Week 3 brings us treacle tarts and smoked haddock and spinach gougeres, neither of which were in my everyday repertoire. The gougere involves choux pastry so is always going to get the seal of approval from me and treacle tarts always seems a fabulously old school pudding to be, one that should be served in Mallory Towers with hot custard that tastes so good you eat too much and have to visit Matron…can you tell I have an unfulfilled fantasy to go to the boarding schools of Enid Blyton’s imagination…?! Read More
Moving to Angel has so far proved to be one of the happiest London decisions I’ve ever made. I love the area, I love the community feel of it, I love sharing it with J. It’s lovely, lovely, lovely.
Saturday afternoon strolling down Upper Street means you are, quite literally, overwhelmed with places to eat and drink. Think of just about any global cuisine and you’ll find it there. Any type of meal at any time of day and again, you’ll find it there. It might not have been the key reason for moving here but the variety of places to spend a few happy hours is a definite plus.
The craving on this particular afternoon was for nothing fancy – coffee and cake. That’s it. After working up an appetite by pressing my face up against the glass of every bakery in the area in the style of a small orphan child, Paul’s was selected.
I love Paris. I adore it. I t’aime it. I could quite easily live there and as a result, I love anywhere that even vaguely reminds me of it. If it’s a genuine and sincere and true reminder, perfect. If it’s actually not even very good but it’s vaguely Parisian, meh, that’s fine too. Paul’s is a lovely little representation of the first one. Glass shelves of beautiful patisserie beckoned and cosy and intimate tables, mostly full of yummy mummy meetings provided a nice fusion of chatter and laughter.