This afternoon, in an attempt to carry out research into Joe Strummer's homesick ode to north London wanderlust ('From Willesden to Cricklewood'), me and my mate Jim planned a cycle ride to NW10. We had high hopes: it wasn't raining, we sort of knew the way, and if things went wrong, we could always catch a train home from Cricklewood. However, after a few wrong turns and struggles to cross railway tracks and pedal the steep uphills, we got knackered about half way and gave up. We ended up stopping up in leafy West Hampstead instead. The lonely avenues of Willesden with its stout, mozzarella and eggs could wait.
So, West Hampstead, birthplace of Dusty Springfield (apparently). Looking around, we judged it was the ideal place to reside if your pastimes include dining out on decking and spending a decent sum of money doing so. As a rule of thumb the affluence of a London suburb can be guaged by assessing its fried chicken shop : dry cleaner ratio. Apparently what West Hampstead lacks in hot wings and onion rings it makes up for in dirty duvets and disheveled dinner jackets.
Surrounded by cappucino bars and parasoled patios, we were unsure how to cost-effectively replenish lost energy from our measly attempt at a bike ride. So we went to the nearest off-licence (the spacious Atlanta Food & Wine) to pick up a can of beer and sit down on a bench for a bit. After watching the gentle dog walkers and huffing joggers of West Hampstead afternoon go by for a bit, we decided to go for a snack at David's Deli.
Situated on the corner of West End Lane and Mill Lane, the verandahed David's Deli looked decent enough from the outside, so we stepped in. Seconds later, though, I sensed a bad omen. A girl in front of us bought a can of Rubicon and was charged a whopping one English pound. For a single can (small one). I almost keeled over.
I regained my composure though and stepped up to the counter. With no hesitation I ordered one of the medium sized lamb samosas which lay temptingly on a plate under the glass panel. 'Ok mate. Warmed up? Fancy some spaghetti bolognese too lads?' Enquired the hefty assistant, gesturing towards a chilled plate of pre-cooked pasta. It looked a bit gross.
'Just a samosa thanks, warm please.' I said, and gazed at my feet.
Ting! And out it popped from the microwave. The assistant turned round from the till and said, straight-faced; 'That'll be two pounds please mate.' For the second time, I almost had a heart attack. The most expensive single samosa in London? I had no choice but to pay though, so grudgingly coughed up.
Blimey, this samosa better be bl**dy good! I thought, as we went back to the bench to eat. Unfortunately though, this triangular parcel did not live up to its price tag, and literally crumbled under the pressure. Its fragile pastry fell apart at the slightest touch, leaving samosa innards strewn over me, my bag, and the pavement. When I did manage to take a tangible bite, I tasted a monotonous lamb filling lacking sufficient flavour and I certainly could not taste my £2 worth. A fail.
Still, nothing ventured nothing gained, and at least my heart was pumping for the cycle home. I wonder what old Joe would have made of it all.
David's Deli, West End Lane, West Hampstead, NW London
Tuesday 28 July 2009
Monday 6 July 2009
Up the junction: A great tale for the grandkids
Travelling through traffic-jammed Archway junction late last night my eyes were drawn to something seemingly too good to be true. It stood out like a sore thumb - a shop front window emblazoned with large blue letters proclaiming 'BAGELS 99P'. Underneath were listed filling varieties: cream cheese, salmon, egg mayo, turkey, etc. My mind did cartwheels. Could this place be an unlikely rival to Brick Lane for good value bagels? And right on my doorstep? The shop was shut so I had to wait for breakfast to get my answers.
Fast forward to today: morning broke and I leapt out of bed to go and sample this amazing cheap bagel offer. Arriving at Archway, I went into the shop - First Stop, Junction Road - and frantically looked around. It contained the usual for a convenience store - canned fruit and fish, expensive sliced bread, cigarettes, wine, etc. Woringly though, I couldn't make out any sign of bagel making or storage facilities. I double-checked in the fridges and could only see cans of drink and a lonely cheese and pickle roll wrapped in clingfilm. There was an old man sorting out the Pringle promotion stand, and I asked him whether he had any bagels for sale.
Looking up, he let out a chuckle much like Dr Hibburt from The Simpons and said 'no, we stopped doing bagels a long time ago, actually! We really need to take that sign down, sorry boss!' Clang!
Fast forward to today: morning broke and I leapt out of bed to go and sample this amazing cheap bagel offer. Arriving at Archway, I went into the shop - First Stop, Junction Road - and frantically looked around. It contained the usual for a convenience store - canned fruit and fish, expensive sliced bread, cigarettes, wine, etc. Woringly though, I couldn't make out any sign of bagel making or storage facilities. I double-checked in the fridges and could only see cans of drink and a lonely cheese and pickle roll wrapped in clingfilm. There was an old man sorting out the Pringle promotion stand, and I asked him whether he had any bagels for sale.
Looking up, he let out a chuckle much like Dr Hibburt from The Simpons and said 'no, we stopped doing bagels a long time ago, actually! We really need to take that sign down, sorry boss!' Clang!
Thursday 7 May 2009
The last time I ate a Samosa I went insane
I was in Leeds on Sunday, mooching about, when I had a strange encounter.
Strolling down the Brudenell Road with some friends, we heard faint rumblings of drumming coming from inside the beautiful old Hyde Park Picture House. Wondering what it could be, we poked our heads around the stage-left door and marvelled up at what we saw. Standing there on stage, holding a guitar, was non other than anti-folk hero Jeffrey Lewis, band in tow, soundchecking for a show there that night. After a brief exchange between us and him (ie. us staring up, Jeffrey looking baffled), we decided to move on and see what the local samosa scene was all about.
So we dropped in at the multi-purpose takeaway named Zulfi's Kebabs/Fat Tony's Pizza, which sits right opposite the Picture House. It's unclear how Zulfi and Fat Tony came to sharing one shop space, possibly they were former rivals that joined forces to attempt blanket coverage of the Leeds student takeaway market. The signage certainly suggests this: Fat Tony's lettering and logo dwells on its pizza operation (stuffed crust, etc), whislt the neon of Zulfi's focuses on the more exotic allure of hot and spicy foodstuffs. This welded operation means that under one roof one can order everything from cheeseburgers and calzones to nuggets and nachos; they even serve up a bizarre option of a pizza topped with french fries. Very tempting late at night if you're pissed.
Onto the Samosa offerings. I was impressed by the array of sundries, and opted for the box of starters which consists of a vegetable samosa, two onion bhajis, and two pieces of mushroom bhaji. A standard combination and ideal for sharing (as we did), as a lunch box, or indeed, a starter. It's a decent portion. Thin and crispy pastry for the samosas, with a limited range of filling but with a healthy and fair level of spice. The bhajis also were flavoursome but not too greasy (which they often can be in takeaways). Moreover, the food was piping hot amd hit the spot nicely. With all this for a mere £3, I felt great.
You sometimes get a sense that eateries offering a so many takeaway options may suffer a touch of the 'Jack-of-all-Trades' syndrome. If the way the friendly staff took time over the samosa is anything to go by, Fat Tony's takes equal pride in all its offerings. A good review.
Zulfi's Hot Spot/Fat Tony's, Brundenell Road, Leeds, LS6
You sometimes get a sense that eateries offering a so many takeaway options may suffer a touch of the 'Jack-of-all-Trades' syndrome. If the way the friendly staff took time over the samosa is anything to go by, Fat Tony's takes equal pride in all its offerings. A good review.
Zulfi's Hot Spot/Fat Tony's, Brundenell Road, Leeds, LS6
Tuesday 14 April 2009
Finsbury Patty Pity
Step out of Finsbury Park Station (Wells Terrace exit) on any evening and turn right towards Stroud Green Road - you can't help but get a whiff of the sweet jerk chicken aromas wafting through the air. It's a nasal delight, a perfect accompaniment for a summer sunset; and it's provided by the hot griddles of the yellow shack on the corner, Big Dada's BBQ (open 10am-midnight everyday).
One fine April evening I stopped off here for a touch of nourishment on my way up the hill towards home. I asked the chef behind the counter for a saltfish patty and made some preliminary enquiries about the establishment.
'So do you cook all your patties here?' I asked, as he took the yellow pastry off the incubated rack and slipped it into a paper bag.
'No, no, they get made in a factory', he said, smiling, '...they come from a factory near Heathrow Airport.' How intriguing, I thought. Why so far away? Are the raw ingredients flown in direct from the Caribbean? Presumably somebody is lugging sackloads of hot patties up the Piccadilly Line everyday.
Fumbling for change, I realised I only had £1.31 in my packet, and the asking price for saltfish patties was £1.50. Seeing my struggle, the seller said not to worry and let me off the difference and handed over the patty. So far, so great! Clutching this cutpriced prize I wandered off up hill.
The lukewarm yellow half-moon pastry was flatter and floppier than I'd had before. Taste-wise, too, I was left surprisingly underwhelmed. It took me three bites to get a tangible grasp of the saltfish's presence. The remainder of the filling was composed of moist mushed pea, sweetcorn, carrot, and red pepper. Only when I reached the mid-section did the flavours break through and liven up my tastebuds. That was the best bit, the pepper and hot spice complementing the saltiness of the fish (cod, I think). Good stuff. Once I'd passed the patty's halfway point though, the spiciness went away again, and I was left struggling on with a mouthful of dry pastry and soggy stodge. To wash it down I went to a newsagents for a can of Orangina (39p).
Overall, I had no major gripes with Big Dada's - it hit the spot, eventually, and I got a discount after all - but as I continued up the hill I felt the pastry/seasoning/filling ratio needed minor adjustment to justify the regular £1.50 pricetag.
Big Dada's BBQ, Finsbury Park Station
One fine April evening I stopped off here for a touch of nourishment on my way up the hill towards home. I asked the chef behind the counter for a saltfish patty and made some preliminary enquiries about the establishment.
'So do you cook all your patties here?' I asked, as he took the yellow pastry off the incubated rack and slipped it into a paper bag.
'No, no, they get made in a factory', he said, smiling, '...they come from a factory near Heathrow Airport.' How intriguing, I thought. Why so far away? Are the raw ingredients flown in direct from the Caribbean? Presumably somebody is lugging sackloads of hot patties up the Piccadilly Line everyday.
Fumbling for change, I realised I only had £1.31 in my packet, and the asking price for saltfish patties was £1.50. Seeing my struggle, the seller said not to worry and let me off the difference and handed over the patty. So far, so great! Clutching this cutpriced prize I wandered off up hill.
The lukewarm yellow half-moon pastry was flatter and floppier than I'd had before. Taste-wise, too, I was left surprisingly underwhelmed. It took me three bites to get a tangible grasp of the saltfish's presence. The remainder of the filling was composed of moist mushed pea, sweetcorn, carrot, and red pepper. Only when I reached the mid-section did the flavours break through and liven up my tastebuds. That was the best bit, the pepper and hot spice complementing the saltiness of the fish (cod, I think). Good stuff. Once I'd passed the patty's halfway point though, the spiciness went away again, and I was left struggling on with a mouthful of dry pastry and soggy stodge. To wash it down I went to a newsagents for a can of Orangina (39p).
Overall, I had no major gripes with Big Dada's - it hit the spot, eventually, and I got a discount after all - but as I continued up the hill I felt the pastry/seasoning/filling ratio needed minor adjustment to justify the regular £1.50 pricetag.
Big Dada's BBQ, Finsbury Park Station
Saturday 4 April 2009
Talking cobblers, patty meltdown at Nag's Head
I woke up this morning to discover I'd lost the heel of my left shoe.*
So today I took said damaged sole to a key cutter/trophy engraver based in the covered market on the corner of Seven Sisters Road/Holloway Road, north London. When I got there, the man in behind the counter, who had a physique resembling a rugby ball, was preoccupied with sculpting a doorkey. Not wanting to distract him I sheepishly placed my stinking Balmoral on the counter, pointed to the heel, and hoped for the best. Clocking me, he yelled 'Alright mate, come back in an hour!' from the back of the workshop. I think he got it.
So with an hour to spare, and a dazzling sun in the sky, I decided to go to work on rooting out the best takeaway on the Holloway Nag's Head junction. The streets were alive with early summer heat and floods of Friday afternoon A1 traffic. The fine weather and last-day-of-term buzz brought out the best in everyone: schoolkids, commuters, workmen, geriatrics, Community Support Officers, even three old blokes that stood outside the bookmakers staring into middle-distance seemed to be having a good time.
My first port of call was the Percy Ingle Cafe on Holloway Road. Despite having a teapot on its signage Percy Ingle is really more of a bakery than cafe. It's glass shelves are full of breads, muffins, spongecakes, doughnuts, and pastries - it obviously caters for the calorific sweet-tooth. I wasn't sure this place could provide what I hankered for, and when I asked the red-faced lady behind the counter if she sold samosas, she became flustered and yelped 'Who!?!', as if I'd uttered some dreaded codeword. I tried to reassure her, told her not to worry, thanked her for her troubles and moved on. Back to the junction.
As the name suggests, Manhattan Bagels just up Seven Sisters Road does a big line in ring shaped bread rolls - you can get virtually any savoury filling you want here. My only gripe with shops like these is that I'm sometimes unsure about their pre-prepared filled bagels (those wrapped in clingfilm). Several times I've bitten into a dry/stale bagel stored in this way. Best to go for something off the menu I suggest, or add an slightly offkey filling (eg. smoked salmon, cream cheese, and cucumber) then you'll get fresh bread from top of the pile, and you see it all being put together for yourself. You can always take the unwanted ingredient out. Something else to note about this cafe is that there always seems to be two elderly Italian men sitting at a table here, sipping coffees and watching the world go by.
I ended up going to J's Supreme Cuisine, a Carribean catering trailer parked in front of the Holloway Road Seven Day Adventist Church. This kiosk has been a fixture at Nag's Head for many years. I got chatting to the lady proprietor who told me how she was fundraising for a children's charity and how she was looking forward to the weekend. She was full of life and seemed to have many regular customers from the college nearby. After checking the menu against my change I asked for one of her finest saltfish patties and a portion of macaroni cheese. Out they came, served with a smile. I bit into the patty first, it was good, evenly spiced warm filling, with tender pastry. The macaroni cheese was worth it too - a big slab for £1. It could have done with a sprinkling more seasoning perhaps, but no major qualms. A veritable energy boost for the stroll back to pick up my repaired footwear.
Sipping a can of 7up on my way to collect my shoe from the rugby-ball shaped cobbler, I basked in the knowledge that I'd only scratched the surface on a world streetfood on this fine London junction.
*I'd unexpectedly become involved in a frenzied effort to rescue a pair of small dogs with extremely waggly tails that were scampering around at 3am on the disheveled streets of Camden Town. Our good intentions were misconstrued by the authorities as an attempt to kidnap somebody's beloved pets. Rest assured, the dogs have since made it safely back to their alarmed owners.
So today I took said damaged sole to a key cutter/trophy engraver based in the covered market on the corner of Seven Sisters Road/Holloway Road, north London. When I got there, the man in behind the counter, who had a physique resembling a rugby ball, was preoccupied with sculpting a doorkey. Not wanting to distract him I sheepishly placed my stinking Balmoral on the counter, pointed to the heel, and hoped for the best. Clocking me, he yelled 'Alright mate, come back in an hour!' from the back of the workshop. I think he got it.
So with an hour to spare, and a dazzling sun in the sky, I decided to go to work on rooting out the best takeaway on the Holloway Nag's Head junction. The streets were alive with early summer heat and floods of Friday afternoon A1 traffic. The fine weather and last-day-of-term buzz brought out the best in everyone: schoolkids, commuters, workmen, geriatrics, Community Support Officers, even three old blokes that stood outside the bookmakers staring into middle-distance seemed to be having a good time.
My first port of call was the Percy Ingle Cafe on Holloway Road. Despite having a teapot on its signage Percy Ingle is really more of a bakery than cafe. It's glass shelves are full of breads, muffins, spongecakes, doughnuts, and pastries - it obviously caters for the calorific sweet-tooth. I wasn't sure this place could provide what I hankered for, and when I asked the red-faced lady behind the counter if she sold samosas, she became flustered and yelped 'Who!?!', as if I'd uttered some dreaded codeword. I tried to reassure her, told her not to worry, thanked her for her troubles and moved on. Back to the junction.
As the name suggests, Manhattan Bagels just up Seven Sisters Road does a big line in ring shaped bread rolls - you can get virtually any savoury filling you want here. My only gripe with shops like these is that I'm sometimes unsure about their pre-prepared filled bagels (those wrapped in clingfilm). Several times I've bitten into a dry/stale bagel stored in this way. Best to go for something off the menu I suggest, or add an slightly offkey filling (eg. smoked salmon, cream cheese, and cucumber) then you'll get fresh bread from top of the pile, and you see it all being put together for yourself. You can always take the unwanted ingredient out. Something else to note about this cafe is that there always seems to be two elderly Italian men sitting at a table here, sipping coffees and watching the world go by.
I ended up going to J's Supreme Cuisine, a Carribean catering trailer parked in front of the Holloway Road Seven Day Adventist Church. This kiosk has been a fixture at Nag's Head for many years. I got chatting to the lady proprietor who told me how she was fundraising for a children's charity and how she was looking forward to the weekend. She was full of life and seemed to have many regular customers from the college nearby. After checking the menu against my change I asked for one of her finest saltfish patties and a portion of macaroni cheese. Out they came, served with a smile. I bit into the patty first, it was good, evenly spiced warm filling, with tender pastry. The macaroni cheese was worth it too - a big slab for £1. It could have done with a sprinkling more seasoning perhaps, but no major qualms. A veritable energy boost for the stroll back to pick up my repaired footwear.
Sipping a can of 7up on my way to collect my shoe from the rugby-ball shaped cobbler, I basked in the knowledge that I'd only scratched the surface on a world streetfood on this fine London junction.
*I'd unexpectedly become involved in a frenzied effort to rescue a pair of small dogs with extremely waggly tails that were scampering around at 3am on the disheveled streets of Camden Town. Our good intentions were misconstrued by the authorities as an attempt to kidnap somebody's beloved pets. Rest assured, the dogs have since made it safely back to their alarmed owners.
Tuesday 10 February 2009
Stout benevolence
Weighing up what to go for down the Indian snack aisle at Tesco earlier this week, I heard an unfamiliar voice come from over my shoulder asking: 'Where do they keep the booze in this place?'
I looked round and standing there was a small goateed bloke wearing a black tracksuit, baseball cap, and quizzical eyes. He was with a friend, a bigger man who didn't say anything. I sensed a Pinky and the Brain dynamic.
'It's all over there mate', I said, and pointed them in the right direction. Small goatee man then spontaneously showed me what he was holding.
'Bruv, listen, look at this', he said, and revealed a tub of Swedish Glace Smooth Vanilla Ice Cream he'd picked up from the freezer area. 'This is the best ice cream money can buy'. In all fairness, it did look classy.
'I bet it's the most expensive as well', I said.
'Nah mate, its £1.80 in Costcutters, only £1.55 here.' Then, again unprompted, he proclaimed: 'Listen, take a tub of this, a can of draught Guinness, and three spoonfuls of Horlicks, you know, that malt drink... mix it up in a blender, and it comes out beautiful. The best thing you'll ever taste.' He looked so proud, as if he'd just won Masterchef, and wore a smile from ear to ear.
'Ah, sounds tasty, cheers for that', I nodded. 'Hope you enjoy it man.'
With that, him and his friend headed off towards the alcohol section to pick up their Guinness.
About 30 seconds later, I bumped into them again in the breakfast/teabag aisle whilst I pondered which cereal I'd have that week. They'd obviously got lost again. 'It's just round there mate', my hands were full with different cereal boxes so I motioned with my head, and they scampered away. Good guys.
Lo and behold, I encountered the pair yet again at the robotic self-service check-outs. They were putting their stuff through the scanner, but unfortunately Tesco don't allow you to split apart multipacks of beers so they had to do without the Guinness for the time being (they only wanted one can - which was strange because there were two blokes - were they sharing the drink? - and for the record it was the second, silent man who seemed to be in charge of the money, I noticed he pulled a fat wad of twenties out of his wallet). They got hold of the ice cream, at least.
On their way out they saw me and nodded goodbye, and so off they went, back into the starlit night of their sweet cocktail universe.
--------------------------
Time passed, and I couldn't stop thinking about this recipe I'd so inexplicably chanced upon. So. a few days later I gave in, bought a blender and tried it out for myself. The results were surprising. It actually tastes great. The ice cream gives the drink a sweet velvet texture, with the Horlicks adding a malty edge. For an extra kick add a good glug of Tia Maria to the mix. (My mate Rob took it a step too far and added a spoon of peanut butter, which doesn't mix properly with the beer.)
If you're wondering what any of this has to do with samosas or fastfood, I initially bumped into those fellas around the samosa/bhaji/pakora shelf in Tesco. They must have been really lost. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. If you haven't read it but still made it this far, you've obviously just skipped to the end... but cheers anyway.
Tesco Metro, Stroud Green Road, Finsbury Park
I looked round and standing there was a small goateed bloke wearing a black tracksuit, baseball cap, and quizzical eyes. He was with a friend, a bigger man who didn't say anything. I sensed a Pinky and the Brain dynamic.
'It's all over there mate', I said, and pointed them in the right direction. Small goatee man then spontaneously showed me what he was holding.
'Bruv, listen, look at this', he said, and revealed a tub of Swedish Glace Smooth Vanilla Ice Cream he'd picked up from the freezer area. 'This is the best ice cream money can buy'. In all fairness, it did look classy.
'I bet it's the most expensive as well', I said.
'Nah mate, its £1.80 in Costcutters, only £1.55 here.' Then, again unprompted, he proclaimed: 'Listen, take a tub of this, a can of draught Guinness, and three spoonfuls of Horlicks, you know, that malt drink... mix it up in a blender, and it comes out beautiful. The best thing you'll ever taste.' He looked so proud, as if he'd just won Masterchef, and wore a smile from ear to ear.
'Ah, sounds tasty, cheers for that', I nodded. 'Hope you enjoy it man.'
With that, him and his friend headed off towards the alcohol section to pick up their Guinness.
About 30 seconds later, I bumped into them again in the breakfast/teabag aisle whilst I pondered which cereal I'd have that week. They'd obviously got lost again. 'It's just round there mate', my hands were full with different cereal boxes so I motioned with my head, and they scampered away. Good guys.
Lo and behold, I encountered the pair yet again at the robotic self-service check-outs. They were putting their stuff through the scanner, but unfortunately Tesco don't allow you to split apart multipacks of beers so they had to do without the Guinness for the time being (they only wanted one can - which was strange because there were two blokes - were they sharing the drink? - and for the record it was the second, silent man who seemed to be in charge of the money, I noticed he pulled a fat wad of twenties out of his wallet). They got hold of the ice cream, at least.
On their way out they saw me and nodded goodbye, and so off they went, back into the starlit night of their sweet cocktail universe.
--------------------------
Time passed, and I couldn't stop thinking about this recipe I'd so inexplicably chanced upon. So. a few days later I gave in, bought a blender and tried it out for myself. The results were surprising. It actually tastes great. The ice cream gives the drink a sweet velvet texture, with the Horlicks adding a malty edge. For an extra kick add a good glug of Tia Maria to the mix. (My mate Rob took it a step too far and added a spoon of peanut butter, which doesn't mix properly with the beer.)
If you're wondering what any of this has to do with samosas or fastfood, I initially bumped into those fellas around the samosa/bhaji/pakora shelf in Tesco. They must have been really lost. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. If you haven't read it but still made it this far, you've obviously just skipped to the end... but cheers anyway.
Tesco Metro, Stroud Green Road, Finsbury Park
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