Off the KERB

As usual, it all started with a tweet. I started following my favourite street food stalls on Twitter and one day they happen to be next door. Hashtag KERB Peckham, and I starred it and followed it up to hear more about it.

 

It all happened quite organically: some friends are in town, Friday night... shall we go to Frank's? Hang on, night out in Peckham?

But I could go back in time even further, when it all really started with a tweet more or less a year ago. It came from Le Cool in one of their summer newsletter. I went to read it, a year ago, back to when it was still sent in horizontal format. That's when I found out about Frank's. I was still living in North London, and venturing it down South to Peckham seamed rather outrageous, specially for a night out. But still, the concept of a terrace, a bar, in a multi-storey dodgy car park was really appealing (I have a thing for Brutalist Architecture), but the terrible Summer and other social events did not allow me to attend in 2012. I must admit though, that I manage to brave up and go to the Rye to visit the stunning Old Waiting Room, and tried to, quickly, find the location of Frank's for further reference, but I felt sort of unsafe for me that day.

So my third impromptu visit to Frank's happened this last Friday, in an attempt to get away from the weekday mayhem, for a well deserved drink after work and to have an excuse to be outdoors with my friends. Safe as usual, I took the bus 37 (bus 37 is the new 29) and got off at Peckham Rye high street to wait for my first friend to show up. My friend T took the wrong overground, so I had half an hour to spare in an unknown neighbourhood. This time I had things planned a lot better: as preventive measure, I decided to follow up my starred tweet and find out where the KERB was. Last Friday at Frank's involved an hour queue for not arriving at the right time, and this time, considering the amount of friends expected to come at different times, it was going to be quite a hard work logistics operation.

The entrance for the Kerb was opposite to the station, at The Bussey Building, opposite to Blenheim Grove, and trust me, rather hidden unless to follow the stream of hipsters towards it. A very narrow entrance lead to an also narrow corridor to a backyard. To my surprise, street artist Phlegm had been there before, at the entrances of the CLF Art Cafe (which hey happens to be the house of the famous Roof Top Cinema). But this time, I turned to the right, to proceed to be checked but quite big bouncers (really good guys though). Right next to the fenced entrance, I also saw ROA on the walls. Double divine signs to reassure me that I was going to the right place.

 

 

 

 

 

And there I was, at the KERB. After a few seconds I realised: No matter how much I love the Street Feast in Dalston... well, I have it right at my doorstep now.

It was just 6:45 and already look pretty exciting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then I saw some steps, and some signs signalling a Roof Top.

I followed them. A bit like Alice in Wonderland.

 

 

 

And whoa... second Roof Top of the evening and then it al clicked. It is exactly the same roof top I could see from Frank's (I know, it takes me a bit of effort to figure this kind of things out). So more music, more food stalls (Fleishmob... Schnitzel!) and more drinks.

 

 

And after exploring, I went back to Frank's. Did not queue. Gathered with my friends and moreover, I enjoyed the stunning views from the top. And back to the Kerb, this time for real, until it shut at 24h00. Nobody wanted such summer night to end.

 

 

 

 

But recapping to the important bit. What is Frank's?

Well, somebody a few years back, had an idea. Peckham, the new Dalston (?), unexplored territory until not long ago. It is located in a multi-storey car park next to the Pekchamplex. A place which you would not think to go in winter, for the fear of probably being stabbed or to interrupt a drug deal in one of its floors. But in summer it changes: you can feel the stream of hipsters going towards the stuck-in-the-past cinema. Just follow them to the right... am I going in the right direction? There is a yellow door. The pedestrian access to the Multi-storey park, and just because it is not dark you don't feel like you're going somewhere dangerous, but there is no way you can explain those directions to a friend that is coming 10 minutes after, because your friend would never think is going in the right direction.

So you open the yellow door and start going up the concrete stairs and think for a second that at some point in your life you had a car, but you know for sure that you did not park it there. Keep going up and you see what it looks like Malarky has drawn a cheeky monster on one of the windows. Keep going up and you exit the stairs.

Now you are in the parking space. Cars, a few cars...

Oh, a queue!

Ok. You feel reassured, you are not in the middle of a drug deal, but in the place to be down South on a Friday night, and hence the hour-long wait to get inside.

 

 

 

 

But what can I say? It is definitely worth it.

 

 

 

And mind you, the views are the most stunning views in London. Forget about The Shard.

 

 

 

 

 

And because it is a British Summer, the clouds come and threaten to ruin it all. But it doesn't matter.

 

 

But this is the great thing about the British Summer. You have to embrace the sun and the outdoors, because you certainly don't know how long will it last. In London, we don't have a beach, but we certainly have the vibes, and the places.

 

On the way back home, I got lectured about great pubs around the Rye and I can't wait to see them all, but that will be another story.

 

It's a wrap

I went back home from Christmas, like everybody does. Back home with mom and dad, back home with the family and the usual quarterly meeting with what used to be you old room. Quarterly meeting with what used to be your old computer and 6-hour train ride to the North to visit the relatives and time enough for self-reflecting.

It is past 21-12-2012 and we haven't died. This was a far bigger hoax than the stupid year 2K computer crash that managed to sell all sort of fixing crap to avoid a stupid figure disaster that some PhD IT engineer apparently didn't thought about back in the early days.

All and all 2012 has been a pretty good year. In fact, now aged 26, I am enjoying things, little things, even more than before. Seems like this great City has caught me right at the peak of my cultural development, so I have enjoyed every single minute of it.

2012 packed the greatest of celebrations and all that involves them: Queen's Diamond Jubilee and the Olympic Games. Transport for London suffered a major facelift and now is looking better than Mel C post Spice Girls Era. Summer was surprisingly calm in the centre and London was dressed to impress all year long (let's not count Bishopsgate Road, near Dirty Dicks: this bad boy cannot be kept clean, not even putting a bin every foot).

East London has been crowned the official trendsetter and people is not afraid of popping around deep Hackney on the weekends anymore. In fact, hipster media says that you should be seen in postcodes around EC1 and E19, while WC1 to W1 are so 2010... Street Feasts conquered the hearts of us skint Londoners, which now we have forgotten about eating a meal sitting down. A fiver per item, and sitting on the floor of a derelict warehouse is what you have been supposed to be doing this last summer, while testing the new lager or real ale from the microbrewery round the corner. The 'shabby chic' has displaced the Swedish angular white furniture. This year's all new places required a menu written in white chalk in a blackboard, mismatched school chairs, exposed wooden floors and old mattresses as up-cycled lamps.

People in 2012 didn't want to eat small portions in a massive designer plate anymore. People pilgrimed around the city in search of the latest pop-up food joint to eat in cardboard boxes with their fingers. Because just in case you didn't noticed, hot dogs are not in anymore (except Big Apple Hot Dogs or Bubbledogs): the new fast meaty solution is the burrito in all shapes and forms. High end fast food.

But I lied when I said that E* postcodes were the only ones allowed this year. In fact, the dirty South is the alternative for the Dalston Superstars. SW2 is getting strength, and I could really support the fact since I moved to Brickstance (the stone of Brixi, a saxon Lord). I can support this affirmation as i brought with me on my train 4 London-related magazines which, as the season demands, wrap up the year, and all 4 of them affirm that the best Burger in town can be found In the upcoming Brixton Village, really, at Honest Burgers. Really good burgers are now the new fish and chips. We don't want more beans on toast. Because last year, the best burger was crowned up on the East, on a shy school yard, at the Netil Market in London Fields, off a caravan with old school speakers, but people thought it was a bit too much to pay 8 quid to eat the burger under the rain, Lucky Chip.

Before somebody asks, NO, I haven't tried those famous burgers, but I have had dinner in nearby places around the market and both for quality and price, I have reassured myself in the fact that I will never ever set a foot in McDonalds or similar again, as Prima Donna served me a burger in Ciabatta Bread of the size of my head for less than a Whopper menu. However, confessing myself as guilty as all of yours, I will admit breaking the rule when very late at night, after a big night out, the local chippie that offers chips and chicken for 2 quid is an effective reliever and needed cure for the next day hangover.

I must admit that now matter how hip people want to eat, they now and then want to it their buttocks in any sort of horizontal surface for a while. The same way that in spite of trendy burritos and Mussels and chips pop-up, people still adore the good old pizza, and for me there are two choices: South for Winter and East for Summer, and famous reviewers agree. I almost felt down off my communal wooden bench at Franco Manca at the Village but Hackney Wick rocked my socks after a very gloomy day, the sun finally set and showed my path to Hackney Wick and something divine served me Potato and Sage pizza at The Crate that made me forget about the Olympics and my wet socks.

And people back home keep telling me how bad food this in this great City, and I chuckle inside thinking: oh, you have now idea, and it is better it stays that way. People keep telling me about surviving the bad weather, which fair enough, has been a nightmare this last summer, but as cure for it, somebody decided to chuck tons of fine sand on top of the Roundhouse and named it the Camden Beach.

If still not enough, a group of people decided also to start a market down the canal and THAT was absolutely beautiful. Floating market: brilliant. 

I have eaten a two course dinner at a Supermarket and I have discovered secret roof terraces in Dalston

But yeah, living aside Street Food, Food Markets and pop-up shops, in spite of me being fully employed and spending horrendous amounts of time commuting, I managed to see probably all the bands I wanted in the best little venues of London, managed to go to crazy corners of the city: end of tube lines or brand new postcodes to discover derelict bunkers or party in potential festive venues that now have closes for stupid organisation and lack of safety.

Bands, lots of bands: Sleigh Bells, Spiritualized, The Raveonettes, Glasvegas, The Cribs, DZ Deathrays, Dark Horses, Two Wounded Birds, Mika (!!!), The Crookes, Hanni El Khatib, Jack White, Electric Guest, Crocodiles, The Pukes, The Futureheads, The Pukes, The Buzzcocks, La Femme, Dirty Beaches, Deap Vally, Django Django... Even one of the Proms at the Royal Albert Hall, with Imogen Heap included.

And I feel like awarding the venues: The Lexington for value/money and cool for having two floors (but he quiz night sucks), Roundhouse best layout, Shacklewell Arms for being awkward to get there, Birthdays for opening way before Rita's was built, Electric Ballroom for its quirkiness, Heaven for the stinkiest (piss and beer), The Union Chapel for being the most beautiful venue in London, The Old Blue Last for its convenient location and dead chip gigs, Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen is alright, intimate, Koko never fails but is way too red, Ally Pally for being ridiculously big (and sort of tropical) and Shoreditch Park (interesting story behind it) for being a cool park to host a city festival.

And is not all about music: I have managed to interact with a lot of my favourit artists working around the city and has left me thirsty for more. The annual meeting at White Cross Street Party introduced me to Milo Tchais and Stephen Ball, Rich Mix gave me a massive showcase of Cityzenkane, Tony's gallery showed me that a bicycle rode by Christian Grillitsch can turn out into pretty interesting art pieces, and the list just goes on and on.

Aw, good times.

Happy New Year 2013.

Definitely more stories.

Fifteen Street

It all started with a Tweet, once again. Retweeted the hashtag #fifteenstreet and the rest is history: we all saved the date for the event.

The official description: massive weekend long, street food party. Hosted by Jamie Oliver's Fifteen as part of their 10th anniversary celebrations, featuring the 2012 British Street Food Awards, Ginstock and Rumstock.

3:00 pm and we were all stamped up and ready to go.

Without forgetting our free beer courtesy of the secret password from Tweat Up unveiled a couple of hours before. 

All kitted up, and hour friend K, advises us of the queues for the food.

I looked to the right, and read FAT written in very big brush strokes of black paint, and I though: Wait a minute, is Jamie Oliver encouraging us to be overweight? Is he insulting us?

Turns out there was a person covering the lower part of the E at all times, so really the painting said:

EAT.

Makes sense.

Peace, Jamie. 

First trader that I can identify, right at the entrance is the now well famous Sorbitium. I discovered them in one of those evenings at Street Feast in Dalston (now moving to Hackney Downs studios). 

K greeted us with a big hug (we hadn't seen her in a really long time) and assertiveness towards the stall to queue at. 

She wanted fish, so we queues at The Fish Hut (from Suffolk). As she made us aware in advance, the queue was considerably long. Taking on account that, although this was street food but not fast food, each portion was carefully made freshly on the spot, the waiting time was not very agile.

Nevertheless, the day was absolutely gorgeous and we had free beer, so we queue, because that's what we do in London. We queue.

Needless to say, the street in which this food fest was taking place was also gorgeous. Right in the middle of Old Street, between converted industrial warehouses.

Booze was 'reasonably' priced: beer for £3.50 and festival sized cocktails for £10, that considering a normal cocktail in a club is £7, value for money is not bad.

15:45, right at the beginning of the queue and hungry, in spite of the massive english breakfast that we had in the morning, news of the first casualty of the afternoon: No more fish, sorry.

Erm... what? It is just 15:45. There was still crab balls (sounds bad said like that) and the third item that I cannot remember, but the lost felt a bit bitter, so we moved on to search for more options.

Walking down the wide alleyway that is Westland Place, we devised the Ginstock / Rumstock area, that was undoubtedly crowded, and the queues probably even bigger. As we were not there to trial Gins or Rums, we kept of sights in search for the perfect meal.

Luardos, Mexican street food was there, a

And Yum Bun

So we headed back to the main road, a bit worried of what we could find without waiting for hours. So Mussel Man was right in front of the exit of the Ginstock, and remembered how I read about their pop-up event of Mussels and Prosseco in Dalston, so could be the perfect choice (and the queue was small).

Perfect, this can't go wrong. 

Oysters were on the menu, but we thought the winning option was the pot of mussels and chips for a fiver. Cannot fail.

Our watery mouths turned dry by the time we got to order: 16:10 and another bomb dropped: Sorry, no more chips.

- What? I can still see chips frying there? - we said. 

- Er, these are for these other orders - said pointing at 4 or 5 other tickets.

We sighed - Alright, we'll have just moules. 

By the time our order was prepared, there were stills frites on the fryer. We demanded some, obvs. 

It was getting more and more crowded.

Samples of the Gin / Rum stock.

Posh loos but just around 8 for the, let's say, 1000 persons in there... Not enough. Imagine the queues.

Too drunk? .... nah, just the camera.

Little patch with grass, straw and matts to hang out.

Half of the group left the green patch to queue another our for a Baja Fish Taco, made of friend fish, chipotle sour cream, cabbage shreds, lime, coriander and beans. According to them it was totally worth the wait.

We finally all gathered with full tummies by 17:30, it was time for ice cream for Ginger's Comfort Emporium.

And of course, there was a queue, and one of their guys was signalling the end of it, as they were about to close (17:30!!). Fortunately the guy was hilarious, and convinced him of us being the last on the queue, while trying to get from him the hint for the best ice cream of the menu.

Salted Caramel & Peanut Butter.

INCREDIBLE

Lulabelle's High Tea there

17:53 and almost everything had run out of food.

Overall, lovely place, lovely stalls, lovely traders and lovely food, but too many people and food running out too soon. 

Was the 4 pounds worth it? I would say that the Tweat up's secret password beer paid for the entrance and the food was probably reduced an average of 1 pound all the different food options in price. We want to think that the those 4 pounds charged were there to pay for the organisation and the traders did not pay to get there, but it could have perfectly been for free (with limited wristband availability).

Street Feast works smoothly every Friday...

Anyway, sunny feast-y London, don't go. We still have many stories left.