The Sugar Bar

The sky is blue as blue, a half moon’s still out in this cloudless sky, sun’s blazing down upon us so fiercely – it’s just wonderful! And there are drunk idiots prancing about on the rooftop terrace, completely off their faces at 11 in the AM downing shots of Jack Daniel’s being absolutely ridiculous whilst R and I try to soak up some sun. Reading magazines and doing a bit of essay planning in peace? Impossible. Reeeediculous with a capital R.

But thanks to these trolleyed losers, we moved off to a lovelier and more chilled out spot Look Mum No Hands, a cafe-bar-workshop down on Old Street. I think it was also the first time I thanked Tesco for anything – not having a cold can of coffee which meant we could head off somewhere else, any excuse to get out in the sun and sip a frappe. A leisurely walk away from where I live and we were grooving down Old Street which suddenly looked a lot more cheerful in the sunlight. The cafe is a pretty cool one which looks very inviting with their large workshop-like doors thrown open, large windows, great big wooden tables conducive for work, laptops or just sitting about with a coffee and cake to watch some TV. There are newspapers and magazines strewn about the wooden benches outside if you fancied lazying in the sun and reading. The interiors are also thoughtfully put together to be both creative but not overly distracting if you decided to sit about and work. And oh, if you’re by the window, you’ve not only snagged prime-time spot for people-watching, you also get free wi-fi.

It’s the epitome of CHILLAX.

And the service is great. Waiting staff are chatty, friendly and eager to help. When I asked about taking photos, the dude behind the counter was like ‘yeaaa man, go ahead’. Welcome to happiness and freedom central with tall glasses of double shot espresso frappes to go. Worried about your lactose issues? They’re happy to sort you out with anything from whole to semi- to skimmed to soy. Actually, not just happy. Thrilled. The cakes, pastries and savoury tarts looked damn fine too and the same dude and I had a nice 30 second groan about how yum they looked. If we’d been hungrier or hadn’t had breakfast, I might’ve ordered one of those pastry twist thingies or a generous salad to enjoy out in the sun but I think, right now, the name of the game for me is to hold back and build up the anticipation for the next trip.

Sitting outside was like some sort of therapy. If R and I weren’t currently-in-the-process-of-recovering-from-a-hangover, I might’ve ordered a cold beer, but the frappes were a lovely touch to our sun therapy. People sitting around us were friendly looking folks too; some were here for quiet newspaper-reading time, for brunch with the kids and the dog, a chat with friends or were tired cyclists stopping by for a caffeine break. Loved the atmosphere!

This is what summertime should be like.

Happy days all round guys. With airplanes in the sky, coffee through a straw and the sickly sweet creamy smell of sunscreen. And adios again, I’ve got a deadline to meet!

I haven’t stepped out of the house much other than for groceries, heading to the library or for work. There hasn’t been much venturing towards coffee shops and I have missed that coffee shop atmosphere, the scent of beans brewing, the bustling back and forth by waiters from tables to bar and for neat freaks like you and I, the sight of assorted cakes, cookies, breads all perfectly laid out on trays or stands behind glass covers. I’m a coffee shop girl through and through; and I like bringing work or reading with me to a coffee shop because the atmosphere always gets my motivation going. I’m not going to deny the romance of a smooth black cuppa, and the flaneur-esque peaks I take out of the window whilst sat at a table all to myself. I’m always at such peace in a coffee shop, pensive and sometimes a little relieved (maybe because of the temporary escape from city-paced walking out on the streets). Time seems to slow down to the beats of dripping filtered coffee, ticking away within its own coffee shop universe that is as uncomplicated as a scone, jam and clotted cream. I heart it, and surely many others of you do.

But hanging out in London coffee shops sometimes is much too much effort. The cost of travelling to one (the Starbucks here in Old Street ain’t that bad but it’s just a little too squishy for my liking and hasn’t anyone realized that Starbucks coffees aren’t that impressive) is not great for a poor student like me, walking to the amazing quirky little ones which stock Monmouth coffees out in Shoreditch is just too distracting sometimes, especially when your table-neighbours are wearing lame silver leggings, have streaks of bright green in their hair and this is all some time before midday. And then there’s the cost of sitting in the coffee shop. It’s not the coffee that’s expensive. It’s the other stuff that I can’t resist ordering. I can’t nurse a lone coffee. I’m just not that type of girl. I’d need a cookie, or a pannetonne, or a fruit tart, or a scone, or even lunch and the whole shebang. I’d be broke by the end of the month if I kept up my coffee shop habits like I normally do back home or during my undergrad days (when I got free coffees through a friend).

Things changed this week though. I handed in one essay 4 days early and I thought this sort of behaviour just had to be rewarded! So I visited Le Pain Quotidien in Goodge Street for a little sit down with my library books. No food photos I’m afraid but I was thoroughly impressed with the atmosphere and the communal dining table. I didn’t order much except an iced black coffee (which came extremely milky because the dude with dreadlocks who took my order was ditzy to the core), a flourless oh-I’m-in-love-type of brownie (which was expensive for the size of it but worth ever penny because it was seriously good) and an Americano after. The coffee was really good and I loved that it came in little bowls – true Frenchness gets my thumbs up.

And then today, I nearly lost my job. It’s a real long story but let’s just say the good news is that I didn’t lose it in the end. And I’ll have to thank my Mama’s fighting spirit that I’ve inherited for that. Well after the whole meeting, my brain was all a little fuzzy and my stomach – which had not stopped growling all through this serious meeting – was about to throw in the towel. Hence, my 2nd coffee shop trip/treat of the week was well justified. Again, I had no camera on hand. But from the outside, the stylish brown Princi sign was like light at the end of a dark tunnel. Stepping through the glass doors into this underworld of glorious breads, the sound of excited chatter, the smell of flour and cheese, the clinking of wine glasses, the spitting and hissing of opening cans of soft drink – it was truly my safe haven. And the interiors don’t get any more chic than Princi’s.

I ordered a slice of woodfired margherita pizza and an Americano (which wasn’t as impressive as Le Pain’s I’m afraid), had a great big chat with the mates at work on my Blackberry whilst this beautiful man next to me flipped through a Tom Ford folder. The lady on my right was reading the paper. The sound of the pages turning was quite comforting and reminded me of my Dad who reads the paper every morning religiously. Although there are quite a few tables and communal ones about, I was attracted to the bar at the back. I love bar stools so naturally I zoned in on that area quick as anything. The zen water feature of running taps in front of the bar tables was very nice too. See what I mean about the safe haven?

I’m loving this place so much I can’t wait to visit again. On my next visits to Princi and Le Pain Quotidien, expect more pictures! Til then, check out what I took home with me: Tiramisu and Olive Bread. You so have to love Princi for making their cakes in neat little rectangles!

Princi
135 Wardour Street
London
W1F 0UT
Tel.: 020 7478 8888
Opening hours: Mon-Sat 7.00-00.00 Sun 9.00-22.00

I was in Oxfordshire since last weekend soaking up some good ol’ countryside. If the weather had been a little less harsh and a little more forgiving, I think I’d have more pictures to share. Frankly speaking, however, I was just a tad bit lazy. Knowing this was probably the only ‘break’ or ‘holiday’ I was gonna get for about another 2 months, I wanted to be as lazy as I could and to enjoy myself thoroughly without having to frustrate physical movement with camera-slung-around-neck or camera-held-tight-in-both-hands. Getting away from any sort of technology was very refreshing as well. I admit I was still visibly active on Twitter but my Blackberry got minimal usage. The beloved laptop was left back home in London, the iPod got squished into a corner of my bag very often saved for used sweet wrappers and crushed receipts hardly given a second thought. And believe it or not, I barely touched my camera. It was food shoveled into mouth (or if it was busy chomping, it was engaged in very precious conversation with H) before the clicking of shutters. It may not have been the vacation of a lifetime but the sense of peace and zen, and the joy I had in reuniting with a friend who’s practically my soulmate would’ve beaten any holiday package hands down.

In the span of 5 days, we covered much ground. We (or rather I) woke up to beautiful breakfast spreads, coffee-ed at our much loved Morton’s and lunched at Maison Blanc where I missed the man himself by literally 30 minutes! The awesome thing was that H got speak to the man in all his glorious French-accented English. H’s mum got his book autographed. And wait for it, our dear Raymond Blanc even gave her an emergency number to ring lest she needed his help in the kitchen! Now if only I’d booked the earlier train, I might’ve had the chance to witness this most delightful affair.

I didn’t mope about for long as the fresh breads and grassy flavoured olive oil dip at Quod wiped my brain of any other thoughts. Mind became blank, and mouth awash with drool. A bit like a blank canvas ready for painting, I was starving and eager to begin my meal. Two glasses of crisp white and a spankingly good duck confit with this scrumptious orange-laced sauce.

You might already know we did some Easter baking. H has two ovens. I have zero at the moment. Or rather, I’ve one but it’s half a world away and I have no hopes of turning this microwave/grill crap that’s lodged into my kitchen wall into something fairly able to churn out cakes and cookies. If you’re presented with the opportunity, pounce on it. And so I did. But a holiday’s all about being decadent. Decadent to the point where you’re not even making the effort. So of course we ate more sweet treats and had tea. And whereabouts? At Blenheim Palace. Yes, where Winston Churchill was born. And where the house (as it used to be called, rather than ‘palace’) was later refurnished in the style of Versailles.

If you’re wondering, no we didn’t have afternoon tea at The Orangery or The Indian Room. The Water Terrace Café, a self-service cosy little one, was good enough for us. And when I say good, I really mean good. Cakes, scones, biscuits all homemade and generously portioned; tasting like bits of heaven and not factory-produced blocks of sugar and shortening. Really helps that the hot drinks are served in large cups (with a saucer) so you feel like you get your money’s worth and enough hot liquid to warm up your soul and fight that bone-chilling damp cold. No kidding. The weather that day was so awful. It did not help that I was wearing ankle cut offs and low-riding little loafers. Where was my performance gear when I needed it!

Nevertheless, Blenheim Palace was enjoyable and this little jewel of a café was like spotting a glowing hearth of a little cottage deep in a cold, dark, unforgiving forest. I can totally say I ate well, rested well and indulged up to Easter weekend. I’m back in the big smoke fighting the tube crowds, uneven cobblestone and sordid transport prices, with only M&S speckled eggs to keep my poor heart settled and at peace.

Happy Easter Sunday everyone.

Blenheim Palace
Woodstock
Oxfordshire
England
OX20 1PP