The De Beauvoir Deli, De Beauvoir Town

One of my favorite places to stop in for lunch on the weekends is The De Beauvoir Deli in De Beauvoir Town, which falls between the boundaries of Islington/Hackney.

I've always found a favorite cafe to anchor myself to wherever I've lived in London. It's probably a comfort thing. I always felt it was important to have a "go-to" place for lazy Sunday breakfasts or fresh bread and olives when you're hosting unexpected guests. In Maida Vale, we had a favorite Italian deli that sold the best parma ham and bread. We were also fans of the pancakes and hot breakfasts at the American-owned and run Plan 9. In Angel, we rolled out of bed and straight into the ramshackle, mom 'n pop, Rheidol Cafe (which was hardly ever opened, it seemed) and in Dalston, it's The De Beauvoir Deli that's been a firm favorite for lunch and afternoon cake, along with Reilly Rocket for breakfast and brunch.

Although the deli can become quite hectic and overcrowded (and service sometimes slow as a result - I once waited 20 minutes for my sandwich to be made, but it was worth it!), if you hit it at the right time and can bag a seat in the corner, then you're set for an hour or two. John and I are huge fans of their roast beef and horseradish sandwich, made on freshly baked, soft brown bread, although when I went last weekend, I also fell in love with the minestrone soup.

Did I mention that it's a great place for last-minute gifts? Perfect for say, if you're running late to a dinner party, or if you're looking for a present for a foodie. I noticed that they sell Prestat drinking chocolate and truffles, along with some very unique chutneys and sauces. Last year, I bought my brother a selection of hot sauces, since he's obsessed with the condiment (especially the kind at Nando's).

Their cakes are always impossible to resist: above is a slice of their gluten-free lemon cake, which, despite sharing with John, I managed to polish off in no time.

If you're in the area, I'd suggest stopping by.

My Favorite Shortcut: The Royal Opera House

I have an embarrassing confession to make: sometimes, when I'm rushing to the gym from work, I take a shortcut through the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden.

I feel kind of wrong doing it, even though I know that, technically, I'm not doing anything wrong - I'm not causing a disturbance or blocking people from collecting their tickets by simply walking through. But, at the same time, it feels wrong because the ROH is like hallowed ground to me: it's home to one of the greatest ballet and opera companies in the world, and I'm strolling through on my way to the gym.

Like Big Ben, the ROH is a place that never ceases to amaze me. Often, I've contemplated about leaving London - sometimes when I'm feeling restless or bored or frustrated or homesick or sick or annoyed, I think about leaving my life here behind and starting anew. I know it'll still be waiting here for me. But then I'll walk through the ROH, or glimpse the London Eye and Southbank from Waterloo Bridge (which happens to be my favorite view of London) and think, "Not quite yet. I'm not ready to give this up just yet." I only wonder when I will.

What about you? Do you have any favorite shortcuts, whether it's on foot or by car? Or some other method of transportation?

Special Delivery: Valentine's Peeps

I received this beautifully wrapped package this morning from Anna, and it made me go, "Awwww!!!" aloud at my desk:

 

Isn't it beautiful? The underside of the heart bears a lovely Valentine's Day message and I'm currently looking for a piece of wire/string so that I can hang it up in my office. 

Once opened, I was ecstatic to find Valentine's Peeps carefully preserved within the pink tissue paper:

I can just tell that I'm going to become quickly addicted to the Strawberry Creme chicks dipped in milk chocolate. Sigh. I honestly don't understand why these haven't made their way across the pond yet. Oh wait, yes I do.

Thank you, Anna! You make this Angloyankophile feel very, very loved!

That one time ... I forgot to pay ...

Do you ever wake up in the morning with the sudden realization that you've either a) forgotten to do something very important or b) unintentionally messed up something potentially important? With all that's going on in my life right now, I feel like either of those options is a high possibility right now.

Which is why it was no surprise that, as I snuggled deep into my down comforter this morning, reminiscing about the delicious slice of apple cake and custard I had yesterday at Mood for Food on Essex Road, I suddenly threw off the covers and shouted (yes, to myself, since John had long since left for work), "OH MY GOD. I NEVER PAID FOR THAT CAKE. OR THE TEA."

Embarrassing? It felt downright criminal. I'm such a goody-two-shoes and rule-follower that this sort of thing horrifies me.

How could this have happened? Well, I retraced my steps. I had a lot on my mind and was waiting for Ruth to arrive so that I could spill my guts to her. In the meantime, I ordered my cake and tea, took out my wallet to pay, and was handed a table number by the man behind the counter. Mentally reminding myself to pay at the end instead, I took the number to my table and sat down. Then I changed tables because the obnoxious chatter of the women behind me was annoying. Then I changed tables again, because another group of obnoxious women came in. Then I changed tables for a third time, Ruth arrived, ordered, we sat down, I spilled my guts out, picked up my groceries, and left. Without paying.

So, this morning, praying that they'd be open, I walked in and explained the situation to the woman behind the counter, who remembered me from yesterday but seemed a little bemused by the whole situation. I gave her my £5 note but then felt the need to explain that I honestly had forgotten and hadn't intended to run off without paying.

Anyway, the cake was delicious, if you're wondering. My advice is to pay in advance - especially if you're in a distracted state-of-mind!

A (Surprise!) Birthday Party

About three weeks ago, I contacted one of John's best friends, Rob, and presented to him my plan: I wanted to throw John a surprise birthday party at our place, inviting all of his/our friends, but needed to get him out of the flat for as many hours as possible during the day so that I could prepare without him getting suspicious. Rob all-too-readily accepted the challenge, and roped in two other friends to lure John out of the flat with the promise of watching the Six Nations rugby game (a big one, conveniently, as it was England v. Scotland) at a pub in the City (what ensued was the most hilarious chain of boy banter I've ever read, btw. Why do guys have a secret language?).

Obviously, the lack of suspicion failed, because in Week 2 of planning what Rob had dubbed, "Operation Calcutta Cup", John saw right through my lies and knew I was up to something. "Rob mentioned getting the boys together and watching Six Nations in a few weeks' time," John said to me a day after I had hatched my plan. "Oh yeah?" I said, casually, as I folded laundry. "We have a huge projector, so why don't I get them to come over instead?" he said. "That won't work," I replied quickly. "I've got so much ... work ... to do at home. I need some peace and quiet." He looked at me. "You're SUCH a bad liar," he said. "You're planning something!" I simply walked away and wrote to Rob: "He's on to me!" I knew that John knew something was up, but I was confident that he didn't know the scope of who'd be involved. I had gotten in touch with some of his closest school and university friends through Facebook, who were all enthusiastic about the idea of a surprise party and more than happy to attend.

Fast forward to the day of the party: I made sure to mope around the flat the whole morning in my pajamas, waiting for John to get out of the house while simultaneously complaining about how "tired" I was and how much paperwork I had to get through that weekend. I even managed a, "I wish you weren't going to the pub" pitiful look. As soon as I heard the door lock behind him, however, I sprung into action: calling Alice and Jodi over to say the coast was clear, moving tables and arranging chairs, waiting for the Sainsbury's delivery of over £100 worth of booze to arrive, and getting dressed.

Alice and I headed over to Party Party (what a name, right?) in Dalston for helium-filled balloons and party decorations (which ended up looking AMAZING), while Jodi helped prepare snacks at my place. 5:30 (when I asked people to start arriving) rolled around in no time, but when no one showed up then, I panicked and texted Rob, telling him to delay John for as long as possible. Sure enough, at 6 pm sharp, when I had asked everyone to arrive by, the doorbell started ringing and didn't stop!

Soon, there were 20 of John's best friends gathered around, waiting to surprise him. When I got the text from Rob telling me that they were on their way, we turned off the lights, got very quiet, and waited for the sound of the key in the lock. We had candles in two of the cupcakes that Alice and I had been feverishly baking for the past hour or so, and all was in place.

When John walked in and we shouted, "SURPRISE!" the expression on his face was priceless (and one that we can re-live thanks to Bindy's quick-thinking skills of filming the scene as it unfolded on John's iPad mini). It made me so happy to see him so happy and I knew the weeks of my secretive planning had led to a success.

For the rest of the night, we caught-up with each other, ate these ...

... which Alice and I made from a recipe in the Hummingbird Bakery cookbook (the cake stand is from Oliver Bonas, in case you're wondering).

We somehow ended up at Passing Clouds until 3 a.m., with John delightfully and deliriously happy-drunk, repeatedly asking for a KFC "Zinger burger" (we had to settle for Dixy's, instead, as KFC isn't exactly an 24-hour establishment).

This was the aftermath the next day:

All in all, it was a terrific evening. And what did I learn? Firstly, John has some amazing friends, who obviously love him very, very much. Secondly, planning surprise parties is fun. I wouldn't rule out doing another one at some point in the near future! Thirdly, never underestimate just how many pizzas or beers you'll need - you'll always need more.

What about you? Have you ever pulled off a successful surprise party before and were there any close calls to the surprise being spoiled?

A Birthday Dinner at Paramount, Centrepoint on Oxford Street

So, I just might have received the best belated birthday present yet: last week, Tom and Cristy presented me and John with tickets to the viewing gallery at The Shard. Made entirely of glass and standing at over 1,000 feet, this is now the tallest structure in the European Union. As I stood at its base waiting for a bus in Bermondsey last month, I almost toppled backward (in true, comic style) while attempting to look up at the building. Typical.

While our much-anticipated visit to the Shard may have to wait until we get some clearer skies here in London, I surprised John with dinner atop Centrepoint last night as a birthday treat. Like many other people out there, I do find - to some extent - restaurants and bars at the top of buildings rather gimmicky and unoriginal. I also feel like they're the kind of places people take each other to on first/second/third dates to impress them. "I just want you to know that I didn't take you here to impress you," I said to John as soon as we sat down. After 8 years together, I'm not sure there's much more to be impressed by (although he still impresses me daily, but that's for a sappier post - like, never). "I took you here because I know you love skylines!" And he loved it. Who wouldn't? I don't care how cynical or cool you are - seeing cities from above (for example, I have never, ever seen the British Museum's glass domed ceiling from a bird's eye view until that evening) is amazing. One of the highlights of our trip to Bangkok last year was having drinks at the Lebua Sky Bar and seeing the city from a similar vantage point.

I was impressed by the restaurant as I had booked a Toptable deal (3 courses for £38.50, which is excellent, considering that you can select any course from the ala carte menu - sorry, was that tacky that I just named the price on here? Oh, well.) and (politely) asked to be seated at a window table (which was granted) and for John's dessert to arrive with the words, "Happy Birthday", written on it, plus a candle. Which all happened. Of course.

(Sorry, is it tacky that a) I took a photo, or rather, made John take a photo of his own dessert b) posted it on Instagram and c) posted it here? Oh, well.)

Had it been a Friday and not Monday night, I would have easily liked to ascend to the viewing gallery for cocktails after dinner. But alas, the pumpkin carriage taxi 38 bus beckoned across Tottenham Court Road and we descended 32 floors instead, back to earth.

"One on One" at KW Institute for Contemporary Art, Berlin

What do you do when you only have one and a half days in Berlin? This was the toughest decision to make during our plane ride. Armed with only a DK Top 10 guide and some scribbled suggestions from a co-worker about which restaurants to visit, we had no idea where to begin.

We really wanted to experience as much of the city as we possibly could - both the go-to tourist destinations (like Checkpoint Charlie, Brandenburg Gate, the Reistag, etc.) and those places that were slightly-off-the-beaten-path (refer to the previous post for an amazing bar that John found for a nightcap one evening).

And even though I gawped at the majesty of Brandenburger Tor set against the clear, blue sky we had on Saturday, and was moved by the personal accounts compiled in the rather ramshackle Haus am Checkpoint Charlie, it was an exhibition called "One on One" at KW Institute for Contemporary Art that left the greatest impression on me during my short visit to Berlin.

Arranged over three floors, the exhibition itself consists of several small, constructed rooms, which are accessed by one person at a time (hence, the title, "One on One"). Upon our arrival, we were given a guide/notes/floorplan to the exhibition and a door hanger, which is then hung on the door knob of the room you wish to enter to signal that the room is occupied. Clever, right?

Like this:

The fun part is not knowing what to expect in each room, but I'll admit that it was - on every occasion - a very intense experience. In fact, one performance piece was so terrifying and claustrophobic (I won't give too much away!), John said he felt genuinely afraid, but then countered this with: "... but it was one of the best things I've ever experienced!" Needless to say, I didn't go into that room.

I loved that the pieces forced you, as the sole occupant of each room, to engage with the artwork. Often when I entered a room - for example, FORT's "The Charmer", which contained a small but loud, humming refrigerator in a dimly, yellow-lit room with linoleum flooring and depressing yellow painted walls - I felt a strong urge to walk straight out. Some felt overwhelmingly foreboding, or sinister - others filled me with downright dread. But I didn't. Instead, I didn't think too much about it but let the art linger with me instead. As the viewer, you're free to view/experience the art however you'd like in the room you're in. I contemplated sitting down on the floor for a few. 

My favorite installation was Annika Kahrs' (which, I am about to give away, so if you're planning a visit to this exhibition, stop reading now!) and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since we left! 

As I opened the door to this particular room, I heard a beautiful recording (or so I thought!) of Brahm's Waltz, Opus 39. I'd actually been hearing it as I walked around the floor earlier, but was puzzled as to why it was repeatedly - and abruptly - starting and stopping. Upon entering the room, I found myself in a small corridor that featured a second, more ornate and beautifully decorated door to the left. As I gripped the handle of this door, the music became louder. I pushed the door open. 

Two pianists were seated at a grand piano, performing the Brahms. The catch? As soon as the door opened, they stopped playing, hands folded in their laps, and simultaneously turned to stare at me - expressionless, but with just a hint of disdain. I did what other people would probably do in that situation: laughed nervously, nearly apologized, and hastily retreated, closing the door behind me. Of course, the second the door closed, the music began again. I laughed, suddenly understanding that the joke was on me. I opened the door again. This time, I was braver, and walked into the room. I looked at the music over their shoulders and wondered what would happen if I played a line, an octave higher. They sat motionless and continued to stare at the music. I laughed again to myself and finally left the room for good, causing the music to begin again.

I've never experienced an exhibition that so actively engaged with the individual and was incredibly disturbed, delighted, and thrilled by "One on One". I doubt it'll be brought to London, but if you happen to be in Berlin in the next few weeks, I highly, highly recommend a visit to the gallery.