Breaking Bad pop-up bar

Yo bitches! As a fan of Breaking Bad I was very happy to get my hands on tickets to ABQ's themed pop-up bar in Hackney last week - and it didn't disappoint. I'll try not to give away any spoilers for those who haven't seen the series but if you are in the know you will recognise some key features. . .

There are three time slots per evening and despite taking time out to admire the street art on the way from Hackney Wick station (East London for me is still the best place for this) we arrived early for ours and so had time for a couple of pre-drinks. There are some nice details: the menu is in a copy of Walt  Whitman's Leaves of Grass, cocktails are served in beakers and blue is the colour of choice. You can even buy a charred pink bear with one eye and round off the evening with fried chicken and chips from Los Pollos Hackney, which clearly had to be done. 

The main event happens in an RV; you are hustled in by a DEA agent but, once your credentials have been established, it's time to get cooking. You get to make two different cocktails in teams of six, using an impressive array of equipment straight from a high school chemistry lab and assisted by guides in yellow overalls, all under the steely gaze of a huge backlit Heisenberg. Tread lightly.

Once you have done your thing with dry ice and nitrous oxide, the cocktails are served up for you to enjoy. It's dark, a bit cramped and lots of fun; you bond with your fellow meth cooks over the tasks and recounting your favourite characters (Jesse, obviously, and Mike - and as a character, Gus is fab) and quotes from the show (I am the one who knocks!).

Win the competition for the best version of cocktail two and your team is rewarded by a test tube rack of violently blue shots. Do you even have to ask, of course we won! Yeah bitch! 

Tumbling back out of the RV into the night, I was slightly envious of the next group as they got rounded up by the DEA. If you're missing your Walter White fix, or you fell for the new season prank and got your hopes up (really??), then get on the ABQ website now and grab yourself a reservation. Show them some love; rumour has it that they might make it a permanent bar, and I think I need this in my life.

Yours, cookin' some blue, bitch!

London Girl About Town xx

Happiness Forgets

I admit to still being the tiniest bit petulant about the White Cube closing its Hoxton Square gallery space (yes I know it's been two years, what's your point??) and I experienced a renewed pang of loss on my most recent visit to the Square. A leisurely mooch round would have been the perfect cultural sharpener to a fabulous birthday outing with a girlfriend; dinner crafted by one of my very favourite chefs, Cameron Emirali, at his new restaurant 8 Hoxton Square (separate post coming soon!) and then cocktails literally next door at Happiness Forgets.

Happiness Forgets is what all the gimmicky, trendy, trying-too-hard pseudo-speakeasy bars in London want to be when they grow up. It's not really hidden, it just doesn't shout about itself too much. Leaving 8 Hoxton Square you simply turn left and immediately head down the steps to the tiny, intimate and welcoming basement bar. Wafting incense and the chalkboard-type sign painted on the wall opposite guide you into a cosy and dimly-lit subterranean hideaway. 

Sofas and low tables provide spaces for long conversations or you can grab a stool at the bar if you're feeling sociable. There is a no-standing policy which means that once the seating is taken, that's it; on the down side, you do need to book in advance or arrive early to guarantee a spot, but on the very welcome up side you can sit at the bar without an ever-increasing crowd pressing into your back and drinks being perpetually passed in front of your face as you are trying to chat. This, together with the lived-in decor, scattered candlelight and muted music, give the bar a relaxed, embracing feel. 

Staff are both knowledgeable and genuinely friendly, and were happy to advise on the ever-changing and quirkily-titled drinks menu. There is a small but carefully chosen selection of wines should you prefer, but the cocktails are what really makes Happiness Forgets stand out from the crowd. Owner Ali Burgess has serious barkeep pedigree, most notably under the illustrious Audrey Saunders at NYC's Pegu, and his expertise and guidance shine through. These are proper cocktails, balanced and crafted, and so very easy to drink. Oh, and the cocktail list arrives with a glass of cucumber-infused water (which is topped up throughout the evening) - unexpected but perfect for palate-cleansing rehydration. 

The menu is short but varied, featuring several classics with a twist. Usually my heart sinks a little at this phrase; a classic is a classic for a reason, and it is notoriously difficult to do anything positive by fiddling about with something that clearly ain't broke. The exception to this rule, in pretty much any area of artistry, is when someone is knowledgeable and experienced enough in their field to understand exactly how and why the rules work, and so how they can successfully bend them. This is evident at Happiness Forgets.

As I mentioned, the menu changes regularly depending on season, a drink's popularity, and the general whim of the talented guys behind the bar. They are happy to mix your favourite if you prefer but I would recommend sticking to the list, at least long enough to try these: 

Kydonia Daiquiri - fruity, lively blend including cider brandy, light rum and quince liqueur. 

Dante - ridiculously moreish mix of tequila, chartreuse, Kümmel and lime, with a fresh herbal note of basil and celery bitters.

Perfect Storm - a fresh and zingy version of the classic Dark and Stormy, this is a perennial favourite and the closest they get to a house cocktail. Made with Skipper's dark rum but using fresh lemon and ginger juice, balanced with honey and a dash of plum brandy. Perfect indeed.

Baptiste - Remy VSOP cognac blended with lemon and maple syrup, topped up with Breton cider. Warm and wonderful. 

Industry insiders voted Happiness Forgets an impressive sixth place in the Top 50 Bars in the world last year - not too shabby for a place that is understated, unpretentious and which was only opened in 2011. The drinks are fabulous it's true, but for me a big part of their success is that the whole experience is somehow genuine; by which I mean that nothing feels fake, or forced, or guided by the whims of fashion. Happiness Forgets feels like it has been there forever, and by the end of your first drink you feel like a welcome regular. 

And where did they get the intriguing name? Rumour has it that it's from a Dionne Warwick lyric:

'Loneliness remembers what happiness forgets

And when you fall in love too fast

The sunshine doesn't last forever after . . .'

So - go to this wonderful tiny bar, drink, relax and be happy. Oh, and don't forget to look at the back of the menu for random, cocktail-related quotations. My favourite? 'Sometimes I drink a glass of water, just to surprise my liver.'

Yours forgetfully,

Girl About Town xx

(Da) Polpo Covent Garden

I'm a huge fan of 'sharing' meals across all cultures and cuisines: tapas, dim sum, mezze, I love them all. Not only do you get to try a bigger selection of what the menu has to offer in a generally very affordable way but you avoid the awful spectre of Meal Envy - when, having dithered over the menu for an age, your food arrives and you immediately and desperately wish you had ordered whatever has just been put in front of your neighbour.

In case you've been living on a culinary desert island for the past few years, Polpo is one of Russell Norman's group of restaurants across London based on the Venetian bacaro - a small, homely restaurant more like an Italian tapas bar, based around small sharing dishes and wine by the glass or carafe. Slightly confusingly, as the family has grown they have been rechristened: the original Polpo on Beak Street is now called Polpo Soho, whereas this one used to be Da Polpo and is now Polpo Covent Garden. A new addition has just opened in Smithfield. There are other non-identical siblings - Polpetto, Mishkin's, Spuntino (and apparently at least one more on the way) but I had set my heart on a Polpo, so Covent Garden it was. http://polpo.co.uk/

The Polpo restaurants have been criticised for their reservations policy, or rather, their lack of one. Lunchtime tables can be booked, to cater for business dining, but in the evening it's first come, first served - although you can order wine and snacks whilst you wait. Norman himself is unapologetic, reasoning that his regular repeat customers are likely to live, work or play locally so will be happy to just pitch up and hope. In a recent interview with the Observer's Rachel Cooke, he says 'It does confuse me that people rant and rave about this. If you want to book, choose a restaurant where they take reservations. It's that fucking simple!' Read the interview in full here:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2012/jun/17/polpo-russell-norman-interview

Or of course, if you particularly want to eat at Polpo (which we did), just get there early. We arrived just before 6pm on a Friday night and were seated immediately, so it is possible. There have also been murmurings about the appropriateness of such stripped-back decor, bare filament light bulbs and cosy-to-crowded seating in a restaurant that reached number 25 in the National Restaurant Awards last year. To these people I would say just be happy that there is an affordable, unpretentious, top-class restaurant in Central London where people who don't necessarily want starched tablecloths, starched waiters and the muted tinkle of crystal glasses can eat really great food and enjoy themselves. You're more likely to dine along to The Verve than to Vivaldi at Polpo and it fits the relaxed, companionable vibe perfectly.

Greeted and seated by a friendly member of staff, we started with a Caprese Stack and a Summer Pea and Speck Crostino, priced at £3 each. The crostino was pretty much what I had expected for cicchetti, or snacks; a couple of mouthfuls of crisp base, nice fresh pea topping and a decent-sized curl of meat. However, what I had thought might be a garnish actually turned out to be the Caprese stack. One cherry tomato, a single basil leaf and a small piece of mozzarella barely visible beneath said tomato, on a cocktail stick. I'm sorry guys, but seriously? In what possible world can that be £3? We also ordered a cocktail each - a Limona for me (gin, white vermouth and Limoncello) and an Americano for my companion. These were okay, but not wonderful; having said that, the emphasis is very much on wine here (and they did seem to be training up a new member of bar staff) so perhaps I would just go for wine next time - refreshingly all available in 25cl, 50cl and 75cl carafes for maximum choice.

Somewhat deflated, I awaited the arrival (and size) of the Classic Pork and Beef Meatballs with trepidation. I needn't have worried. Three generously plump and juicy meatballs smothered in an excellently-balanced fresh tomato sauce arrived at the table and I have to say they were superb. Great texture, perfectly seasoned, these were as good as I've had anywhere else - Italy and Spain included - and excellent value at £6. If they hadn't been so filling, I might have immediately ordered the Spicy Pork and Fennel meatballs, which sound divine. The Linguine Vongole was about the size you would expect for a starter portion in a standard upmarket Italian restaurant, tasty and with plenty of clams. 

Perking up again, we decided to try the Spinach, Parmesan and Soft Egg Pizzette, a side plate-sized dish more like a topped flatbread than a standard pizza. This arrived generously piled with delicious fresh cheesy spinach and a wobbly just-poached egg; utterly delicious. Wanting to try one of the desserts, and starting to feel quite full, we opted for the Baked Peach with Amaretti Cream; a halved roasted peach served with a respectable dollop of flavoured cream and sprinkled with amaretti crumbs, a perfect end to the meal.

I wholeheartedly recommend Polpo Covent Garden and will be back myself soon for sure. Portion sizes can vary wildly within the same price range but with some judicious choices this is still great value for money, considering the quality of the food in what can be a tourist trap of a location. Definitely worth an early dinner - oh, and I now covet the cookbook badly. 

Yours, sharing nicely,
Girl About Town xx

Mr Brainwash

The Old Sorting Office on New Oxford Street (just along the road from the British Museum) is currently hosting the second London exhibition by film-maker turned street artist Mr Brainwash. You can't miss it; the outside of the building features giant images of the Beatles in bandanas, Kate Moss, and the Queen next to the graffitied slogan "God save the People', pink paintbrush in hand.

Mr Brainwash, aka MBW, aka Thierry Guetta first came to the notice of the general public in Banksy's Oscar-nominated 2010 documentary (mockumentary?) Exit Through the Gift Shop, where he is encouraged by Banksy and Shepard Fairey (of Obama Hope fame) to swap film-making for art.
Opinion has been divided since then as to whether MBW is a Banksy hoax, a late developer or an indictment of hype and gullibility in the art world. Either way, Mr Brainwash has since designed an album cover for Madonna, sold over a million dollars' worth of work in his debut exhibition and had work auctioned at Sotheby's alongside that of Andy Warhol.

So is Mr Brainwash nothing but a huge practical joke, a flipped finger to the world of art? You can get quite Dan Brown about the possible clues if you look for them. The name Brainwash itself . . . labels on the giant paint cans in the exhibition boast 'Improved hiding for better coverage' . . . Banksy's iconic rioter is pictured throwing not flowers but a copy of 'Street Art for Dummies' . . .

The portrait of a brooding Banksy (don't get excited, his face is hidden by a hood) in a Van Gogh-inspired room, ironically an artist whose talent is without question but who sold only one painting during his lifetime . . . hmmm. Also when you leave the exhibition you have to walk either to the left or right side of a rope, one marked 'Exit' and one marked 'Free gift'. Those who wandered down the exit only side and then asked for a free poster were told to go back and walk on the correct side of the rope . . . i.e. to Exit Through the Gift Shop.

Or perhaps Mr Brainwash just is who he is and what may have started as a prank has snowballed itself into reality. Interviewers have commented on how genuine he seems, how the exuberance and optimism of his work appear to be an outpouring of his own irrepressible personality. He describes himself as Banksy's 'biggest work of art' and in an interview published in the Evening Standard said 'Banksy pushed me to what I am today . . . but he didn't know that I was going to run and run!' http://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/meet-mr-brainwash-the-street-artist-taking-over-london-7956384.html

So if he is a Banksy creation - intentionally or otherwise - in going to see a Mr Brainwash exhibition, are you actually going to see Banksy? For his part, Banksy has made him a coat which reads 'Mr Brainwash is a phenomenon. I don't say that in a good way.' and Shepard Fairey has said, 'It was fascinating to observe a lot of suckers buying in to his show'. Confused? I think I need a lie down and a large gin and tonic (not necessarily in that order).

Anyway, back to the exhibition. Mr Brainwash's work has been described as 'happy art' and it is certainly that. Whilst it lacks the scathing social comment that makes much of Banksy's work so compelling, it is undeniably enjoyable; the serious, sober-suited security guard said that the exhibition had had over 2,000 visitors per day and certainly everyone there on my visit was having fun. The atmosphere was very relaxed; once past a cursory bag check (I was allowed to keep my bottle of water, they were more worried about pens, paint or crayons) you just wander around the exhibits, taking photos on your phone, chatting and pointing out new finds.

Pose next to a life-sized London black cab in a giant souvenir toy box, Mickey Mouse fashioned out of antique Coke signs or a 20ft gorilla made of rubber tyres, wielding the ubiquitous pink paintbrush. There are pop icons aplenty from Elvis to Elton; I particularly liked the series of music icons incorporating broken vinyl records (although some photographers of the original images are suing).

Th exhibition is free, runs from 1pm (not 11am as mentioned in Time Out) and has been extended until 7th September.
http://www.mrbrainwash.com/

Is it entertaining? Absolutely. Is it art? I have no idea - ask Banksy.





Yours,
Girl About Town xx

Crazy golf? You bet!

Not a lot of people know this but in the 1930s the roof of Selfridges boasted a pleasure garden, cafe and golf course. This summer it has been reopened to host the Big Rooftop Tea and Golf Party; it's golf, but not as you know it.

British food architects Bompas and Parr have designed a 9-hole course that puts the crazy right back into crazy golf. Each hole is a tribute to a treasured London landmark, modelled as if made of elaborately iced cake or jelly - and realistic enough that one of the club rules is 'No licking the obstacles'. Now that's not a sentence you hear every day.

Step out of the Express lift into a 'Mad Hatter meets genteel English village fête' blur of bunting, teacups, strawberries and golf balls. Collect your putter, choose a pastel-coloured ball, grab your gloriously cherry bakewell-scented score card and make your way to the first hole - the Portal of Destiny. Big Ben, Nelson's Column, and a rather wonderful Tower Bridge (complete with rather thoughtful shrimp net to retrieve errant balls from the water) are all here.

St Pinbaul's is a rather tricky fifth hole, complete with tempting jellyesque models of St Paul's (I did manage to restrain myself from licking, but only after a prod or two revealed them to be more solid than you would expect from the real deal). One of the joyous side-effects of freely-accepted madness is the inevitable shedding of reserve between strangers. How can you hope to adhere to social norms when you are belting a pink golf ball at a giant piece of cake?

The final hole is a twirly lilac Gherkin (okay, 30 St Mary Axe) and then you can tot up your score and retire to the cafe for some well-earned refreshment. I know we probably should have had the afternoon tea, but my companion and I were waylaid by the menu into a glass of Prosecco and a Gin, Elderflower and Violet jelly; a delicately-hued and delicious treat to round off our superbly random London afternoon.

You'll have to hurry as 2nd September is the last day. Online tickets sell out pretty quickly but they keep tickets back for walk-ups each day; go through the Fragrance department on the ground floor and you'll see two lifts on the right. The left hand lift is the Express lift straight to the top floor and should have a hostess with a clipboard standing next to it. You can book your tickets there - time slots should be available throughout the day.

If we're talking high tea it doesn't get too much higher than this.





Yours, in fabulously British randomness,
Girl About Town xx

Gormley at the White Cube, plus a little Cock and Bull

As a fan of contemporary art, Antony Gormley rates as one of my top three living artists; his incredible Blind Light at the Hayward in 2007 is still my favourite exhibition of all time. I also love the White Cube gallery in Hoxton Square; as it says on the tin, it's a very manageable 2000 square feet of pure, clean white space which has hosted the very best of modern British art since opening in April 2000.
http://whitecube.com/

Imagine then, dear reader, my joy at discovering Still Standing, an Antony Gormley exhibition in that very gallery until mid-September. Still Standing features Gormley's familiar body forms, but this time constructed from small rectangular cast-iron blocks. In the White Cube they can be viewed from different perspectives as you walk amongst them, with nothing to interrupt or impose upon your experience. Entry is free- check the website for opening hours.

Friends who may not be that into art and would moan and groan at the prospect of a trip to the Tate or the National can usually be cajoled into ten or fifteen minutes at the White Cube - particularly as there are some fabulous eateries dotted around the area. On this occasion I had a particular venue in mind; the latest venture from top British chef and Midas-touch restaurateur, Mark Hix.
http://www.chickenandsteak.co.uk/

The Tramshed (so-called because it is housed in an utterly gorgeous high-ceilinged building that was once a tramway generating station) is a three-minute stroll away and has been hitting the headlines because of its main course menu. Not because it is too confusing, or esoteric, or self- congratulatory, but because you basically have two options: steak and chips, or chicken and chips. End of. My companion looked quizzically at the menu and said, 'What do you do if you're a vegetarian?' The answer? Eat somewhere else.

Hix's pal Damien Hirst has supplied two specially-commissioned pieces; a vitrine of a cow and a cockerel (entitled, appropriately, Cock and Bull) dominating the main floor, and a huge Cow and Chicken cartoon on the upper section - are you getting the common theme yet?
Hix haters have been rubbing their hands together in schadenfreude-fuelled glee, predicting that Hix has overstepped himself and will come a cropper over Tramshed. I'm not so sure.

On my visit we opted for the chicken, deciding to skip the three-dish starter sharing plate as we had been warned that the chicken could easily feed three people; they were right, it could.  It arrived upright, claws intact and legs theatrically to the sky, topped with a ball of stuffing and surrounded by a mound of chips finished in chicken fat and rosemary. The staff were delightful and happily carved for us (returning at regular intervals rather than carving it all at once so that it didn't get cold) and the chicken itself was delicious; juicy, flavoursome meat under a seasoned crispy skin. We shared a bottle of the Tramshed red, a light lunchtimey red designed to complement both main course options, and didn't have room for dessert. 

Tramshed also has a gallery called Cock 'n' Bull in the basement which I didn't get a chance to visit, but really want to: as well as traditional viewing space they are building a unique library based on the recommendations of experts in given fields - say, Alice Temperley and Jacquetta Wheeler on fashion. This is a really exciting idea and I'm looking forward to following it as it grows.

So, am I coming back to the Tramshed? You betcha. Anywhere that serves food this good, showcases British art, and puts the soap and hand cream in the ladies' loo in squeezy udders instead of boring plastic bottles has my vote. And anyway, I haven't tried the steak.

You can have anything you want, as long as it's cow or chicken. Hix, we salute you.

Yours carnivorously,

Girl About Town xx

Take a boat to the beach . . . without leaving London

Spying one relatively sunny day in the forecast of the otherwise underwhelming start to August, I decided I was going to make the most of it and head to the beach - but the coast is hours away and I felt like a languorously idle sunworshipping day not a sweaty trek. So, on with the sun cream and flip flops and off to Browning's Pool at Little Venice, where I boarded a 100-year-old (refurbished) canal boat run by Jason's Trip.  http://www.jasons.co.uk/index.html

You can of course cross the little bridge and take a London Waterbus instead, but did you know that Browning's Pool is named after the poet Robert Browning, who came to live in the area after the death of his wife, Elizabeth Barrett Browning? The guides on Jason's Trip do, and lots more besides. If you want to get from A to B, the Waterbus is great; if you want to learn a little about the history of the canal as you drift along, and the bridges and buildings that you pass, then I would suggest Jason's.

The trip to Camden Lock takes about 45 minutes and goes straight through London Zoo, where you should get a pretty good view of the aviary, and past some splendiferous Nash-inspired villas.  After disembarking I had a brief mosey round the markets, then made my way to the Roundhouse, and Camden Beach. http://www.roundhouse.org.uk/camden-beach

As the song (almost) has it, you got 99 problems but a beach ain't one; those crazy folk at the Roundhouse have turned their outside terrace into a very passable beach, with 150 tonnes of sand, deck chairs, beach bars and games - plus big screen sports for cheering on Team GB and a large covered area in case the Great British Summer doesn't play ball. Do check the website before you set off though, as it is closed on several days for private functions.

Entry is free, on the condition that you don't take your own food or drink (or any glass containers), but the Tiki Hut is well-stocked and not overly expensive; the bars are cash only but there is a cash machine (and loos) inside the building. A very pleasant afternoon was had, sitting in the unaccustomed sunshine, drinking cocktails and eating chips with a plastic fork whilst wiggling my toes in the sand. Quality.

To all my fellow beach babes and surf dudes - enjoy!




Yours,

Girl About Town xx