The Peanut Vendor

In London, as the months march on and draw further away from the peak of summer, we have to enjoy whatever periods of sunshine we are given. I think we’ve been especially lucky this year in regards to weather—in my 5 (!!) years here, I can’t really remember a nicer summer. But the last week or two we’ve had premonitions of autumn: a cloudy, rainy day that makes us begrudgingly take out our umbrellas, followed by sunny days that have that particular crisp, clear tang of summer sliding into fall. Outside Euston station, the giant trees have already begun to carpet the park in various shades of rust and gold.

Forgive me if I’m pointing out the patently obvious—of course anyone else in this city is going to be heading out this weekend to enjoy the weather, as it is meant to be glorious. But I did have a particular recommendation in mind, one that had been on my radar for a few weeks that I had ignored until last weekend. I don’t want you to make the same mistake.

Victoria Park is a popular destination for East Londoners on the weekend, as is readily evidenced by the crowds of people at the boating lake and the Pavilion Cafe. I’m sure many people who visit the park think of it as the only place to stop and have an al fresco iced latte in the sun, and before this summer they would have been correct. Now, though, there’s a new option, hidden a bit further down towards the Bow end of the park: an option for those who want to avoid the throngs of people around the pavilion and enjoy their latte quietly over a copy of their favourite weekend supplement or novel.

The Peanut Vendor sits sandwiched between Old Ford Road and Hertford Union Canal, surrounded by blocks of flats that manage to feel vaguely Scandinavian despite the fact that they are in Bow. Perhaps it’s the influence of viewing them from inside the furniture store-cum-café, which would feel perfectly at home on the streets of Copenhagen or Gothenburg. Though The Peanut Vendor has existed since 2008, they have only been in this space since this year, moving from Newington Green. They specialise in vintage furniture, dotted through with modern home comforts such as Meticulous Ink notebooks, Compagnie de Provence soaps, and succulents in a variety of receptacles. If you had only seen the perfect curation of The Peanut Vendor’s homewares side of the store, you might think it obvious that they would be able to open a beautifully-designed café. But even the most gorgeous cafés aren’t worth much if they don’t have the coffee bite to back up their design bark. Thankfully, it is clear that the owners did their due diligence and research in the world of coffee.

Here you’ll find coffee provided by Alchemy—in my personal opinion, one of the best roasters in London that you might never hear about unless you live here—and some of the creamiest, most delicious milk in the entire UK from Northiam Dairy. Head barista Piotr Markowski, formerly of Prufrock, has made sure that the entire staff of baristas is well-trained: even though he was not in when I visited, I still received an excellent coffee. In addition to the coffee, The Peanut Vendor keeps standards high in offering a selection of Good & Proper teas and pastries (including that kouign amann) from Yeast Bakery. For anyone visiting around lunchtime, I would urge you to not leave before eating the kimchi grilled cheese on sourdough—one of the most perfect sandwiches I’ve ever had, absolutely bursting with strong flavours—though perhaps not paired with your coffee.

Many cafés strive for that perfect combination of quality, design, location, atmosphere, service, etc… Where they excel in some aspects, they can fall short in others, often in ways that are too glaring to overlook. When you find a café that seems to tick every box, then it’s worth shining a light on them make sure they get the attention the deserve. Luckily, my visit to The Peanut Vendor was as close to “contented weekend perfection” as I could get, and it’s close enough to be considered my local. If you’re looking for a new café in which to while away the hours, or a place to score your caffeine hit before a pleasant meander through Victoria Park, then I’d encourage you to head over to The Peanut Vendor and experience it for yourself—especially while we Londoners are still allotted our seasonable sunshine.

Norwegian Sveler Pancakes

There’s no doubt that this recipe post will be but a drop in the constant stream of pancake recipes flooding your social media today. But let’s face it: people love pancakes. Whether they’re thin European crepes, fluffy American stacks, aebleskiver filled with chocolate or jam, or beignets dusted with icing sugar (all totally legitimate things to eat on Pancake Day, I think) you’ll see them all over Twitter and Instagram, lovingly styled, or perhaps already half demolished.

Today I’ve got an option for you that you may not have heard of before unless you’re Norwegian or have spent some time travelling in Norway. I discovered them two years ago at the Nordic Barista Cup in Oslo. Every morning on the breakfast buffet at my hotel, there was the usual daunting Nordic selection of boiled eggs, cold cut meats, cucumbers, and Kalle paste, and at the end of the table, a pile of yellowish pancakes. Confused as I was about the pancakes sitting out getting cold, I put a few on my plate, because what American doesn’t try the pancakes at the breakfast buffet? I was practically obligated. How surprising it was, then, to find that these pancakes had that certain je ne sais quoi, a little something inexplicably different that made them totally moreish and addictive. Adding brunøst, the brown goat’s cheese famous in Norway, took it up another level. What was this amazing pancake-like food?

Sveler are apparently well-loved in the northern parts of Norway as a ferry food. Yes, quite unglamorous. But board any fjord ferry and you’ll probably find a stack of them waiting next to vacuum pump thermoses of coffee, ready to be topped with cloudberry jam or brunøst and enjoyed as you contemplate the steel-gray water and majestic fjords.

What makes sveler different from normal pancake batter is the addition of buttermilk (or kefir or yoghurt) and hjortetakksalt, also known as ammonium bicarbonate. If you’re wondering whether that’s related to sodium bicarbonate (aka baking soda), you’re correct. It was used as a leavening agent before modern baking powders, with sodium bicarbonate, were largely available; it also leavens more per unit than sodium bicarbonate. I find that using hjortetakksalt gives the pancakes a tang, the sort you taste and feel in the mouth but can’t really describe, a little bit like cream of tartar gives to Snickerdoodles (thereby distinguishing them from normal sugar cookies rolled in cinnamon sugar). It’s the je ne sais quoi mentioned earlier, and it’s definitely delicious. However, it does also smell a bit like death. So if you don’t mind your pancakes smelling a bit funky but tasting deliciously sweet with a slight tang, read on for a traditional sveler recipe.


300 g all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp ammonium bicarbonate (available at Scandikitchen)
150 g caster sugar
2 large eggs
500 ml buttermilk/kefir
1 tsp vanilla paste
300 ml melted butter

First, sift together your flour, baking soda, and ammonium bicarbonate into a large mixing bowl. Add the sugar to this sifted mixture and stir it a bit to mix this. Add your eggs, buttermilk or kefir (I even used unsweetened Greek yoghurt mixed with a bit of milk to achieve a buttermilk-like consistency, as I couldn’t find buttermilk nearby), vanilla paste, and butter on top. Mix this with a whisk by hand or on the medium-low setting with an electric mixer until the batter is uniform. Let it rest in the refrigerator for at least half an hour (the longer it rests, the less funky the pancakes will smell when you cook them).

Once you’re ready to cook, bring your skillet or pancake griddle to a sizzling hot temperature and grease it with a little bit of butter. Use a ladle or spoon to dollop pancake batter onto the pan. We’re going for round, thicker American-style pancakes here, not thin crepes. The batter will bubble quite vigorously, more so than normal pancake batter, but that is ok. You still cook these much the same way. Wait until the edges begin to look dry, and lift up the sides with your spatula to see how brown the underside is. When it’s a nice deep golden brown, slide the spatula under your sveler and flip it.

Once you’ve made as many sveler as your heart desires, it’s time to top them. Though they can be eaten on their own, the whole point of pancakes all over the world is to smother them in something tasty, right? In Norway those tasty somethings are brunøst (a caramelized goat’s cheese) and cloudberry jam. They’re both a bit of an acquired taste, especially the brunøst, but I think once you discover that you love it, you’ll be unable to resist it’s salty, molasses-sweet allure either. Use a cheese slicer to tempt delicate curls of cheese from the block, set them on top of your hot sveler and watch them melt. Add a little spoonful of cloudberry jam (Norwegian flags optional) and you’re halfway to heaven.

Enjoy your pancakes, whatever they may be today!

The Dairy, Clapham

I don’t find myself in Clapham very often, which isn’t surprising. I live in East London, go to university in Greenwich, and a large portion of the places I like to go to (let’s be honest, it’s mostly coffee shops) are concentrated in East London or Central London. It’s not that I have anything against Clapham—I think it’s a probably a great place to live with the common offering so much lovely green space, and as of last year, it has one of the best cafes in London in the form of Fields. But it’s a long way away, so unless I have a reason to go out there, I usually don’t.

This past weekend I found myself out there on a job to photograph the aforementioned Fields. Much to my dismay, they were closed for a week for some renovations. I stared at the shuttered windows from across the icy cold, windy common, wondering what I’d do with myself now that I was out in Clapham at a loose end. I wandered amongst the neon-clad, huffing joggers, wondering if I should attempt to get a table at the packed Brickwood Coffee & Bread, when I looked up and the answer presented itself: The Dairy.

I had heard about The Dairy from quite a few of the food types I follow on Twitter, all very positive things, and I knew that I had to give it a try whilst I was on this side of the city.

As I soon found out, I was lucky enough to catch them right as they were opening for lunch at 12 pm, because by the time I was on my second plate, the restaurant was nearly full of booked tables. Clearly the people of Clapham know they have a good thing, and boy are they right.

After ordering a cocktail (Dill or Die, essentially a Hendrick’s gin and tonic with smooth touches of cucumber and dill) I was brought a small snack. It appeared to be pork rind, though it was much lighter and more airy than any fried pork rind I’ve ever had. In actuality, it was a Marmite crisp (the only time I ever have and probably ever will enjoy Marmite) with a bit of blue cheese emulsion on top. It was a lovely little mouthful to get my palate excited for the main courses.

When I say main courses, you might think of single large plates sporting filling amounts of food. The Dairy doesn’t have these. Instead, the portions are quite modest—I was recommended to order either the tasting menu, or two to three dishes a la carte to have a satisfactory meal. Being the shameless lone diner I am, I ordered three plates, not realizing that they would also be bringing out a complimentary loaf of sourdough bread to go along with the meal. It was a delicious and intriguing surprise, presented in a warm linen sack alongside a stone bearing a lick of smoked bone marrow butter. When I pulled the loaf open, curls of steam poured out, as if the bread was proudly proclaiming itself to be the freshest you could hope for. And the flavour… well, it was probably the single nicest loaf of bread I’ve had in a restaurant. Or anywhere. Ever. The crust had an amazing smoky tinge to it, much like pizza crusts fresh from a wood-fired oven. Spread with a bit of the butter, it had such an alluring, rich flavour and fluffy texture that I may or may not have stuffed the whole thing into my mouth before my first plate arrived.

The first course came from the “Snacks” section of the menu: smoked wood pigeon with parsnip and hazelnut. I was immediately apprehensive when the dish arrived because it looked very much as though I had ordered pigeon tartare by accident. I’m no fan of raw meat other than sushi, but in the spirit of adventure I decided to eat it anyways—a good move, because this was one of my favourite dishes I’ve had in recent memory. The morsels of pigeon had a slightly gamey flavour and a hint of sweet wood smoke. Combined with the parsnip chips, parsnip emulsion, lemon zest, and grated hazelnut, the entire dish was a lovely balancing act between sweet and savoury flavours, with the greenery adding a bit of peppery bite.

Next came Lady Hamilton smoked pollock with pink fir potatoes, black garlic, and sea vegetables. The flavours were much bolder in this dish: rich and salty like the sea. The fillets of fish slid apart at the lightest touch from my fork, and the potatoes were fluffy and perfectly cooked. The crunchy bits (alas, I did not ask what they were) atop the fish added a bit of texture and extra salty punch to the ensemble.

Although I could have stopped here and been pleasingly sated, I had one more plate coming: suckling pig belly and cheek, apple and walnut chutney, and cabbage. The pork belly was perfectly cooked, with a crisp top and succulent meat beneath. The cheeks were a good deal leaner than the belly, but not any less tender, and paired wonderfully with the smooth apple and walnut chutney. To make the dish even better, I finally got the pork rinds I thought I had received at the beginning of the meal. And what pork rinds they were—forget about all the cold, thick, jawbreaker-like ones you’ve probably had alongside your pork belly meals. These were the wispiest, most elegant hints of delicious porcine flavour I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating. Even though I would have happily eaten large portions of all the dishes I ordered, I think this one made me the saddest about not having more of.

Pleasantly full and incredibly happy with the whole experience, I asked for the check and was given yet another complimentary nibble. I have to confess that at this point I was slipping into a bit of a post-prandial fog and I didn’t write down what these sweets were. But the donut was hot and fresh and filled with a tart curd, and the little crisp on the right was like some kind of sweet and spicy gingerbread. They were both just the right size for fitting in after a decent-sized lunch, and made sure I was sent off with a contented, sugar-dusted smile.

The bottom line? You have to go. I wish I had brought someone with me so we could have ordered more dishes and tried more things, as I’m sure they would have all been as brilliant as the ones I had. I would say possibly go with a group… then again, you’d run into the situation where the more people you bring, the more you have to share, and the food here is so good I just don’t think you would find it in your heart to do so. I probably wouldn’t and would do some passive-aggressive hand poking with my fork. (You know the kind. Don’t act like you haven’t done it too.) The one advantage to bringing more people is that you would be able to spread the cost a little bit, which for me as a solo diner and a student was a bit much, but when you think about the quality of the food (and I am sure of the ingredients), then it all becomes worth it. I hope that I’ll find an excuse to go to Clapham again so I can try more of the food at The Dairy… and if I don’t, well, The Dairy is more than enough reason to go there on its own.


Kouzu say they seek to offer the experience of Japanese dining as an art form; in fact, the word kouzu 構図 is the Japanese word for composition. Care is taken with the composition of the dining experience here, from the moment you enter the front door—possibly even before. In choosing its location, Kouzu has done very well. Situated amongst the impressive white stucco facades of Belgravia in an old National Bank building, and just across the street from the famous Goring Hotel, its imposing Doric columns make a statement of grandeur. Given that this is a Grade II listed building, it isn’t surprising. But what you find on the inside is. Far from the huge, cold, empty rooms one might expect from a former bank, the restaurant has been beautifully designed and decorated to give a feeling of understated sophistication. The most ostentatious thing in the whole space is a gorgeous two-story hanging paper lamp structure reaching from the moulded ceilings of the mezzanine to add a soft glow to the foyer.

When my friend Jasiminne and I arrived for lunch on a quiet Friday afternoon, the impeccably polite host and hostess greeted us, took the name for our reservation, hung up my coat (Jasiminne is a rebel without a cause, rolling around in this weather sans woolly coat), and showed us to our table near the front. Our waiter, who proved to be wonderfully attentive and knowledgeable throughout the entire service, gave us our menus and left us to decide our starters after asking us if we wanted still or sparkling water. They brought us a bowl of salted edamame, a simple but delicious appetizer that seems almost integral to any sushi restaurant experience. There’s not much you can do to go wrong with edamame, save serving it cold, and thankfully this edamame was nice and warm.

As we polished off pod after pod, we decided to order a variety of sashimi starters, forgoing the hot appetizers and salads. Far from being ordinary plates of sashimi, these have been combined with a variety of sauces and toppings that compliment the differing flavours of the fish rather than overwhelm them.

We had limed-cured sea bass with a super-fresh salsa and green pepper sauce. The plump little tomatoes and micro herbs offered bursts of flavour on top of the base of the bass, and even thought I might normally push aside the garnishing greens on a dish, these combined so well with the other flavours that I ate every last sprig.

Our favourite dish was the nearly flawless tuna tartare, tossed with a chilli sauce and sesame seeds. I only say “nearly flawless” because in this case, I found the peppers and other salad on top of the tuna to be needless. The fresh fish combined so perfectly with the mild nutty flavour of the sesame seeds and the slight sweetness of the chilli sauce—it would be such a shame to mess up that balance with more peppers. To be completely honest, though, I really dislike fresh bell peppers, so if you like them, it probably wouldn’t bother you so much. Either way, this dish is one that you have to order when you visit Kouzu, as is the salmon with yuzu soy dressing, pictured below right. In addition to being the prettiest dish we received, it was also my favourite, tied in first place with the tuna tartare (at least until our main arrived, but more on that later). The yuzu, present in both the dressing and in pickled form on top of the sashimi, offered a zingy tang to the dish that, when paired with the pink peppercorns, conspired to form piquant flavoursome fireworks with each bite. I gladly would have eaten two or three of these to myself along with a cocktail and called it lunch.

Last on our line-up of starters was the yellowtail with a truffled ponzu dressing. The dish was a mildly flavoured mélange of shiso, spring onion, myoga ginger, and the dressing, piled atop slivers of yellowtail. The spring onions added a subtle spiciness to the dish, and the truffle came through in a slight umami-ish aftertaste. Not really the overwhelming truffley extravaganze I was expecting, but pleasant nonetheless. When I say that this was our least favourite starter, I only say that because it didn’t stand out as much as the tuna and salmon. It was still delicious and very much worth ordering if you like yellowtail (for me one of the less flavoursome sashimi fish) but the flavours were not so bold as in the other starters.

We decided then to order a selection of nigiri and a main to share. The only one we really had our eye on (well, besides the Wagyu beef, which we fantasized about ordering for 0.0001 second) was the miso-and-fennel-marinated roasted black cod. From a modest-sized selection of nigiri, we chose the o-toro (fatty belly tuna), eel, scallop, and ikura (salmon roe in a seaweed wrapper). In the interest of surveying all the sushi on offer, we also ordered a salmon and avocado roll.

The nigiri were wonderful—as fresh as you could hope for, and presented elegantly on an asymmetrical black ceramic plate, an element of wabi-sabi amongst the curated perfection of everything else. The roll was as good an example of a salmon and avocado roll as you can find. I think it was a mistake on our part to order it, and the only thing we didn’t coo over as we ate. When put up against the big flavours of every other dish we ordered, how could it stand a chance? If you are going to order a sushi roll at Kouzu I’d probably recommend going for the spicy rolls that would pack more taste. Or, even better, just order another black cod.

What can I say about the black cod besides the fact that it was perfection on a dish? Jasiminne summed it up more simply in her review when she said that she never eats cooked fish; yet actions spoke louder than words as we fought passive-aggressively with our chopsticks to divvy up larger portions of the dish for ourselves. The buttery soft cod slid apart at the first sight of a utensil, held together only by the umami-rich crisped skin. Our ongoing conversation came to a standstill as we snapped up every last bit from the plate, ignoring the celery salad and clementine garnishes in favour of the utterly exquisite main. The only thing wrong with our cod is that we only ordered one to share when clearly we would have been much better off not having to deal with the politics of sharing a dish that amazing.

Instead of desserts, we finally ordered some cocktails. Being sensible about the early hour of the day, Jasiminne ordered a yuzu bellini; not at all mindful of the knees-up birthday party I was attending later, I ordered my usual Negroni, fortified at Kouzu with Bowmore 12-year-old Scotch and aragoshi umeshu. It was a bold choice for lunch, perhaps a bit too bold, as I am not at the best of times a fan of smokey Scotch. But after some wandering around to take photos upstairs on the mezzanine, where those looking for a more authentic experience can find the sushi bar, I came back to a slightly diluted drink that allowed the nuanced flavours of the umeshu and Antica Formula to come through.

We left Kouzu with our cheeks warmed against the cold wind and pleasantly, not excessively, full from our long lunch. I can highly recommend Kouzu for anyone who enjoys sushi and Japanese food with a modern twist. For the traditionalist, the sushi bar upstairs will satisfy all their nigiri and sashimi dreams; for the fusion-lover, dishes such as the cod and the “new stream” sashimi like we ordered will keep your palate thrilled with the array of flavours. It isn’t cheap—our meal would have amounted to £115 had we not been guests of Kouzu—but the quality of the food, attentive and knowledgeable service, and overall experience make it worth it.

We dined happily as guests of Kouzu, but all opinions remain my own.


Today’s post is just a short and sweet one, kind of like these Snickerdoodles: really easy to whip up in a post-holiday-feast haze. I’m sure we’re all there right now, eyes slightly glazed over and not sure we can stuff another item of food into our bellies. But I’m here to tell you that yes! You can! And if you’re going to put anything else in there, it should be these.

What are Snickerdoodles? To me, they’re the most American of all the cookies. Chocolate chip? Please. Iced sugar cookies? Don’t make me laugh. Everyone knows these cookies. You can find them in lots of countries. But say the word “Snickerdoodle” to anyone who isn’t American or who doesn’t have a baking-obsessed American friend, and you might be greeted with a confused look.

Snickerdoodles are the softest, pillowiest, most moreish cookies that exist on this earth. If you can only have one, you are made of stronger stuff than me.

sdoodles-1 View Post

What to Bake & How to Bake It: Courgette Cupcakes with Mascarpone Frosting

I’ve been an avid baker since high school, when I took to the kitchen like a baby deer takes to its legs for the first time—that is to say, very ungracefully, with much wobbling and more than a few trip-ups. One of those tender first memories of baking exploration came from the time I decided to make a pineapple cheesecake for my grandmother’s birthday. After a few attempts at cheesecakes that bubbled, cracked, collapsed, and failed to set, I lamented the old cookbook that I’d found the recipe out of, wishing I had someone to troubleshoot with, give me advice, or at least show me how a pineapple cheesecake should look. (Pro-tip: don’t use the canned pineapple juice for flavouring, as it has enzymes that prevent the cheesecake from setting. I learned this many years later.)

View Post

Peppery Lemon Tart

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have seen me getting excited about moving into a new flat back in June. Amongst many other more serious reasons for wanting to be out of the old one, I had another more personal, somewhat frivolous reason: my new flat had a brand spanking new kitchen. OH, what a kitchen! It had a shiny glass hob, smooth stone counters, spacious and clean cabinets, and the mother of all kitchen amenities (in England at least)… a dishwasher. If you’re a reader in America, you might not realize why this is such a big deal. Well, one thing I’ve learned from living as a student in England is that most flats don’t have the luxury of a dishwasher. I’ve gotten used to hand-washing my dishes–perhaps a bit too much.

The last time I went home, my parents and I cooked a big roast meal together. I’m used to cleaning up around the house when I visit so that I’m more of a help than a burden. After dinner I started in washing the dishes, scrubbing hard at the pan that the roast potatoes had been in. After about 20 minutes my mom wandered back in from the living room. “What are you doing? We’re waiting on you to start the movie.”

“I’m washing the dishes, mom, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You can just put them in the dishwasher, you know.”

I looked over at the dishwasher, directly to the right of the sink, underneath the heaving drying rack where I’d been precariously piling roast pans, utensils, plates, and pots. Yes, I’d gotten so used to hand-washing the dishes that I literally forgot my parents had such a thing as a dishwasher.

So, yes, I’m a bit excited to have a dishwasher for times when I’ve dirtied a lot of dishes. And baking is certainly one of those times! I’ve been using my kitchen quite a bit to cook and bake, with the hopes of putting more recipes on the blog. However, as I’m sure seasoned recipe bloggers will know, most recipes take a few tries and tests to get right for public consumption. I haven’t found the time for most of them; luckily, though, this lemon tart turned out pretty spiffy on my first try. See?

View Post

Overcoming Inertia

Hello there! Long time, no see.

I’m sure that you thought I’d abandoned my poor blog; in fact, I wasn’t totally sure myself whether I had or not. My intentions this summer were good. Going on a grand trip, taking my laptop, planning to write at least once a week… the ingredients were all there. But if there’s one thing my trip taught me (and it wasn’t just one thing, I learned quite a bit) it’s that I am absolutely horrible at updating my blog on the road.

“It’s ok – you’ll do it when you get back home and settled in,” I thought.

Had I not returned home early, cutting my trip short, in the throes of a horrible unknown travel sickness, perhaps I would have felt more like doing something. But the sugar sand beaches of the gulf coast called my name, and I spent my week at home in their warm embrace, soaking up as much sun as I could before returning to the UK. After a short trip to North Carolina for a friend’s wedding, I returned to London full of energy and ready to take on the world: to explore the city I missed so much, to write about it and photograph it, to kick my writer’s block in the butt once and for all.

But my third year of university has had other plans. In a way, I knew third year would be difficult. Obviously, since it is the final year, the stakes would be higher and the course load would be heavier. I had no idea of knowing it would be so exponentially harder.

What’s that? Bloggers are supposed to be all sunshine and happiness and never show that they’re having trouble? Sorry. This is not a polished lifestyle blog, and it never will be. So I have no trouble admitting:

My name is Kate and my third year of university is currently kicking my ass. View Post

Mid-2014 London Coffee Update

It’s an undeniably exciting time for London coffee. New shops are popping up like daisies as enterprising coffee lovers take the leap into business ownership; already established cafes are taking their first steps towards expansion, or adding another location to a quickly growing roster.

It’s a Sisyphean task, trying to keep on top of London coffee news. Just as soon as you think you’ve heard all the latest, something else happens. What’s that? You managed to visit 2 of the new places on your list this weekend? That’s cool. Here are 4 more that opened.

As I write this post, I feel a bit of a thrill that we’re so spoiled for choice; I also feel a bit of despair to know that by the time I return to London in October, I’ll be so completely out of the loop and behind on things that it’ll be pointless to try and catch up. So while I’m gone, you’ll all have to keep up for me and let me know what the “must visit” places are when I get back.

But enough waffling. On to the interesting stuff.

View Post