I’ve been reading other people’s blogs, You know, the ones everybody reads…and I’ve been surprised at how many public-facing people, even celebrities, are confessing to feeling desperate or depressed. I like this pouring out of souls. It’s not just that I feel less alone and hopeless, but that I feel a connection with myself.
I’ve been blogging quite a bit lately, after a fairly long silence. I think it’s because of this connection with myself and my environment. It’s because I felt that, rather than feel imprisoned, I would reach outwards to what is achievable, and then inwards to what I can bring to it. I told Krish last week that I spent one to two hours going on walks to find local things, but that blogging about it afterwards took three or four hours. It enhances my experience. He asked me if this meant that I needed to walk in order to do my blog. I think he was getting at me walking more. No, it’s not that. It is what it is. I can blog about anything. The walking is a means to an end and, as an agoraphobic, that’s important. Walking for the sake of walking is more difficult. The goal of photographing, researching onsite and off, writing later – all of these motivate me. And lately, lethargy and inertia are always threatening to pull me in.
Researching isn’t easy for me. I am impatient. I gather the facts and they overwhelm me. What to choose, what to leave out, and essentially for me, how to write it so that it’s friendly and easily understood. It’d be easy to not bother embroidering my writing about things, places, and people without any background information. Going on guided tours has taught me that knowing a little can enhance. Sitting on my couch right now, thinking about this house, I’d love to know who lived here before, who lived here first – who were they, what were they like, why were they here, what did they do, who was the first…? Krish says that doesn’t matter to him. I’m not sure he means it.
So I have a few blogs in hand. There are bits and pieces of things. There are photos that were left over, areas that weren’t quite completed, photos that belong to little walks that aren’t worth a whole blog. Then there are things around the flat that would be good to talk about. Add all of these to my To Do lists and there’s plenty to keep me occupied, if not delighted.
So here’s a start – Well Street.
It doesn’t look very far but it takes a while to get to Well StreetThe route along Well Street starting at the top right. The Street is a long meandering one but we took a back road this time
On the day we went to Fassett Square and the German Hospital, we took a bus on Graham Road over to Well Street. Originally we were going just to Lidl for some oil and chocolate but Krish decided – unsurprisingly, that he couldn’t resist some cod bites at Well Street Fish and Chips.
On Graham Road on the way to Well Street
Well Street is a meandering road with one end at Morning Lane and the other on Mare Street – a good curve. We started at the point where it turns down into a small high street towards Morning Lane.
Well Street is in South Hackney, just 4.2 miles (6.8 km) northeast of Trafalgar Square (the recognised milestone of London when marking distance). There are records from the 1400s but nothing about a well, although the words like Water and Shore feature even today. Well Street also had a moated ‘Pilgrim’s House.’ There was a small settlement at first, and with a poorer population from the 1700s. By 1831 the whole of Well Street had houses and was quite prosperous, wth shopping and light industry including rope-making, boot-making, and leather working. A cinema arrived in 1913, the South Hackney Picture Palace, and by 1932 there were two housing estate, with two more following after WW2. Well Street has had many prominent residents and characters – Celia Fiennes the traveller and diarist in the 18th century (yes, she is an ancestor of Ralph Fiennes), and Jack Cohen the founder of Tesco who started off trading in Well Street Market. Continue reading “Odds and ends and reflections on blogging – Well Street”
Things can seem dire at times. Lockdown was eased up. Twice. Yet infections are rising. I get confused, decide they do what they want and it’s probably all arbitrary, but there’s nothing to do but follow my instincts and hope for the best. My instincts tell me to stay close to or at home whenever possible. No reason to do otherwise most of the time really. A few times, though, I have ventured out. Last week I even went outside of Hackney for the first time.
There doesn’t seem a lot to say either, since days blur into each other in terms of what I do and manage to achieve. However, I’m still taking photos and these remind me that life isn’t just one big Same Old Same Old after all. So let’s see where the photos take us.
This rare Victorian post (pillar) box is one of two in Stoke Newington. Stoke Newington is home to two rare hexagonal “Penfold” pillar boxes, which are Grade II listed. They are named after its designer John Wornham Penfold, and installed between 1866 and 1878. We found it on a longer walk than I’d planned back in the last days of June. While my legs weren’t happy, it was lovely to see some things I may have seen before but forgotten about.
I liked the lettering on this house near the pillar box. I need someone to translate it for me, though.I spotted some capers in this little shop and cafe. I also saw some great looking bread so I queued and got both.I’ve meant to look into this, but the truth is that I have nowhere to plant the seeds. I love wildflowers and the idea of bees and beehives and honey, despite my fear of being stungI’m always attracted to shops that do things like this. I think I’d like to this eclectic, this quirky, this surprisingButterfield Green, small and hidden away in the back streets of Stoke NewingtonI like these houses on Church Walk, the pedestrian way with no homes opposite. It makes it feel like a secretWe found allotments behind an iron barred fence. I’ve always wanted one but doubt I could manage it any more. I’d go for a rooftop terrace with some lovely planters full of herbs, some vegetables, and flowers. Happy!Choudhury is apparently a prolific Thai restaurateur and chef. I have yet to find out who Paulo Remedios isThere are never any words for stories like this. Tragic pandemic loss of life and a beloved old cobbler shop at Newington GreenThe Newington Green cobbler shop where Kamil Ahmet and his son, Ahmet Kamil, worked. They were both victims of Covid-19. The cobblers is in the oldest surviving terraced houses in London. Built in 1658, they are at 52-55 Newington Green
I live with someone who has OCD – well, it’s OCPD but that’s another story. Germ-phobia is something I also battle. Not everything bothers me and I wouldn’t say that I worry too much but definitely more than some. I don’t have OCD but I do wash my hands quite often and am grossed out by things like ‘double-dipping,’ picking up food that’s dropped on the table (let alone the floor), people using their own forks or spoons to dip into a serving dish, humans cleaning up after their pets – inside or outside…
It goes further with Krish, who won’t suffer shoes in the house or even stored in a room other than a hallway, changes completely out of outdoor clothes when arriving home, and washes everything that arrives from the shop before storing it away, even when it isn’t food. I could go on…
However, the threat of novel coronavirus has revved things up a notch or five. I’ve always been amused at the things Krish calls ‘disgusting,’ since I now am feeling quite the same way.
With the usual sensationalist and alarmist media verve hard to dodge, I’ve considered this – what if (terrible words!) I’m sitting comfortably today, amused at the hysteria and scaremongering, and next week I’m witnessing the zombie apocalyse. In fact, had I been keeping closer written track of things daily, I’d say this isn’t so very far-fetched. Each day I wake up to new situations, hearing increasingly difficult stats and facts, needing to face my personal decisions, just in case. As a somewhat recovered agoraphobic, those italicised words are ones that I’ve spent a lot of time eliminating from my thoughts but now they are creeping back in…necessarily?
Esmeralda lives in Bologna. She’s sent me videos of empty streets, the usual rush hour with hardly any people and no more than a few cars. Italy is in lock-down and there’s nothing anyone can do except wait it out and hope. We’ve talked about it and she feels that Italy has over-reacted. The more I read, the more I think it was the right reaction but maybe not enacted quickly enough.
I follow a Turin blogger, Sonia, who has been posting photos. Last night she posted a good story on how things have progressed. You can see this here . I messaged her to tell her how informative her story was and she asked how I was. I told her about London and how I felt and she let me know she had had to post her story very late that night since she didn’t want her children to hear what she had to say.
In London, things are going on as normal. We haven’t had it as bad as Italy. There aren’t as many cases here. I doubt that will last very long. This is a densely populated city with millions travelling around, crowded together, and these Londoners love to gather in packed pubs as often as they can. Handwashing has become an art, hand sanitiser essential and I’m looking sideways at everyone who sneezes or coughs on the bus.
Last week I went out and was a bit worried about all the bus travel. I sweetened the deal by visiting a new restaurant for lunch. I went to Three Uncles, which serves Cantonese barbecue. It’s been ages since I’ve eaten like that. I chose the noodles with wonton and char siu pork and enjoyed it. I was wondering if the place might be quiet, based on the Sinophobia I’ve been hearing about but trade was brisk.
More rain as I walk along the narrow street to Three UnclesFound it!Inside Three Uncles – it got busierMy lunch! Char siu pork and wonton lo mein
On the way home, I started noticing that no one was coughing…anywhere. I put this down to people staying home if they were unwell, or perhaps being afraid to cough for fear or reprisal.
This hasn’t lasted long, though. I’ve been in the bus with people with awful coughs, rarely covering their mouths and touching everything in sight. On the weekend I went to Tesco. The toilet paper was completely gone from the shelves, there were a few paper towels left, and just a few, more expensive, soaps – liquid and otherwise. Hand sanitisers are nowhere to be seen. Almost every person in the queue had a shopping cart filled to the brim and I waited almost half an hour to pay for my small basket of things. Panic buying had set in.
Toilet paper goneAll but the most expensive hand soaps disappearing quicklyGrab those antibacterial wipes while you can
At the bus stop, a small boy was playing around the seats and eagerly sucking his thumb, a man in the bus was rubbing his eyes vigorously. I clutched my bag close to me and tried not to look.
Krish and I went out. A woman who looked visibly ill, coughed long loose coughs, in the seat across from us, her nose was red and she looked anxious. I tried not to worry too much. Unless we don’t go out at all, there’s no way to avoid all of this.
Yesterday I went to a class on fermentation. I considered not going but thought I was being silly so off I went. My germ phobia had to be put in the back seat or I couldn’t face it. I went back to the Dusty Knuckle Bakery school classroom and this time there were nine of us. I was at a table with three men and everything was shared. We chopped together, threw our vegetables into a communal basin, used our bare hands to chop and to mix.
Arriving at the fermentation class
Apart from an initial mandatory twenty-second hand washing, things got pretty loose. I had decided not to use my phone to take any photos, despite wanting to. The guy next to me took his out frequently. Each time he did so, I cringed. When people came back from being outside the room, only I and another woman washed our hands again. And the guy next to me was the one who wanted to mix the basin of cabbage for sauerkraut with his hands. I tried again to look away.
Later, though, when we were all encouraged to taste the kimchi before it was jarred, his habit of taking a piece and licking his fingers before digging in again broke the dam. I started to feel threatened and upset. When he left the table I begged the other two men to continue with the mixing and not to let him put his hands back in. They smiled at me indulgently. I tried not to panic.
Funny that I remember more of this stuff than what we did and learned. However, I do know that fermentation is what happens when you pack fruit or vegetables, salt, and other ingredients together and allow the main ingredients to be broken down naturally. We made three ferments: A red and white cabbage sauerkraut with caraway, a spicy kimchi, and a beet and carrot dill pickle. My hands were stained with red cabbage and beets – lurid.
I was freaked out but the men were drinking beer – four or five each that night – and not caring much about anything. How do they do that?
We sat and ate together. For the second time I put up with the dreaded puy lentil soup except this time I asked to serve myself and took only a little. There was one big loaf of sour dough bread to go with it and we got to taste some of the ferments the teacher, Adam, had on hand. There was one that had a blue film on top and a truly nasty smell. Adam showed it to us so we knew how funky a ferment could get and yet still be safe. I was the only person who didn’t want to taste it after he scraped away the mould. So unlike me to not be adventurous with food but my phobias were settling in!
We packed a large jar of each mixture to bring home. They weighed a ton! More coughing and spluttering around me on the bus but I made it home and put my jars down.
My finished jars
Today, one of them had overflowed despite being tightly closed so tonight I loosened the lids to let some gas out and tightened them up again. We had to clean the table the jar had originally been on and put the three jars into a plastic bowl under the sink so there wouldn’t be any more messy accidents.
Tonight the WHO declared COVID-19 a pandemic. It’s hard to think of much else. My germ phobia has come to the fore. Not happy about that. I’m reluctant to go out but sure I will. Chances are things will become easier, that we’ll get on top of this and beat it, until the next time.
I didn’t make any new year’s resolutions really but one thing I did was decide I would get to all the restaurants on my list – maybe one each week. I’m working on it. Those restaurants were
Singburi – No nonsense Thai Anju – pop up Korean Bubala – Vegetarian, inspired by the cafes of Tel Aviv Sambal Shiok – Laksa specialist Marksman – Classic British fare in a former Victorian pub P.Franco – Snug, trendy bar with rotating chefs
or Bright – wine bar by P.Franco Peg – tiny cafe by P.Franco with set menu Mao Chow – All-vegan Chinese-inspired dishes Cafe East – Vietnamese home cooking Gloria – Decadent Italian, 70’s Capri-style Kakki Katsu – Specialist in Katsu Curry St John Bread and Wine – newer classic -seasonal, indigenous ingredients and “the whole beast” Rochelle Canteen – British restaurant at Arnold Circus that’s “calm, delicious, and brilliant”
and probably more to come. The ones in italics are the ones I’ve managed to get to so far – I’ll keep updating this. Almost all are local but it’s still taking me ages.
But three are done. None so far are going my must-return list. I hope the ‘done’ list grows and hopefully at least one will become a regular.
A note about dining alone, though. I can remember when I was very agoraphobic and in therapy. One of the practice sessions I had to undertake was to go to any restaurant and eat there alone. This terrified me, I can’t tell you how much. I chose the cafe at The Sheraton in Toronto and I have no idea what I ate there. It was terrifying, but I did it. It wasn’t something I wanted to repeat, to be honest, but since then I’ve become more used to dining alone and I quite like it. I knew I’d be going to most of these places alone, with the biggest drawback being not being alone, but not being able to try enough different things and being confined to just one or two menu items. I love to eat but I’m not a big eater.
Kakki Katsu opened not too long ago at Dalston Junction. This is a really handy location, since I have to be at this corner fairly often. It’s definitely not a chic place, more like a fast food cafe. There was one chef/server/cashier at the front. I ordered a katsu ramen and I would say it rated about a 5/10. The katsu was thick but crispy, the noodles were too soft, the broth was more like an average chicken soup, and the eggs were a bit too well done. It’s passable and nothing more but it was reasonably priced.
Katsu ramen at Kakki Katsu
I already blogged about Anju so I’ll steal the words: Anju has been open for a little while inside The Gun pub on Well Street. I stayed downstairs in the dark and unadorned pub instead of going up to the restaurant space. The menu was short, the few main courses pricey for a back-street pub – at £13-14 – and I’m not really up to a big meal much of the time, so I chose a starter instead: Korean Sushi Rolls (Bulgogi Beef or Braised Sweet Tofu, I chose the beef). They were fresh and pleasant. I was thinking that putting some hot beef in there would have made them more delicious but this was just a taste. Maybe I’ll go again and have something larger.
Bulgogi sushi rolls at Anju
I was really looking forward to trying Gloria. It was described as ‘exuberant,’ ‘over the top,’ ‘flamboyant, and the rest. It was said to be an in-your-face Italian place with large portions and crazy decor. It also boasted a lemon meringue pie with a six-inch high meringue – I have to say I really wanted to try that! I had one aborted attempt to get there, when I got lost, but this time I had it timed between two appointments. I at least wanted to try that pie to see if I would have it again on my birthday.
Gloria is on Great Eastern Street near Shoreditch High Street. I thought it would be trendy but it’s kitschy inside and looks like it’s been there for decades, rather than being quite new. I got a seat by myself quite easily, sitting next to another solo diner with her own table. I chose a ‘girella,’ since it didn’t sound too large – it was a stuffed coiled raviolo with some ragu. I also got some raddichio with parmesan, followed by the lemon pie. The girella and radicchio were pleasant. Then things went wonky. My coffee arrived – it was a standard restaurant cappuccino, the type that you know wasn’t made with a deeply roasted espresso – so so. And I waited…half an hour later, when my coffee was cold, the pie arrived.
Well, it did impress on first sight. The meringue was indeed at least six-inches high and nicely torched. But it wasn’t a lemon meringue pie. I’d describe it as a tarte au citron (rich and buttery and very sweet, with a shortbread base) with a tea-cake type topping that was creamy and dense, like a campfire marshmallow. It wasn’t the tangy, melt-in-the-mouth experience I had hoped for, even if it was interesting and tasty. Almost a fail in terms of expectations and it made me late for my next appointment, which is a whole other story!
From my seat, a glimpse of the bar at Gloria’s entranceDiners opposite in front of the large interior barLooking into the centre of GloriaRaddichio salad and my girellaThe very silly lemon pie
That’s it for now but watch this space grow…I hope!
One day I will be tired of Brick Lane. Not yet, though.
On Friday, 31st January, we thought of walking down Hackney Road that day, taking the bus from Pembury Circus and wandering down – our eventual destination the cash and carry Bangla Town by Hanbury Street. From the bus, though, we noticed so much construction that the street suddenly seemed less walkable. It wasn’t roadworks but a number of new building sites in various stages of construction. What this means is the street art and curious buildings were disappearing.
So we stayed on the bus to Columbia Road.
New construction along Hackney RoadSome parts of Hackney Road are unchangedColumbia Road at Hackney Road
Perhaps another day I’ll brave Hackney Road again and see what’s left. That day opened my eyes to the increasing disappearance of the old, a microcosm – or not so micro – of London itself.
From Hackney Road we decided to walk over to Brick Lane by the back streets, taking note of all the changes and contrasts along the way.
New and old face each other in the Shoreditch back streetsQuiet Shoreditch is close enough to the bustle
From here, it was a less familiar view of Boundary Estate, from its easterly edge. Built as the nineteenth century merged into the twentieth, it’s stayed the same in appearance but not in its culture.
Boundary Estate is instantly recognisable – with its red brickStill Boundary Estate – looking towards Arnold Circus
Once past Boundary estate, it’s time to head over to Brick Lane. The streets here are mostly unchanged but there are signs of the future – construction sites and hoardings – and shops at the top, quiet, end of Brick Lane before you hit Bethnal Green Road are getting smarter. The hipsters are very firmly in place. How will it all look in ten, or even five, years?
Rhoda Street will be next to regenerateClose up of street art on Rhoda StreetThe lesser known top end of Brick Lane – very quietModern Bethnal Green Road at Brick LaneWay too busy at Brick Lane Beigel – the salt bagels were selling outFrom Brick Lane, regeneration is so closeOff Brick Lane
I may have said before that I’ve noticed a new phenomenon at Brick Lane. In most cities I’m familiar with, the ethnic ghettos are expanding. When I lived in North Beach, San Francisco, Chinatown was a short walk away. In more recent visits to North Beach, Chinatown has crept into its streets. In Toronto, Little India has started to creep along Gerrard Street so that you no longer have to go into its centre to find Indian culture. Brick Lane is changing in a different way – instead of exploding, it’s imploding. More and more non-Indian cafes and shops are opening, mingling with the Bengali and Bangladeshi businesses and threatening to overtake them.
What will happen next? When will the current residents move on, as the Huguenot, and then the Jewish immigrants have done? Where will they go? And will they be pushed out, priced out, or will they too climb out? Meanwhile, there’s still time to look around.
Cake on Brick Lane – encroaching on the curry houses todaySclater Street – demolition and hopeOne of Dan Kitchener’s geishas on Brick Lane – agingSticker art on Brick Lane
