I am finding it very difficult to pick a favorite bit of London. It seems every time I go to new area, I fall head over heels and think it must certainly be the best bit. I melt over the cute cobblestone streets, wander in awe through shops that must have popped out of a time machine, and stick my face up to cafe windows to drool over the scones, croissants, and sausage rolls piled on platters. I'm convinced - until the next week, when it happens all over again.
I set out today to see the Columbia Road Flower Market, which goes on every Sunday from 8-3.
It's a tiny, quaint street in the East that is one of few in London composed entirely of independent shops. Tiny shopfronts filled with artisan perfumiers, vintage clothing boutiques, art galleries, antiques, homewares and a handful of critically-acclaimed restaurants and pubs line the street that is positively filled with colorful flowers, and even more colorful flower salesman.
Walking down the beautiful streets, you must literally stop to smell the roses and hear the heckling. All the Englishmen sporting newsboy caps and potting soil under their fingernails are shouting things like,
"Orchids! Only 3 Quid. Cheap enough for yeh Mother'n law! Who's got a mother'n law they don't like? The only people I know who do like their mother'n law - live abroad!"
"Fifty p! Fifty p per rose, got to feed my future ex-wife."
It's a busteling, beautiful, blossoming market, and no one leaves empty handed. Including me.
Since I can't have a pet - I decided to buy a plant.
I asked a particularly colorful salesmen what kind of flower I could buy to brighten my bedroom that wouldn't need sunlight, wouldn't die quickly, and wouldn't require a lot of maintenance.
"There's only 1 kind of flower like that miss," he replied.
"A plastic 'un!"
Brilliant.
So, I decided to screw logic and go for an adorable teacup-shaped pot filled with bulbs about to blossom of one of favorite flowers, daffodils. I've never been a fan of anything that made sense anyway. I am quite pleased with my purchase and have named it Penny. I intend to love her, care for her, give her water, and take her to tea.
Just behind the start of the market I saw a sign that said "Eat A Horse" with an arrow pointing towards what appeared to be a shop. My curiosity got the better of me, and I was sure glad it did. At the back of a little open-air shop selling gardening tools and woven baskets was a small counter brewing Monmouth Coffee and serving up some seriously delicious looking homemade treats! I picked up a latte and a bitesize sample of the lemon curd loaf and was in heaven. I loved this place simply for the fact that stuffed among pruning sheers are gourmet English cheddar scones. Only in London.
Eat A Horse was just the beginning of my realization that it is not just that roses that are worth smelling at the Columbia Road Market. It is a foodie paradise! From Printers and Stationer's homemade bread and fresh oyster station, to Lilli Vanilli's spread of indulgences, to old fashioned sweets at Suck & Chew, and Treacle's cupcake plants - my eyes grew bigger with every step.
I amazingly resisted all of these temptations, since I had another plan in mind for lunch.
Brick Lane is the Jewish quarter of London, and on Sundays also hosts a rather lively market - so I took Penny on a stroll in search for Brick Lane Beigel. All the guide books say “you have to try the bagels on Brick Lane when you are in the East End.” So, since I have been terribly missing multigrain oats and raisins bagel with cinnamon raisin schmear, I was very excited to go for a bagel! I was lead to believe the bagel shop would be like those in New York, which was my first mistake.
I spent the walk over contemplating what kind of bagel I wanted, and if I wanted cream cheese or egg and cheese. Imagine my utter shock when I arrived and found there was only kind of bagel. Plain! Who eats plain bagels!! It's like going to an ice cream parlor and ordering vanilla. I understand this was more of an authentic Jewish deli than an outpost of Murray's, but come on! The bagels were also babies compared to New York standard size. There were no cream cheese options, they were all pre-filled and stocked on the shelves with either cream cheese and salmon, or hot salt beef and mustard. Oy.
I didn't even want to try one, but I was now completely starving since I'd held out all day for this and there was nothing else quick-looking in sight. So, I joined the massive queue and a few minutes later pulled the imitation bagel out of the brown paper wrapping.
I was actually surprised at the fresh-baked scent that filled the air. The bagel was much better looking up close, and clearly baked and filled moments that morning. I hoped for the best, and took a big apple bite into my London town bagel.
My tastebuds, which were prepared for disappointment, met a surprisingly chewy and delightful texture, thick and tasty cream cheese, and very fresh smoked lox. All in all, not too bad for a wanna-be bagel! The smaller size was actually kind of nice since I was able to finish my lunch and not feel like I was pregnant with a dough-child.
But was it anything like a New York bagel? No.
Should London probably just forget the whole bagel thing and focus on jam roly poly production. Definitely.
Penny agrees.
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