& other places: Dandelyan, Stokey Stop, L'Entrepot

Dandelyan
I'd been itching to try Dandelyan, the bar in the newly opened Mondrian Hotel on the South Bank, for a couple of reasons. One, because it serves alcohol (naturally) and two, because it's housed in the old Sea Containers building where, aged 14, I spent a week's work experience in the now defunct Police Information Technology Organisation. So on a chilly evening before a rather disappointing evening at The Breakfast Club and The Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town I dragged S in for an aperitif. All seductive greens and purples, Dandelyan is nothing if not decadent. The cocktail menu's split by the base ingredients rather than the type of alcohol and there's a nifty little graph at the back that charts the suitability of the drinks against the time of day. I was in the mood for something mischievous so chose the Concrete Sazerac - Martell VSOP cognac, fermented Peychaud, absinthe and concrete - perfectly smokey with a slightly ashy aftertaste, this was just what I needed. It also comes with edible stones; a nice little addition to scoop out part way through or once you've consumed the last drop. S went for the Puffed Grains and Chocolate which was less chocolatey than we were expecting and much lighter than mine. Friendly staff and a buzzy atmosphere meant that this hotel bar's a keeper.

Stokey Stop
Some hangovers call for orange juice whilst others shout for Full Englishes. We had one of the latter so battled an epic fifteen minute walk to the high street to revisit Stokey Stop. An all-day diner type place, I'd had a decent 'Johnny English' before so was relishing the thought of a guilty pleasure to wolf down. I ordered what turned out to be the worst Bloody Mary I'd ever had (it won't be featuring on my Bloody Mary Blitz, that's for sure) - watery, tasteless and spiceless, I was too chicken to complain. The Johnny English itself wasn't bad - Cumblerland bangers, a (tasteless) roasted tomato, fried mushrooms, black pudding, a hash brown, two fried eggs, two rashers of bacon and Heinz beans - but we just couldn't bring ourselves to finish it or stomach the £30 bill at the end.

L'Entrepot
It was love at first sight with me and L'Entrepot back in February last year. One of Borough Wines' Easterly outposts, it's a charmingly little French place that oozes atmosphere. We went for a pal's birthday and were quick to order the £3 a glass house red and keep them coming. Prosecco's £4 if you're after bubbles and half pints of beer are £2.50. So far so good. Daily specials are chalked up (and framed by 'Je Suis Charlie' when we went) and hard to resist - a cheeseboard with Comte, Livarot and Bleu de Causes went down very well with the pear chutney but the baked camembert with raffle potatoes and cornichons was a bit disappointing. Perhaps it's my own fault for ordering something I regularly make at home but the potatoes were under done, the cornichons tasteless and the cheese could have been a little more loved. The steak tartare suffered the same fate too, criminally underseasoned and lacking that bit of bite from anchovies and capers, but a decent portion nonetheless. A bit hit and miss this time, I'm hoping that the third time's the charm.

Menier Chocolate Factory restaurant

This place sounded right up my street. A restaurant in a former chocolate factory? Say no more, I'm sold.

I'd been tasked with finding a restaurant for lunch before we went to see The Comedy of Errors at The Globe (more on that soon) on Friday. We needed to be close enough to dash off to our seats once we'd eaten our fill, didn't want anything too expensive and didn't want a chain. That narrowed our selection down quite significantly so after some Googling and Try This For-ing, I laboriously booked the Menier Chocolate Factory for our pre-theatre dining.

It was never going to be easy though, was it? My mum's train was delayed which meant we had to push our table back (which was fine) and hotfoot it down the packed South Bank to Southwark. Finally arriving at Menier, we were greeted with a beautiful old warehouse building that, true to its name used to be the site of a chocolate factory, now houses a restaurant, bar, rehearsal room and theatre. We had just over forty five minutes to order and eat which was always going to be a push, despite the very friendly and accommodating staff, so any expectations of a relaxing lunch went completely out of the window.

Mum went off-piste and ordered the burger (£11) - patty, bacon, cheddar, relish and lettuce - served with chunky chips and a small pot of ketchup on the side. Predictably, the behemoth that arrived was vast and a little on the dry side but for someone who doesn't tend to order burgers that often, devoured in double quick time.

I went for the carne sharing platter, the size of which is in the name. A vast plate of chorizo, parma ham, teruel lomo was fringed with two slabs of duck and ham hock terrine (dry but I soldiered on), tzatziki (underlyingly fizzy but also soldiered on), olives and huge amounts of warm khobez bread. At £15, the portion size of some of the elements was more than ample but the ingredients themselves were a little lacking in flavour, taste and finesse. I didn't manage to finish as time was against us so I felt a little bit done in when handing over my card for the bill but reassured that we hadn't opted for a pricier menu.

Saying our goodbyes, we fled back to the river just in time to take our seats for what, of course, would be the showstopper of the day. Shakespeare, of course, can do no wrong. Menier Chocolate Factory, on the other hand, gets a two and a half out of five from me.

A night with Irvine Welsh

“Choose a life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers... Choose DSY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows, stucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away in the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself, choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?” 

Perhaps one of the most iconic and known paragraphs in modern British literature. Every uni fresher had the poster on their wall in halls, everyone fell in love with Ewan McGregor in the film adaptation and everyone knew to steer clear of any lairy Scotsmen called Francis Begbie. 

Irvine Welsh's debut novel, the one that propelled him to fame, Trainspotting, is one of many that I can pick up and reread over and over again. It's written in the vernacular, spoken word so first impressions may make the words look like a foreign language but you'll find yourself thinking in the Scottish accent in no time. It's the same with most of his other books, such as Porno (the follow up to Trainspotting), Glue, Filth (brought to the big screen with James MacAvoy in the starring role). But always one to change things up, Welsh's new novel The Sex Lives of Siamese Twins is set in Miami, and there's no Scottish in sight.

When I heard that Irvine Welsh was doing a talk at the National Theatre, I jumped at the chance and bought a ticket. Only a couple of days later, I was sharing a swift drink with Leanne on the South Bank before heading in to watch the main man himself discuss his newest novel. 

Following the intertwining lives of polar opposites Lucy (fitness freak) and Lena (overweight artist), the novel is a comment on how we view ourselves, calorie counting and how messed up we make each other. With a couple of extracts read to us, it's clear that Welsh has managed to get right under the skin with his trademark nitty-gritty realness. Sugarcoating? Think again.

Welsh, and host Alex Clark, talked through how the novel came to be and how he developed the characters - by taking a little bit of his own personality and exploding it as far as he could. When the floor opened up to questions, I was interested to hear what others were asking:

'Which authors inspire you?' 'Every author I read. With good books, I think "fuck" and that pushes me on, and when I read something bad I think "fuck, I can do better than that"'.

'You write in both the first and third person narrative. Which do you prefer and why?' 'I think both have their values. In the first person, you can really get inside the character's head and exploit their psychology - but it isn't balanced and you only get one person's viewpoint. With third person narration, you can move the story along a lot more as you're party to everything. So I tend to use a combination of both in my books to keep it interesting.'

'Do you have any advice for first time writers?' 'Just write. Write your story and don't worry about the detail initially. Your first chapters will be shite but that's okay, don't make the mistake of trying to perfect every sentence as you'll lose faith and give up. Just keep writing.'

At the end of the talk, I couldn't resist but get a copy of the book that started it all signed. Y'know, for the future generations and lovers of modern British literature...

Another Saturday on the South Bank

On a sunny Bank Holiday weekend, there's little better to do than take a stroll down the South Bank. It's something I do relatively frequently, it seems (one, two and three), and whilst I lament the sheer number of people that seem to spill out from every conceivable corner and make walking at any speed faster than a snail's pace impossible, it's one of the places that makes me fall back in love with London all over again.

After a busy week at work, a Friday night in with wine and beautiful skies, I grabbed Sophie and we headed down to London Bridge. Sidestepping the heaving Borough Market (always go as early as you can, otherwise it can be hellish at the weekend), we meandered along the riverside soaking up what felt like the first of the summer sun.

We were heading for the Campo Viejo Streets of Spain that I'd spied over on Rachel's blog but before we got there, we found ourselves in the midst of Malaysia Kitchen, a food festival that aimed to educate as well as feed. There was a giant queue at Roti King's stall (hugely popular in all the street food fests it rocks up at) and the satay chicken guys were doing a roaring trade. We went for something in the middle from a place called Azi's. With the menu chalked up in Malaysian, it was a case of 'point and eat' so we opted for the flat noodles with prawns and chicken that had a perfect little kick and was made fresh in front of us. Served in a little wooden dish, we took our late lunch and devoured it overlooking the river.

Promising to return for the satay, we wandered further along into the throes of the Campo Viejo festival. Spanning a huge length of the South Bank, it was absolutely heaving with people. The trademark yellow and red awnings across the stalls fluttered in the breeze and people came happily away clutching churros, skewers of meat, sweets, pizzas, tapas and everything you can think of. We missed out on the Colour Lab experiment but did manage to snap up some incredible Campo Viejo berry sorbet from Sorbitum. Think you knew sorbet, think again.

Desperate to escape some of the crowds, we made it up to the roof of the National Theatre and sunbathed for a bit before deciding to hit up One New Change in St Paul's. With every intention to hit up Madison on the roof for a cocktail, we were distracted and then exhausted by the shops underneath. All good intentions must come to end and with dinner plans afoot, we wearily headed home, sated once again by the South Bank.

Saturday on the South Bank

I love the South Bank. Yes, it's a haven for tourists and crowds but come the sunny weather, there's little else better than being down by the river and being able to dip in and out of the bars, restaurants and food stalls dotted along the promenade.

My Saturday started off with brunch - avocado, bacon, poached egg and ricotta on sourdough toast with mustard greens - and lots of freshly sliced blood orange straight from the fridge. A couple of expertly brewed coffees later (and I don't even drink coffee), my pal Alex and I were ready to shake off the hangover and face the day.

We caught the bus (something that I rarely do in London) down to Monument, walking across the bridge into the blustery but beautiful sunshine. Practically everyone says it when they're faced with some decent weather in town but London really is something special. We popped into Borough Market, skilfully avoiding the huge queues tailing from every stall and shop, nipped into Neal's Yard to covet the stichelton, and pressed on along the river towards Waterloo.

Time - and people - moves slowly down there so this is one place you have to fight off your London speed of walking and remind yourself that the glacial pace you've moving at gives you the opportunity to see things you might otherwise miss. Like the chef at The Real Greek who's rustling up some tasty kebabs and singing loudly while he does so. Or The Rose Theatre, one of the original Shakespearean theatres that was only discovered in 1989, but is finally being given the love it deserves. Or the two buskers playing the smoothest reggae down by the Tate Modern, and stealing all the thunder from the guy dressed as a Transformer.

Our destination was the daily book stall under Hungerford Bridge and the street food market behind the National Theatre. A bustling beauty of traders rustling up some tasty treats for any tastebuds - from confit duck and stilton burgers to falafel wraps, Malaysian chicken curry to chicken and tarragon sausages, lime and mint sorbet to chocolate brownies - take your pick. We bought some beer from our pal at the Meantime Brewery stall, a pint of very dry Somerset cider for Al, some prosecco for me (naturally) and the tastiest curry I've had in a while. 

We devoured our food and watched hordes of fashionistas (and Karlie Kloss) descend on the Vogue Festival, keeping their keen eyes out for street style snappers. No sartorial Saturday for us though, we much preferred the National Theatre Bookshop, where Alex picked up the Kinfolk Table cookbook, and we cooed over the pictures on the bus back East. The perfect way to spend a sunny, fragile Saturday.

South Bank and Selfridges

Midweek days off are a treat, especially in the run up to Christmas. Working in Soho and battling the daily Oxford Street crowds is enough to drive anyone mad, let alone braving it on a weekend. So with some holiday to use up before Christmas (even now, I still have seven days left) and the late night Hunger Games showing, I decided to make the most of a three day week and trip down to the South Bank.

I wanted to check out the secondhand book stall (outside the BFI and open seven days a week) to try and find a few books for the Blogger Book Swap (I have the lovely Claire of Jazzpad) but after no luck, I had a quick wander round the Christmas market. Whilst not as impressive as its Parisian counterparts (particularly the ones in Montmartre and on the Champs Elysees), there's something very cute and, of course, seasonal about the little wooden chalets selling hot wine and decorations.

And the old classic merry-go-round of course...

From there, I set off for Selfridges (a girl's got to treat herself sometimes, right?) and headed over the bridge, returning the waves from boats passing below, up Northumberland Avenue, through Trafalgar Square (and The Pig Idea), up the illuminated Regent Street and along to the beautiful windows of one of London's most-loved department stores.

Ignoring the temptation to venture from floor to floor, I made a beeline for Illamasqua and yielded to the need for a new face...but that little story is a tale for tomorrow...

Return to Witch Mountain: Oxo Tower Bar & Madison

Sometimes some places make such an impression, you can't help but head back for a second visit. Last night was one of those occasions, the Oxo Tower Bar and Madison the locations.

My first foray into the Oxo Tower Bar was a few months ago, on a beautifully hot sunny Sunday. We stood out on the terrace and soaked up the sunshine. Last night was a little different. The drizzle had already set in and gone were the blue skies, to be replaced by cloud so close it shrouded the City. So we settled in at the bar, no longer lamenting the previously fortunate few who'd been given tables, as we had stools and prime access to the chipper bar staff.

We took it slow, as it was a school night after all, but between us sampled the Pleasure Boat (which comes in a tiki cup and reminded me of the cocktail-in-a-suitcase from Floripa), the Raspberry Gin Daisy and The Big Smoke (definitely an experience, and perhaps not to be repeated).

From there, we had one at Madison, One New Change. The rain held off at this point so we made the most of the illuminated views of St Paul's before ducking into the restaurant. Drinks were still flowing and going strong at half ten, with new parties turning up to take up table bookings, and a few people a little worse for wear. It's a great place and the food sounds tempting, although we didn't indulge on this occasion.

With so many places to explore in London, I'm trying to not make a habit of religiously returning to stalwarts but these two bars are fast becoming firm favourites and so the rules can be broken, right?

A first for everything

Spontaneous Saturday nights are quite often the best. I was quite happily (and lamely) planning on having a relatively quiet night in with the voluminous amount of food that had arrived earlier that morning (god bless you, online shopping). And then a friend called and it was decided that I really should go out.

First stop was Gordon's Wine Bar. This is another place that I can't believe I hadn't actually been to before - a Central stalwart in a prime riverside location. Claiming to be London's oldest wine bar and established in 1890, this remarkable bar is tucked between Charing Cross and Embankment in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it walkway. Despite being 9pm, we sat on the busy outside terrace at the only empty table with a bottle of the Fat Bastard Pinot Noir (great name, huh?). Once it got cold, we moved inside to be greeted by exposed brickwork, intimate darkness with flickering candles, the lowest ceilings and leaky walls (which we became unwitting custodians of). It was packed and very atmospheric, and we indulged in another bottle of red, before everybody was fairly unceremoniously turfed out. (A recurring theme, according to reviews, its seems.)

From there, we headed into Soho, glancing in at Cellar Door - a basement club just off Aldwych/The Strand that was ridiculously rowdy and being bounced by an overzealous overseer - before ducking into Blacks on Dean Street for another bottle of red and a lounge on a daybed in one of their gloriously ornate rooms. As things quietened down, we repaired to the ground floor where everyone sits around old dining tables and a fire roars, despite being mid June.

And then onto another first - world famous Ronnie Scott's. By all admissions, I'm not a jazz fan and tend to steer well clear of the genre. We went to the Late Late Show, and caught one of the house bands. Upstairs, Ronnie's Bar is a crimson shade of decadence with rolling banquettes, glimmering fixtures and table service that weaves its way through the mixed crowd. I was surprised at how busy our showing was but reminded by the amount of fellow first-timers in the audience. It was a great experience but given my aversion to the music itself, I think I'll let the lovers take my place...

'Lord, what fools these mortals be!'

Every month, we try to fit in a mother-daughter day (usually in London) - sometimes it goes to plan and we head to the National Portrait Gallery or go for a wander round Covent Garden, other times (once) I end up inexplicably crippled and our day has to be cut short. Friday was not only the best mother-daughter days so far but also one of the best days so far full stop.

Coinciding with my plans to come home for an early birthday weekend (it's actually on the 22nd), I met my mum at Waterloo as our plans for the day were strictly South Bank. The promised weather was less than beautiful but nothing lunch at Brindisa (yes, again - my review here) couldn't put right. Winding our way through the heaving Borough Market, we managed to grab an instant table at the Spanish stalwart, and tucked into some new dishes: huge gordal olives with orange and oregano; traditional potato tortilla; cured iberian ham croquetas; pan fried asparagus with duck egg, serrano ham and romanesco sauce; the old favourite sea bass, and an apple and blue cheese salad. Service wasn't as brilliant this time, which was a shame, but the food was great.

After that came the main event - A Midsummer Night's Dream at The Globe. Shakespeare's Globe is a mecca to English Literature fans, and having been a big reader since before I could read, a pilgrimage there was always on the cards, but always seemed so out of reach. This year, I managed to get my act together and buy two tickets for one of Shakespeare's most loved plays (and one that I knew very little about). It was a dream come true - we had what were probably the best seats in the house (Upper Gallery, H9 & H10) and a front-on view of the stage.

The theatre (fully restored in the last couple of decades) filled up quickly and I lost myself to the poetic genius of the play. A Midsummer Night's Dream is a fantastical comedy and the company pulled it off to an incredible degree with knowing asides to the audience, appropriate amounts of slapstick and some great costumes (above are some of the fairies, Bottom as an ass and Queen Titania). Whilst standing tickets are just £5, ours were understandably a lot pricier but worth every single penny.

After both agreeing that it was the best thing we've ever seen, we wandered back along the South Bank and happened upon Ben & Jerry's Core Tour where they were giving out free tasters of ice cream. We both went for the Peanut Butter Me Up! (raspberry jam surrounded by peanut butter and vanilla ice cream, with peanut butter cup chunks) and I think it's just become my joint favourite (along with Chunky Monkey).

I've been billing this weekend just gone as my early birthday - and I don't think I could have asked for anything better. With a show at The Globe and ice cream, followed by a perfect summer meal and some incredible early presents (more on that tomorrow), I'm thinking that this getting older malarkey isn't that bad after all...

Sunday on the South Bank

Sunday was one of the best days I've had in a long while. The morning was spent lazing in the garden, soaking up the best weather of the year so far, before heading out mid-afternoon to brave the South Bank.

We headed to the Aquarium - one of those touristy things us Londoners just don't do, and judging by the queues, for good reason. But us Brits are made for standing in line fairly politely and it wasn't long until we were in, marvelling at and anthropomorphising all the species (so many fish holding hands and jellyfish questioning their existential lives).

We emerged into the still baking hot early evening in search of food. Heading along the South Bank, past the various pop ups (from a Wahaca bar to The National Theatre's Propstore) and buskers, we happily ended up at Brindisa, on the edge of Borough Market. A tapas bar opposite one of my favourite pubs (The Southwark Tavern), Brindisa was bustling with diners inside and out. We had a short wait so grabbed a bottle of wine at the bar and browsed the menu, before being taken to out our sunny table and given complimentary iberico ham. We opted for a few dishes (naturally) including: esclavida (toast with salted sardines, roasted aubergine, red pepper, onion and tomatoes), gambas al ajillo (chilli garlic prawns), deep fried monte enebro (handmade goats cheese with orange blossom honey and crispy beetroot) and the pan fried seabass (with mashed potatoes, garlic and pepper refrito). Brilliant food coupled with brilliant service, it's easy to see how Brindisa has grown from one location to four plus a shop in the market and an online store.

From there, we headed back along with the river and nipped in to the Oxo Tower Bar for a mojito. Not the cheapest of venues but the incredible view from the balcony bar on the eighth floor is perfect for watching the sun set. And then, we found ourselves snaking through the BFI to The Drawing Room... 'Tucked behind an inconspicuous bookcase, you'll find a secret entrance to the recently opened cocktail bar. Not quite Narnia, you won't find fur coats or fictitious fawns, but it could be a room taken straight from the country manor that famous wardrobe was found in. The bar is filled with handpicked and just as precious curiosities and curios.'

We drank red wine and blueberry caiprinhas and played Trivial Pursuit to varying degrees of success. Cosy, comfy and tucked away in the back of one of London's most brilliant venues, The Drawing Room was a great place to discover. We tried to stop off for one at Gordon's on the way home but they'd just closed (Sunday after all, Bank Holiday or no) so called it a night - a very successful, exploratory night.