiful Saturday afternoon and I navigate the shadowy streets behind till I find the familiar logo beside a doorway, tucked away, hidden from prying eyes. At first, as I walk into an empty room, I fear we might have our facts not quite straight, it doesn’t feel like a cafe at all, more a training room or school. In fact both head barista Alex and part owner Andrew look up at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak. It transpires I’ve lucked out and stumbled in shortly before a public cupping they hold every Saturday at 2pm.

Admittedly possibly not the best decision based on the amount of caffeine I intend yet to imbibe that afternoon, I still want to try a coffee and soak up a bit of the ambience. Although a proffered menu declares beans from Square Mile, I’m told they happen to have a particularly good Union geisha micro lot around and so I’m made one of these. Without question a cup of the beans is brought for me to inhale, my V60 is carefully prepared and served in almost a tea like manner from a little pot into a dainty open mouthed cup. The coffee itself matches that delicate announcement; clean tasting, full of gentle stone fruit flavours, an exceptional drink indeed.

I settle into a faded plush sofa as a slow trickle of customers arrive for the cupping, seemingly ranging from an experienced staff member from one of their other stores to a pair of complete novices. I watch on as the cupping process is explained in a way that manages not to be condescending but inclusive and accessible for any level, clipboards are handed out with forms for informal and personal note taking. I can’t resist diving in when asked, and relish trying coffees roasted from all over the world, my favourite on this table is a Palma Real natural from The Barn in Berlin.

Now, my earlier confusion was not completely unfounded, for the Monument branch is styled as a gallery and training space. I got Alex to explain this for me after the cupping. The idea is, I find, thrilling; a constantly evolving space that holds ‘exhibitions’ that dictate what you will find, and learn about, from one month to the next. The current exhibition is ‘which brewing method are you?’. What this means to you or I is that the menu simply has four options; V60, aeropress, cafetierre and clever dripper, and one coffee; Square Mile La Buitrera. You have the choice to enjoy and pay for each filter coffee at a time for £4 using your chosen method, or to pre pay for all four which can then be drunk whenever you like, and when you get to the end you get a small bag of beans to take away and a 10% discount on the brew method you enjoyed the most.

There’s not currently an espresso option, although there are three two group Nuova Simonelli’s in the training space downstairs so the potential is there should they decide they need one for another exhibition. In fact, the potential is there for much, it feels like quite a brave move – I certainly can’t think of anywhere that has quite the same format. Each time I ask a seemingly straight forward question I’m rebuffed with ideas, potential and non parameters that I find so very appealing to me. The room itself is little more than that, plain walls, wooden floors and stripped back lights, merely a background for those exhibitions. Nothing is fixed; naive paintings are hung by bull dog grips and strings, blackboards and shelving are temporary and again strung for now from strings until the next rotation. The atmosphere is surprisingly calm for such a simple and inspiring space with no fixed rules, you’d imagine done wrong it could feel quite unsettling, however it reminds me a little of Dunnefrankowski at Protein, it has the same air of education, an urban classroom if you like.

Oh, and don’t miss the toilet downstairs. A veritable igloo made from vegetable crates!

 

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Smoke and Mirrors in Milan

Posted on April 19, 2013 by chloe

You may have noticed me banging on about coffee even more than usual recently. This is partly because I’ve taken on a new role within the company I work, developing a new division supplying the speciality coffee industry (fingers crossed – I’m only just launching) with reverse osmosis filtered water. This not only means I get to work in an industry that really inspires and excites me but I get to tackle a very key issue that faces anyone serving coffee with less than perfect water. Let’s face it, as wonderful as it must be being able to brew straight from the tap as the lucky sausages in Norway, for the vast majority of us this is simply not an option. Without boring you completely with work stuff, and trust me I won’t do this often, I was able to work on an extremely interesting project recently.

The idea came about in the after mass of a cupping comparing different waters and their effects on coffee. London tap water as expected produced a dirty cup, dull and mucky tasting and carbon block, Brita style filtration was just dull in comparison to the RO brewed coffee that sparkled with flavours. However it was the variations between the different levels of TDS water that was really interesting, different coffees extracting in slightly different ways, responding not generically well to just one. This started an interesting debate and raised the question; wouldn’t it be interesting if a bar were able to offer a variety of different TDS levels of water in order to extract different coffees at their optimal level. I understand this is a completely unnecessary experiment, but one that fascinates me none the less as I delve into the frankly mind blowing intricacies of the world of water.

It was at this point that Hoi Chi revealed that he’d been asked by design magazine Wallpaper* to design a coffee bar for their imminent exhibition at gallery Leclettico in Milan as part of design week and the furniture show. I quickly jumped on the band wagon, offering up my water filtration system to supply the bar with a thought provoking set up. It was billed as a ‘bar raising and pulse raising coffee stop’ and Coming Soon Coffee pulled out all the stops to step up to the job, revealing the finished design and concept just days before the launch.

Being part of a design and furniture exhibition, naturally the form had to match the function and architect Hoi Chi did an absolutely stellar job, using quality materials to create a conceptual project that was as stunningly beautiful as it was explorative and educational. It was my first project as Bespoke Water and I felt thoroughly proud to be part of something so inspiring, lending two of our small reverse osmosis water filtration systems to provide water at two different TDS levels for a number of outlets.

In a disappointing turn of fate I wasn’t able to attend the show itself and missed out on witnessing the reactions I was so keen to see, as the dates clashed critically with already booked Specialty Coffee Show in Boston. Damn. I had a couple of days to play with so I figured if I flew out to help set up I’d at least lend my support and be there to document and step in if anything went wrong (god forbid), it did however produce a bit of a tight schedule. In the end I arrived in Milan early Sunday evening, flew back to Gatwick late Monday night and back out to Boston Tuesday afternoon with a quick whizz around Milan, faulty phone, terrible service from Vodaphone, and thrilling set up in between.

Without boring you with the details, Monday started off slowly as installations took form around us and finishing touches were put to the glorious bar that won me over in every possible way. Flourishes of silver grey sparkly titanium, beautiful natural wood, sleek and shiny equipment galore and WINGS and STARS flitted across all surfaces. The effect was ethereal, cloaked in mystery and seductively magical.

As the day developed, time quickly accelerated and a leisurely start became fraught with time constraints. Electricity took an age to be set up, water even longer, so by the time we had everything hooked in and ready to go I was in danger of missing my flight. What we thought was a water leak added necessary drama to the last few minutes and that last hour was a measure of our calm. Finally ready to go, Hoi Chi took to the stage, pumping water through the group head, messing around with the steam wand, the press swooped in with cameras and I managed to take some dramatic and pretty cool shots before I literally ran the 15 minutes to catch my coach to the airport with seconds to spare, heart racing, adrenalin pumping.

I’m only wistful that I wasn’t able to document the reactions to the complete sensory experience offered to visitors of the exhibition, these weren’t coffee lovers or aficionados (though some may have been), these were on the whole not even familiar with third wave coffee or London’s independent coffee scene, but an eclectic selection from a different demographic of designers, art, furniture and design lovers, Italians. This almost increased my curiosity for we offered quite an experience, showcasing an illustrious selection of beans from their natural state through three brewing processes; espresso and as pourover using water at 125 and 160/180 TDS levels, unbrewed water was also offered to taste at both levels.

The genius bar design, with mirror suspended precariously above and parallel to the front allowed a transparent view of the workings behind, adding theatre and magic to the process of coffee making, allowing the customer to vicariously enjoy the show whilst engaging with barista. In retrospect it reminds me somewhat of the idea behind the much discussed just launched Modbar, removing the smoke and mirrors from the coffee making process whilst also removing a physical barrier to free up customer/barista interaction. In our case the smoke and mirrors and drama is still at the espresso machine, but the real magic and subtle comparative action is at the less showy, but admittedly pretty snazzy, pair of über boilers.

It’s always a real shame to visit anywhere so fleetingly, I fear I got almost nothing of the essence of Milan and so can’t do so many of the things I’d like to talk about justice. What I did notice were some stunning looking little meat shops and deli’s in passing, stuffed with displays that could turn even the most ardent vegetarian. No primly packaged unambiguous lumps of eats and cheese here but bold cuts staunchly redolent of their ancestry, all displayed in the quaintest and decrepid looking little shops. Antique coffee equipment and crockery took my fancy as did vast counters filled with colourful pastries and fancies. I wasn’t expecting local coffee to please my palate but what I ventured to try was so astringently bitter and burnt tasting I struggled to keep a remotely composed face. However a lunch of simple ham and cheese croissant was splendidly delicious in every way, small but perfectly formed with an addictive seasoning dancing across flaky surface, a teeny tiny iced sponge creation was superbly sweet, light and moist.

I’m hoping to gather some more feedback from Matthius and Hoi Chi from Coming Soon, but initial reports were encouraging; plenty of locals were surprised with the quality of the coffee and an impressive number even chose to forgo their usual milk or sugar, as a sip of straight coffee was delicious and sweet enough. I’m hoping to gather some more information on visitors thoughts on the coffee brewed with varying TDS waters, but I’d love to hear your thoughts until then if you have any?

You can read more about the project on the Bespoke Water Blog and Coming Soon Coffee

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Talkhouse

Posted on April 10, 2013 by chloe

Waiting for a cafe you know is due to open imminently and you suspect, based on fairly informed knowledge, is going to be good, is about as captivating as watching white wash being applied to exposed brick work, as nauseating as observing jealously as myriad tasty coffees are cupped. Innevitably, like any new business opening, there will be false starts and delays, you’ll be eyeing their twitter feed with a keen curiosity, hoping to catch  interesting titbits and tantalising morsels but really just fuelling any flames of frustration at it not being ready to visit already. DAMN IT.

So when it’s time to make that first journey to try it out, I’m inclined to feel anxious that I haven’t built the place up too much and hope that it lives up to my expectations. I’m a positive little thing, as you’ll notice I categorically don’t write about places that disappoint or that I wouldn’t recommend, and so as a general rule I will wholeheartedly gun for any new coffee shop, the more the merrier in my opinion, and although there’s undoubtably a sliding scale of excitement, anything that potentially increases my chance of getting a decent coffee in any given London location can be no bad thing as far as I’m concerned. Even more so in this most barren of West London spots, Portobello Road, right at the bottom near the market no less, a section of London that most of us tend to avoid for it’s argy bargy nature on a Saturday and far far Westness more generally, I notice a couple of East Londoners looking quite amusingly like fish out of hipster water.

I suppose the mere fact that I’m telling you about Talkhouse then is all you really need to know that it has my seal of approval, but indulge me anyway. I’ve waited patiently enough.

In a similar way to Embassy East, my first impression of Talkhouse is that it has a strong online brand, the logo clean and clear as with the former, therefore I’m surprised by the lack of presence of a logo on approach, it’s far from an obvious entrance and the shopfront seems to be the only element of the place that doesn’t appear wholly finished. Again, as with Embassy, I was expecting something far more polished and glossy looking, maybe that’s to come…It matters not, merely an observation, for stepping inside those doors is a very impressive looking space, in both size and finish.

The style is distinctly and successfully Scandinavian, but with none of the twee that one might sometimes associate; super clean lines, white washed walls, smooth planes of wood and food is displayed on the counter behind a strict looking glass cabinet as if holding precious artefacts, it reminds me a little of the imposing and austere looking displays at Pierre Hermes shop in Belgravia. I harbour a fear that the effect could feel altogether glacial or sparse and inhuman if the staff were not so effervescently friendly and welcoming. But they are. The effect is sleek and slick, simple and unfussy, but with flourishes of life in the elegant form of tulips on the counter and water in attractive bottles and glasses. The front area of the cafe holds window benches and tall tables and chairs opposite that long counter, this leads out into a corridor with more seating at a another counter which backs onto an impressive sized kitchen and then further opens up again into an end room with a smatter of more tables and chairs. Music infuses the atmosphere with verve and rises above the clattery chatter, a foil to the simplistic design that alone invokes calmness.

My choice of a filter made using aeropress and Square Mile beans is sensitively prepared and produces a clean cup full of honeyed light fruit notes, this I chase with near espresso perfection, an exceptional shot of beautiful sweetness, silky and with a bright finish. There is a range of beans on offer, from Workshop to James Gourmet, I expect there’ll always be a varying selection based on what is around and tasting good, it’s that sort of place.

For now, rightly so, Talkhouse is focussing on getting the basics right, settling in and making sure the coffee is good as can be. I’m told the kitchen, as well as a prep kitchen upstairs, will be put to great use in time but for now there’s a nice looking sandwich offering, including current London staples of chicken or salt beef and a selection of cakes using slightly more interesting than usual sounding ingredients. I’m momentarily disappointed when I’m told the hot cross bun is not available until tomorrow but it doesn’t last long. I’m not quite hungry enough for a full on lunch but am swayed by an uncharacteristically girly choice of a very pink, dare I say cup, cake, the lure being it’s rhubarb custard filling that explodes from the top creating a far superior icing. An almond, polenta, honey and fig variant looks equally tempting.

My only confusion here is in noting mass produced Barry Callebaut chocolate advertised as an ingredient on the menu, I understand transparency of sources, but when it seems to hold a similar billing to quality and ethical chocolate Original Beans, that’s used to make the hot chocolate, hmmm. Maybe it’s merely a dissagreement in taste, but I’m not sure I’d be declaring the origin of such bog standard Belgian chocolate pedigree when the rest of the offerings are so clearly well sourced and artisan. It’s a small quibble and only really noticeable because everything else seems to be such polished perfection.

Service is a little chaotic on my visit, but this was their first Saturday and busiest day yet, and to be fair it hampered not in any way the enjoyment of my experience and I have no concerns that they’ll settle in beautifully.

West Londoners must be breathing a very contended sigh of relief right now for they have unrivalled coffee on their doorstep. Lucky them.

 

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Browns of Brockley

Posted on March 31, 2013 by chloe

The London coffee landscape has changed immeasurably over just the last few years, the evolution already in full throttle when I started my own little journey and entered into the acutely caffeine sharpened world I am now becoming increasingly immersed in. Back then, around two years ago, when I was startled by a life changing coffee pulled from Prufrock’s beautiful Victoria Arduino lever machine in it’s Present outpost (I’ve just heard a HORRIBLE rumour this residency, the site of London’s best espresso, is soon to come to an end). The third wave was in full swing, pioneers Milk Bar and Flat White were leaders of the pack and Brown’s of Brockley was a lone ranger south of the river. Prufrock’s Leather Lane branch was just a sparkle in Gwilym Davies’ eye, Notes and Tapped and Packed had only one branch each and were yet to dabble in roasting…

I felt thoroughly out of my depth when embarking on my exploration, timid and unknowledgeable, but so very keen to learn, to absorb like a particularly ready and receptive sponge. With so much history behind me it seemed pointless to even attempt to catch up so I chased my own tail, visiting places on whispers and whims in a more random path, asking questions, listening to recommendations, until eventually I had an ever increasing list of places new and old I had to try.

Last year felt exhausting. London seemed to hit a sort of peak. I certainly did. Too much, constantly, relentless. I went to New York over christmas and came back wanting a break. The last thing I wanted was to chase after the new, I craved comfort, nice food, relaxed surroundings. But I catagorically had no desire to race after the latest junk food hit or trendy, soulless cafe.

God. I must be getting old. That *must* be it.

Maybe I’m just tired. I’ve found I still want to try some new; take Embassy East, Talkhouse Cafe, Yum Bun and Little Social, just not everything. Perhaps I’ve finally learnt to be a bit subjective. Who knows. It’s just as likely a phase and you’ll find me clamouring to write about the latest dude food (stabs self in head for using that phrase) next month.

Anyway, whilst I’m in calm, reflective mode, I’ve been enjoying revisiting a few places I’ve not been to for a while, one of which is the very recently refurbished Browns of Brockley.

For a long time Brown’s has stood alone; an institution. Ask anyone to name a great coffee shop south of the river and I’ll guarantee Browns will be on the tip of their tongue. Not just good for South London of course, but understandably this is the moniker bestowed, and there’s good reason for this. More recently there’s been a number of great coffee shops, along with roasters too, opening, but for that period Browns really was that caffeine mecca of the south, driving standards up with it’s consistantly excellent standards.

I’d not been back since the refurb, so when the Derek of the fabulous London Coffee App suggested lunch, Browns was the first place that came to mind. Although well known amongst it’s fans, locals, and those in the coffee know, you still need to know it’s there, located as it is tucked away behind the main high street and directly opposite Brockley Station. Sitting in the window, feels distinctively as though you could be passing time in a particularly beautiful little waiting room cafe. Obviously far superior to the wind whipped, urine soaked hovels you might associate with South Eastern stations, this would be orient express class. The wide but narrow room holds enough space for a groaning window of delicacies, winking cheekily to passers by, the control area of coffee making equipment, and enough space to refresh a little more than several handfuls of travellers.

I love that my filter coffee is served in an epic sized Intelligentsia mug, proper comforting, I struggle to see the bottom. My indecisiveness hinders my ability to choose lunch, on this occasion going against my friends advise to try the brie and cranberry, my growling belly demanding a pretty full on provolone, ham and tapenade BEAST. A name that’s come up a few times recently is the name of Flourish Bakery who supply their bread and pastries, the first time I noticed it was when I asked Fee and Brown where their marvellous baguettes were from, and again here I’m impressed. I’m equally pleased with the construction of my sandwich, maybe a small thing to many, but this ticks all my boxes; fillings reach to the edges in neat repetition, there’s moisture from tapenade and it’s lightly toasted. It’s the little things. Yes, the coffee as you might expect is good, and I finish with a very good Square Mile espresso, sweet and satisfying.

Regulars and followers of owner Ross Brown on Twitter, will be familiar with the star of the shop, Ludd Brown, the most adorable pug dog EVER. His soulful little mug echoed around the shop as the sweetest motif, there’s a lovely tapestry on the counter that reiterates a homespun feeling that seems to preside; we may not be far out of central London but there’s a definite shift away from that driving speed and ruthless selfishness that makes visiting this cafe a very real pleasure.

If you’ve managed to get this far then here you go, I reward you with some beautiful pictures of Ludd sent to me by Ross, who rather endearingly insists on referring to him as ‘the dog’. Why you look so sad Ludd?!

Of course, I do feel like I’m preaching to the converted here, there’s a LOT of love for Browns already and hence a rather short post, but I feel I’d be doing it a massive disservice by omitting it from my own personal journey.

So if you haven’t been, you probably need to sort that out.

 

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40 Maltby Street and Bar Tozino

Posted on March 26, 2013 by chloe

On a blisteringly blustery and snow whipped Saturday the last thing I fancied was a trip to Maltby Street. Blissful as it is to navigate the meandering path of traders creeping increasingly further up towards Terminus Spa on a perfectly peachy, balmy bright and languid day, today was categorically not that day. Last weekend a small group of us rallied against the cold for a clandestine exchange of sourdough starter (thanks Ian) and that now cliched prize of custard doughnuts from St John, exploding with vanilla flecked custard, which we ate huddled on the edge of the Little Bread Pedlars outpost sipping cups of filter coffee from Colemans as much to glean benefit from it’s warmth as it’s caffeinating qualities. The Butchery in the same estate provides excellent meatage, there’s honey, Kernel brewery beer, Monmouth coffee and ham and cheese from the company of the same name, if you’re so inclined. We push against fierce wind to the Rope Walk runway, stopping briefly to share a moment around a thoroughly delicious burger from African Volcano cradled between the most astonishing cake like enriched bread bun. There’s a cake stand that in more clement weather would have stopped us in our tracks, but already cake sated and weather blasted we bid farewell to fellow adventurer Rocket & Squash and pile into 40 Maltby Street for a warming glass of the red stuff as any sensible person would.

No sooner had we scored a length of bar under soothing heater did we realise our schoolboy error. Maltby St market, as lovely as it is in the flush of spring and full blown glory of Summer, is not the place to be fannying around in what is quite frankly a poor excuse for this time of year. As we watch beautifully plated meals glide past us, eyes inevitably settle on a handsome joint of meat that taunts us cruelly from the bar, it’s at that moment we vow to return the following weekend to do this thing properly.

True to our word, we turn up the following week at half past one to find 40 Maltby St is in full lunch service swing, full to the railway rafters with smug folk quaffing glasses of natural wine and tucking into what I can only imagine hungrily are plates of heaven. We make the only sensible decision in this situation and decamp to Bar Tozino. I’m secretly pleased about this turnaround of affairs as I’ve been meaning to try the jamon bar ever since I heard of it’s existence and so this stolen opportunity is fallen upon with zeal as I lead our party with confident strut.

We push open a heavy door that feels full of promise and seems intent on preserving it’s contents whilst keeping out any hint of the outside, for what is inside is like entering another world; a darkened cave bustling with pork lusty punters and adorned with the objects of their infatuation. It’s how I imagine those wonderful little Spanish bars must be, all lined up ready to offer a sherry and ham in one, followed by more of the same in the second and so on and on, ad infinitum. There’s an unholy glow that illuminates the room and casts a slightly morbid air to those limbs strung from every surface. The heady and intoxicating smell of cured pork brings on a slight feeling of sickness, bringing to mind as it immediately does the time one Christmas the boy brought home a whole leg of ham from Lidl and strung it to one of our kitchen cupboards. What started off as, let’s face it, a bit of a challenge, and the inevitable sneaky nibble every time we entered the kitchen descended into fevered hacking at gnarly spots, as neither of us embodied the skills of the carvers here. In the end we were defeated by that immense lump of meat; where once creeping into the kitchen in the dead of night for a glass of water also meant a forbidden slither of salty pig, towards the end all I smelt was that sickening sweetness, and became convinced we were haunted by the porcine owner of that once heavenly leg, expecting a snorting, trotting spectre to appear around the doorway any second. Alas, it had to be gifted to the foxes.

It’s a fleeting moment and it doesn’t take long before I’m ready to eye up the list of plates of ham with a greedy eye. We forgo sherry on this occasion for a concensus in favour of cava, it’s a delightful bottle of complex fruitiness and a terracotta bowl placed before us holding lusciously plump and salty green olives goes fantastically well. Amongst a menu of various hams is a short list of tapas dishes, but resisting temptation we plump for purely appetite stimulant this time as we settle on a large plate of their house jamon to share. Neat squares are served on a wooden board, slightly chewy, rich with fat and deeply sweet, these are interspersed with bites of tomato topped bread sharply spiked with salt. I intend to return to do justice to more of that menu, I wonder momentarily if they’ll allow some of their essence be contaminated in warmer months to enable some of the bustling to spill into the rope walk, converting a portion of the market into a little piece of Spain…?

Appetiser consumed we do battle with bitter wind once more, walking the short distance to 40 Maltby Street, thankfully the bar has thinned out enough for us to claim a space at one of the central tables. Although the dining style is similar to that of Bar Tozino; grab a patch of table or ledge, order drink and food at the bar and settle in for the endurance, the atmosphere is quite different. 40 Maltby St is a bright contrast to Bar Tozino’s shadowy corners, it’s honest and open, rattling from trains above and furnished practically, perhaps a little naive to the Spanish bar’s sultry, secretive and faintly sinister vibe, it’s very much more than a sum of it’s parts however, and the relaxed and happy chatting, mingling, sipping and scoffing elevates it to another level.


We arrive at the tail end of lunch service and so what would normally be a leisurely ordering of dishes as and when one fancies, aquires an edge of urgency as items on the chalked up menu are crossed out ominously before us. The menu changes daily and is, sadly for me, heavy on fish today, I would be hankering after last weeks ham had we not fed that craving a few moments earlier. Today I have eyes only for the poached duck egg, that I’ve watched lustfully on another customers plate spilling it’s load, I hasten to place my order lest they run out. Splashing a gutsy red into four receptive glasses we wait for our lunch and feel cheered we’re doing a gloomy Saturday well.

With such a tiny open kitchen located literally at the end of the bar, dishes are brought out as and when they’re ready which means that our dining is highly disjointed, this doesn’t bother me in the slightest (umm, mine may have been amongst the first dishes to arrive…) but one of our party’s plate doesn’t arrive for quite some time meaning she’s eating alone, bar our eager forks, and drinking the dregs of her wine. A dish of mussel and leek gratin is hoovered up quickly as is a plate of cheeses that I don’t see a whiff of. However I can confirm that on previous visits, at wine tastings here, I’ve been most impressed with their selections of charcuterie and British cheeses that have included one of my very favourites, St James; a particularly robust flavoured washed rind ewes milk cheese that is pleasingly pungent with that sweetness and creaminess common of sheep’s cheeses. Complimentary slices of brown baguette are served piping hot straight out of the oven with a proper sized portion of butter.

I love when I win with my chosen dish. Not that I’m competitive *cough*, but my deep fried duck egg is glorious. The room, in my imagination, holds it’s collective breath as I plunge my knife through receptive skin, then breathes a sigh of contended relief as it’s sunny yellow yolk spills out onto sweetly creamed onion and sorrel, it’s a near perfect brunch dish and banishes the grim weather from my thoughts. The dish we’ve been waiting for is certainly worth it; tender kid and black cabbage sit on a bed of chickpeas in a fragrant broth, it’s delicate and sings gently and surely of Spring.

We forgo dessert today in favour of a walk over to the South Bank and to The Chocolate Festival.

This is surely proof that a great meal needn’t go hand in hand with table service and posh table wear and I for one am the biggest fan of this leisurely style of dining. Collectively we can’t help but congratulate ourselves again on beating an otherwise shocker of an afternoon into submission by bar hopping our way under the Maltby Street arches to Saturday Nirvana.

 

40 Maltby Street on Urbanspoon

Bar Tozino on Urbanspoon

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Sapore Vero

Posted on March 20, 2013 by chloe

Like many small towns, Beckenham has become a veritable stagnant melting pot of generic chains, a large proportion being mass produced faux Italian with a ridiculous three (or is it four?), owned by the same group, in an effort presumable to cash in by targeting ever so slightly different demographics. It still manages to shock me slightly that nearly each and every one of these restaurants is rammed pretty much at any given time. Admittedly some are probably ok, I know plenty of people rate Nandos for example, I’ve never been so can’t comment, but there’s no excuse for the shocking looking excuses for meals I’ve seen congealing their way out of the ‘kitchens’ of Wetherspoon, or the huge and heavy frisbees from Zizzi’s, that taste like cardboard and sit in your stomach like a brick. Not to mention such atrocities as the ‘diet’ pizza at Pizza Express that merely takes all the fun out of your dinner by removing the best bit, the middle, and replacing it with salad. Seriously, you couldn’t make this stuff up. The perky putrid stench of Subway mingles with more pleasing wafts from the local Indian which is utter pot luck as the owners change hands so frequently, and the only reason we aren’t crawling with the proper giants of the ilk of Maccy D’s and Starbucks is our lack of loading space.

That’s not to say that we don’t have some gems; I’m told The Rascasse is very good although I’m put off somewhat by the number of orange braying clientele that spill out most evenings and get louder and more obnoxious in direct proportion to a simple hour multiplied by wine sum. We have a fabulous independent coffee shop, Fee and Brown, and there’s always the super popular institution that is Pierluigi’s for vast pesto-ey cuddles at the bottom of a bowl of pasta. I’m not going to lie, I’m partial to a kebab at one of our two shops more often than I’d care to admit, though as luck would have it, one is better for meat, the other for chips and sauce, this clearly matters less the more intoxicated you are, and I find they taste better with a bit of alcoholic lubrication…..

With pizza offerings in no less than six, and certainly more that I’ve over looked, locations in this small town, there’s still not one I would enter of my free will. Until now. When you live in the high street, wearing away the pavement slowly and methodically day in, day out, anything new stands out like a throbbing wound, inciting sheer scab picking curiosity. This tiny, new pizzeria, through whose window I could spy a brick pizza oven, planted a seed of hope in my belly and a stirred the beginnings of miniature whirlpool of excitement. I peered in twice daily, on my way up the small incline around the corner of the high street, towards the train station, and then again on my way home in the dark, trying surreptitiously to cast a glimpse behind a glass fronted menu plastered to the window.

By Saturday curiosity had the better of me and I decided I needed to know once and for all whether I really might have edible pizza on my doorstep, so with a sense of trepidation and foreboding I took my purse on the whole couple of minutes amble to Sapore Vero. I feared much, mostly that my hopes would be dashed, but also that this was game over for any feeble attempts at dieting; with potentially decent pizza on my doorstep I’d have no chance, and my wallet would clearly suffer in inverse proportion to my waist.

It’s all very nice when central London gets a sparkly new restaurant and everyone races to add their two cents on whether it’s any good or not, but at the end of the day it’s merely a drop in the ocean of what our city already has to offer. Don’t get me wrong, I’m probably more excited than most about the Pizza Pilgrims opening their first restaurant, somewhere I can feasably get to in the evening, the second branch of Koya, anything by Lucky Chip, the latest coffee shop or the new cocktail bar being opened by Danny and Steve from Tina We SaluteYou. But it doesn’t *really* matter, regardless of hype and hipsters and banter and Twitter spats. No, when a new and independant restaurant opens in your own town, a new local, it’s a different matter entirely, I don’t care remotely if it ticks any style boxes or adheres to any current fads. All I care about is the food and the service, and when it’s this close, let’s face it, I’m likely going to be looking at the takeaway option anyway.

Without being too harsh, the decor is simplistic, if I were doing the marketing, it would be simple trattoria style, authentically rustic, but in reality it’s a pretty bog standard fit out, pared back and minimal, but just fine for a local. They boast 30 covers, I can count maybe 20 seats, it doesn’t really matter, it’s small and let’s just say I’m perfectly happy to be dashing back home with my toasty cardboard box. After a slightly awkward start with a waiter, the front of house, in fact owner as I find out later, takes over and smooths things over, all helped considerably with a complimentary glass of prosecco; how very civilised. All the staff are reassuringly Italian and confident in that unique way that their pizza is the very best in London, that I’m going to be blown away, of course I take this with a large and cynical dose of salt.

So what of the pizza? It certainly looks the part; beautifully risen and charred cornichon with scorched cheese bubbling over a colour pop of tomato sauce. I whisk our pizzas home with speed so as to appreciate them whilst still emanating warmth from their quick blast in the oven, so quick that I’m unable to unbox them with quite the same rapidity despite eager mouth. The boy has a salty combination of anchovies and capers that I don’t touch but produces more than happy noises. My Calabrese combines bountiful black olives with that currently rather overexposed, but otherwise delicious, foodstuff Calabrian N’duja. I know. Imagine? Such an exotic ingredient for little ol’ Beckenham. I know they have it at Zizzi’s, but I don’t consider that sort of depressing marketing, dreamt up in a soleless office somewhere, ticking off of trends, counts. I tear into the crust first. With just the right texture, chewy but light and crisp, I delight in it’s deep smoky flavour from a slow rise of the dough and short sharp blast in their wood fired oven. The base is not silky thin and elastic Neopolitan style as at Santa Maria, nor is it heavy and doughy like London’s Sartori, but somewhere in-between. My toppings are well balanced and I delight as I inhale more of that gorgeous blistered crust, this time as I reach the centre combined with a lethal lace of molten Italian fior di latte, vibrant tomato, smears of meaty spiciness and salty olives.


I’m so utterly shocked that it’s properly good that I make an executive decision to go back the next evening, I haven’t quite figured out how to broach this with the boy, when he suggests the very same. I keep quiet and let him sell me his story about being generous, that I probably want to try it again before I write about it, “in fact, don’t worry, I’ll pick it up for when you get back from work”. I end up going in the end, because I want to have a chat with the owner, and well, I could get used to this glass of prosecco while I’m being cooked for lark. This time the boy chooses a homogenised mess of four molten cheeses with porcini mushrooms and walnuts, it’s very good, I manage to steal a mere slither. I ask for half and half of two I’m undecided on; Mix Salumi is a triumph of sliced meats and mozzarella, the Biancaneve (mozzarella, fresh cherry tomato, basil and olive oil) I’ve failed to read the description of properly, having never been a fan of raw tomato, I far prefer them cooked as sauce, and so while this is lovely I should really have gone for a classic margherita. Hardly the greatest problem as I’m already planning weekly trips for when I’m feeling lazy, tired, just hungry. DEEP JOY.



Having been open only around seven weeks, the opposite of dog years in terms of London openings, I don’t think their Italian confidence translates as charm *quite* yet, but with their welcoming demeanor, give them time and I think they’ll settle in very nicely indeed and do rather well if they continue to churn out pizzas of this high standard, regardless of their suburban location. I for one fully intend to be their best customer!

As much as I love their enthusiasm (and pizza), despite their insistence that it’s ‘the best’, I’ve got a feeling their coffee may be just a touch too Italian for me….

 

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