The Sugar Bar

If like me you love all things aged and vintage, that treasure chest of stored memories and dusty stories untold or forgotten, then looking through old photo albums must be a joy for you. Settling back home and unpacking is such a chore. So I’ve left bags, clothes and all of my randomness of a clutter to be strewn all over the bedroom. It’s procrastination station. But time spent at this station is time well spent (in my defense) because I’m taking a break looking through old photo albums and having a real hoot of a time. Literally, a HOOT. I’m guffawing so much with laughter, running all through the house squealing at the ridiculous atrocity of my past fashion sense and the awkwardness of teenage years, that period of fatty and carefree wonderment. A picture of my little sis in shocking pink floral tights and myself – a vision of angsty boyishness – brings forth tearful laughter so loud that I’ve drawn both my little sis and Mum to come join me. The more the merrier – to revel in the bittersweet and nostalgic times of the past, immortalized in yellowed, sticky pages of old photo albums within these (very fine quality, might I add) photographs on Kodak/Fujifilm paper. They’ve stood the test of time, aging very little and only in terms of colour. That means something!

Mama and Me

Many a times, when you get caught up in your own world and your own troubles – or for me get swept up in the hustle and bustle of a different city – one can forget so much. It’s good for the soul sometimes to look back and reminisce or as a Chinese idiom goes: 飲水思源 , to remember the spring when you drink water and be grateful for it. The source of my spring water, the source of inspiration for me is my mother’s cooking. And one very simple almost mundane dish she cooks is well-loved by the whole family and when talked about, bring wide smiles and big sighs – Mum’s spaghetti bolognese. Mum hasn’t had the time to cook a mammoth pot to feed all of us house of the hungry.

I stepped in. The first dish I cooked for the family since I moved home – squid, mussel & shrimp pasta in basil oil broth. A pasta combining both spaghetti and spinach fettucine (pffft..how half assed right?) and a good selection of seafood. I used a Jamie Oliver recipe which involved preparing a lovely lemon basil oil made from pounding basil leaves and anchovies in a pestle and mortar before adding extra virgin olive oil and lemon juice. This then went with with the broth produced from the cooking liquids of the mussels (and other seafood which I added because we’re such seafood fans). It’s not the same however. The satisfaction and that post-dinner rub-belly-and-’AH!’ feeling just wasn’t there. Mum’s cooking is still the best and everyone knows it. She’s spoiled our tastebuds.

groovy, baby

I’ve still much to learn. And my Mum is both proof and inspiration that one needs to keep learning and improving. Anyway, she’s pretty damn cool too. I’m sure you’d agree if you saw some old pics of her, her wardrobe and the dresses she used to make for herself and friends. East London vintage shops, my mum could put you all to shame! I might have forgotten this for quite a while, or rather, have always known it but with time have not been quick to remember it – I am who I am today because of my mother (and of course, my dearest paps. I was a tomboy before, so I think my paps helped a lot in that area. Actually, I’m still very rough around the edges with a heart that’s half dude) and boy, she was and still is a beautiful and intelligent woman.

Ah. Mothers and daughters, right (and fathers and daughters)? Rock on, y’all.

When it comes to cooking, not that I know or am skillful at all cooking methods, deep-frying is one of those things I avoid. Shallow-frying, on the other hand, I find thoroughly satisfying. The latter is not any big achievement for sure. It’s just hot fat in a pan, and in you stick your food, out comes this deliciousness with a fairly crispy exterior. Dead easy. But the sizzling of hot fat in a pan is music to my ears, the scent of whatever you’re cooking wafts up so much quicker than steaming or boiling or stewing. It doesn’t pervade the whole kitchen and surrounding rooms as roasting in the oven does but it certainly is eau de parfum compared to eau de toilette.

And there’s something quite therapeutic about watching fresh sage leaves frying in a pan and watching them darken, curl then crisp up. Almost a bit like fresh prawns going from grey to crimson, curling as they cook from the heat. What a sight! I’ve been mulling about quite a few things lately, and there’s lots of stuff I don’t personally approve of happening at work so it was quite nice to empty my mind of everything and simply focus on preparing myself a hot cooked lunch.

I last had gnocchi at Cafe Uno with loads of assorted mushrooms and a green pea sauce. The dinner crowd wasn’t huge and we were the only non-family trio there with a bottle of white to share. I’d not dined at Cafe Uno before but considering how delicious my gnocchi was, I wouldn’t mind going back again for more. Except, I remembered ogling at a plate of burnt butter and sage gnocchi over at Manggy’s blog and it looked far more delicious than what Cafe Uno had served up (no offense). The way Manggy seared his gnocchi and scattered the sage leaves on the plate…you need no words to describe it, except some flutterings of the heart. And there, I can’t help but say homecooking simply is the best. I love eating out but recreating similar dishes at home is just as wonderful, if not more.

This really is a non-recipe. Just add butter to a frying pan on gentle heat. When the butter melts, add the sage leaves and fry until they crisp up. I followed Manggy’s method of removing the sage leaves but added a tiny squeeze of lemon juice to the hot butter. Once the gnocchi were cooked, I drained and then added it to the hot butter. Quick toss then transferred to a warm plate, seasoned with salt and black pepper before adding the reserved sage leaves to the gnocchi.

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