Laboratory on Writing Day 1 : MA History and Critical Thinking

Day 1: The Gourmet Burger Kitchen Review When countless burger joints and (a seemingly endless) array of fast food restaurants line the streets of London, it can be hard to see the wood for the trees. Originally the brain-child of 3 Kiwi friends, The Gourmet Burger Kitchen is exactly what it says on the tin. With a more subdued, modern take on the classic diner interior, The Gourmet Burger Kitchen is bright and friendly, serving up beautifully presented fast food to please even the most sophisticated of palettes. Featuring everything from burgers with a difference such as the Camemberger; including 100% west country beef patty topped with delicious camembert cheese, truffle mayo, a hash brown and onion jam, stacked high and served on a toasted brioche bun to classic sides with a twist like their blue cheese slaw or their sweet potato fries with bacon and aioli. But don’t be fooled, The Gourmet Burger Kitchen is not just a one stop pig out spot for cheese laden gastro grub, here, there is something for everyone. Multiple gluten free and vegetarian alternatives grace the menu as well as a fresh light take on classics such as zesty coleslaw without the mayo and variety of hearty salads to tuck in to that satisfy hungry stomachs and taste buds. You’ve tasted the rest, now come to the best.

M.Audisio

Caitlin Daly Day 1: A Friendly Place

Walking through the door one must be mindful of the gaggle of children speedily making their way towards the arcade in the corner. In a flash, they dodge past the impromptu board meeting being held at the take-out counter. Deftly the hostess navigates the mayhem to find a suitably unoccupied booth. Barely settled in, the waitress appears to ask for your drink order. There is no rush, but one should be comfortable.

Comfortable. One glance and you realize that tonight is a heart-attack-on-a-plate kind of a night. There is the Honey BBQ Chicken SuperMelt, because to simply have chicken tenders smothered in decently sweet honey BBQ sauce was not good enough. No, no surrounding it with molten Vermont Cheddar Cheese, crisp Applewood Smoked Bacon (three slices of course) and drowning them in Ranch dressing, that is what constitutes a proper sandwich.

The childlike delight of this savoury, sweet destruction echoes off the walls as the children start clambering for their ice cream behind you.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? You proclaim proudly in chorus with the children, “I would like some ice cream”, when the waitress appears. “A Forbidden Fudge Brownie Sundae please, 3 scoops.” It is winter after all, what are a few more pounds but some added insulation against the Northern winds?

Encounters on Ridley Road To find Ridley Road market, a map is not necessary – one only has to follow the cries of the seagulls sitting on the street lights that line this market near Dalston Junction. Upon getting closer one can not help but notice what it is that attracts them: a strong maritime scent lingers in the air and mixes with the aromas of spices, fruits, vegetables, meat, incense and chemical cleaners. Along with this intense blend of odours goes an ambient cacophony, made up of the songs blasting out of the booths, the promoting yells of the vendors and the multilingual chatter of the shoppers – underlined by the thumping beat of the heavy butcher knifes. The corresponding meat vendors do not offer filleted viands, but essentially entire animals – dismembered and presented as stacks of different body parts: heads, stomachs, tongues, legs to name only a few.

If you want to know what a hamburger (or a veggie patty for that matter) is actually made of, Ridley Road market seems to be just the place to go.

It is the antithesis to sterile grocery stores which sell single garlic cloves in plastic wrapping. Apparently even so called “bush meat” (use your imagination…) is sold under the counter here – but if you prefer to leave aside these exotic delicacies, then there are plenty of other offers of just about any raw product existing in the culinary world.

Judging from the signs above the marquees of the merchants that line the short lane, there is a focus on Anatolian, sub-saharan African and Caribbean food – but in general it seems that this market does not really adhere to one region. Rather the transcultural range of products and clients emphasises the overall impression that this place is simultaneously in the middle of the UK and some totally different, undefinable locale. The one thing that clearly situates Ridley Road in East London though, is the growing number of self-proclaimed individuals who, like the author of this article himself, roam the market. What attracts them is probably that Ridley Road market is one of those rare places where food appears as what it is: not the product of a laboratory, but something organic (in the truest sense of that word) that can be smelly and fleshy – picture a man with a stump in place of his amputated arm buy the whole leg of a pig from one of the stalls and you might look at your groceries with a different eye. It is this kind of disclosing you-get-what-you-see (and smell…) condition that makes Ridley Road Market a garden of truly earthly delights – if that is not what you are looking for at the moment: there‘s a Sainsbury‘s right around the corner.

Winston Hampel

The Bricklayer’s in Tottenham Maarten Lambrechts

Before entering The Bricklayer’s, a sing in front of the door points out the obvious: ‘Only Home Side Supporters Allowed!’. When having passed this sign, (and having mentally convinced myself that I too am a hardcore Tottenham supporter), it becomes apparent why this pub is the place to be on a match day. It may be dim -is it open or still open- and not very clean, but this particular setting adds to the wonderful authenticity of the place. Just as the vast collection of memorabilia on the wall, ranging from a diversity of scarves and autographed shirts to stolen traffic signs and all kinds of pieces taken directly from the stadium. As a result, the seats for the regulars are marked by ‘Executive Lounge’-signs; just one of the examples of the enjoyable working-class wit you would expect from this place. Do not expect to get a seat yourself though. Non-regulars are appointed to the ‘pit’, standing behind the executives … but don’t worry, the screen showing the game is more than big enough. Drinks are, of course, easy to get. As long as it is beer. Do not ask for a smaller glass, even if it’s for female companion, since they simply do not have it. Food is a whole other story. Because it is match day, the Burger Garden is open… Not a garden as in trees, bushes, grass, or any ‘green’ for that matter. No, this garden fits the picture, in that it is a small shack at the back, where a silent and possibly hung over cook prepares frozen hamburgers for three pounds fifty. Surely, a bit overcharged, but perfectly timed, so that I can return inside just before the second half starts. And once back inside, I can see how people are genuinely enjoying themselves; by the way they generously poor smuggled vodka in each other’s drinks, by the laughter of some middle-aged women reaching higher keys while nearing the games’ end and especially by the way two men in front of me keep on kissing each other, long after Tottenham scored the winning goal. And there you have it: not restaurant food or ‘fancy bar’ drinks, and certainly not the first-hand stadium experience (instead, rather scratchy sounding cheers).

Nevertheless, the Bricklayer’s proves to be the best pub in town for a full 90 minutes true home side-supporter’s experience.

Marzia Marzorati 10th February 2014 Design by words - Day 1 MA HCT Laboratory on Writing with Fabrizio Gallanti and Marina Lathouri

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LA PINETA

Via dei Cavallereggi 27, 57080, Marina di Bibbona (LI) +390586600016

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‘I think I wrote down the wrong address. Or, maybe, the GPS is busted!’ This was my first reaction when I winded up in front of La Pineta, a Michelin starred, critically acclaimed restaurant in the middle of the Tuscan coast. My boyfriend and I had driven for almost two hours, and I was bewildered. Although the moonlit parking lot was full, I could only glimpse an old, featureless pile-dwelling on the horizon. No evident signs. I soon supposed it was the umpteenth bathing establishment, proverbially located where the pine forest finally meets the seashore. When I crossed the threshold for a guide-post, naval, azure furnitures contrasting the immaculate plaster of the walls cheerfully welcomed me. I immediately realized that ‘that shack’ actually was Luciano Zazzeri’s undisputed kingdom: the Chef greeted us enthusiastically, and a waiter guided us to a round, splendidly set wood table in the middle of the room. A blingy atmosphere swamped the space, and the distant sound of the waves blended in with the clicking vibration of the silverwares coming from the wide-open kitchen. The sea breeze passed through the gaping windows, and we started to scrutinize the menu while sipping an offered apéritif. The carte was a poem recounting magnificent sea preparations, and once in a while the Chef emerged from the kitchen grasping a number of fishes from their tails. The wine list consisted of more than 1,300 selected labels, and the sommelier’s help was purely synergetic. We finally opted for a millefoglie pastry of salted codfish combined with a velvet sauce of leeks (excellent!), ink black gnocchi with fried squids and artichokes, mixed seafood boil matched with light mayonnaise (the sauce was prepared by the Japanese cook’s assistant), and a torrone sweet semifreddo with pistachio brittle (although, I would not define myself as a dessert person, I literally loved it as it literally melted in my mouth).

Everything was truly incredible, and since that evening of four years ago we constantly reserve a table every August (80-100 euro per person). Ultimately ‘La Pineta’ is surely not a place for carnivorous, but it well deserves a visit: the amazing food and the courteous staff will transform your dinner in a memorable experience.

‘As Found: Koya Bar’

By Yanisa Niennattrakul In the complexity of identity signs along Frith Street, in Soho district, a red graphic logo of a ‘house’ sign stand out from others. Far from literally a physical house and other bars, ‘Koya Bar’, a Japanese noodle bar with limited capacity of individual 25 stool seating space, all heading to an open kitchen. This opens for a breakfast menu limited to noon. Not only for Asian ethnics or Japanese food lovers, living alone in a foreign city might make you feel to give a break from a stereotype self-cooked European breakfast, so why not start the day ‘alone’ here. Visually from a high degree of space intimacy, the fixed ‘bar’ becomes an apparatus of space interaction with a dynamic performance of ‘as found’ objects lying , steams from u-don noodles, Katsuobusi soup smells, and informal acoustic composition of running tap water, giggling, banging of utentils

depicting a retrospective of familiar Thai vendors.

Everything is blurred, self-control of space which makes yourself ‘comfortable’ even though being ‘alone’.

Being alone is scary, but here, simply as ‘home’. Serving from hands of the chef directly to yours, like mom to daughter, mostly recommended,‘Okayu’ consists of porridge, pickle, and on-sen poached eggs, a very simple dish which is always chosen. The neatness of the composition of circles dishes as a palette contained with ‘ingredients’ conduct a ‘ritual of eating’, going well with a cup of hot Japanese tea contrasting with London cold unpredictable weather together with increasingly allow individuality of taste by adding, subtracting, or even luckily non-charge extras from friendly staff. The bar transforms from a house to ‘home’, or may be personally to homesickness.

Design by Words: Laboratory on Writing with Fabrizio Gallanti and Marina Lathouri MA History and Critical Thinking, February 2014 María José Orihuela

Description I: Ciro’s Pizza Pomodoro From the name ‘Pizza Pomodoro’ to its celebrated motto ‘Expect the Unexpected’, everything in this Knightsbridge restaurant seems to be so boringly cliché and ordinary that the sheer act of writing about it is in the highest risk of becoming all these things as well. Past its threshold there is a world that has not changed spirit, image or smells in the last 35 years. The scent of the place could be described as a gentle blend of garlic, semolina with a touch of granny-ness. The ambience, regardless of any current design trend (nordic, minimalist and so on), is dominated by simultaneous abundances that cover every centimeter of the surface of the inner walls.

Cheap framed photographs of those who have visited the restaurant and met the unique personage of Ciro Orsini, author of this playful masquerade. He succeeded in creating a delicate balance between background music and a rock venue, where live bands perform classics of soul, dance and ‘gypsy king’ style. Depending on the day, the live band can be ordinary, really good or glorious –Stevie Wonder is listed among past performers. Ciro brought to London the spirit of Naples; meaning not only its cuisine, but its festive soirées with live music that end up with guests abandoning the tables and onto the dancefloor.

The Café @ NCPA Or as I like to call it the café at the edge of the city.

Hidden in the armpit between the Tata and Jamshed Bhabha Theater, located on what use to be a storage platform, transformed by the simple addition of artificial grass and wicker furniture, the Cafe sits as a reminder that the National Center of Performing Arts in Mumbai is now in need of additional modes of income. Following the tradition of everything must be available everywhere at all times; the café takes a shortcut with its menu by incorporating dishes form its sister establishment; the Pan-Asian dishes come straight out of the Joss kitchen, while the Mediterranean comes from Amadeus, effectively putting to rest several post work dinner plan arguments. Apart from the addition of obligatory sandwiches and smoothies, you will not see too many new options, unless the SOI is in season, then you are treated to a special menu which, predictably, consists of Parsi food. Located literally at the far most tip of Mumbai (most patrons who frequent the café calling it Bombay), there is no better place to escape the city, while enjoying a syrup-free sangria with tapas. Unless of course there is a wedding in the open ground (another product of the increased entertainment tax), it would suddenly hits you as you struggle to eat the delicious mushroom momos using chopsticks, that there is literally nowhere further to run away, short of leaving the city.

Devanshi Shah

Are You

Extra FANCY?

Extra Fancy is the coolest little hipster bar in Williamsburg. We’re talking beards, waxed handlebar moustaches, buns on guys, shaved heads on girls, and enough awkward egotism to make Radiohead uncomfortable. The unfancy, barely-lit dive is truly charming. “The Boys” as the bartenders have been affectionately dubbed, will take care of you with delicious cocktails.

“Baby, Your Drivin”, a semi-sweet mix of gin, grapefruit, and lime topped with a star-shaped orange rind, is the unanimous favourite. If you want a classic, their dirty martini (or three) pairs perfectly with the locally dug oysters on the half-shell you get at the bar. They also have proper dining in the back: lobsters with drawn butter, Maine mussels, and garlic fries with mayo. Extra Fancy knows what we like. The tattooed girls serving salty food with sass, the hipster boys serving sweet drinks with a sly smile, and the blend of obscure electronica and 90’s hip-hop jams; it all just fits like Ryan Gosling in a sweater he knit himself. And if you’re ever having a bad day stop in and talk to Aaron; he’ll cheer you up with Ja Rule power hour... as if this place wasn’t perfect enough already.

reviewed by L Stamps

FOODHALL´S SALMAGUNDI Foodhall. Barbican, Level G. London. 020 7382 7211 ÁLVARO VELASCO

As foreigner, one tends to think that it is almost impossible to find a fond and close treatment in a cheap restaurant in the City of London. The familiar warmth of a cup served not only as business transaction but as charming service sounds alien in this citycentre. But surprisingly, since my first visit to Foodhall in Barbican, Rosalia has always received me with an smiling attention and a cozy grey tea, more proper to a bar in my little hometown than to a fast-food service in London. Cup in hand, one has to find his place amid the cantina-type long tables, sharing it with business newspapers and trade conversations, digital cameras and baby carriages. A confluence of diverse atmospheres which is Barbican. The mixture of art centre, library, school, restaurants and housing, confined in the economic core of London, is also manifested in the way Foodhall works.

The open space is divided by two different cycles: the buffet circuit and tea-and-cake service, that coincide in a large dinning area. The buffet is provided with a simple variety of salads, quiche and pasta, with option of daily menu. But, after receiving in your tray an “spaghetti bolognaise, grated parmesan, garlic & herb bites”—certainly abusing of garlic—, the real taste does not come from a (modest)dish but from the chaotic mixture that turns lunch something entertaining. While it is true that the food is very common, at least the communal atmosphere gives its flavour to the restaurant.

They say that eating is a social action, but there are very few places as dynamic as Foodhall, where even the most plain spaghettis turn appetizing when you see a kid paying attention to a conversation that two bankers are having sitting by his side.

Probably its menu is quite mundane, but Foodhall is a place that deserves to be visited for enjoying a salad surrounded by a bizarre hotchpotch of characters.

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Cerys Wilson! !

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Tables for six and counting!

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Store Street Espresso is the only place in London (and possibly the UK) where you can! order a grilled turkey and cheese with sauerkraut, pickles and hot mustard. For this reason! alone, I make the pilgrimage to Bloomsbury on a regular basis, despite the fact that I live on the! opposite side of the city and that now the Northern line is suspended at Embankment, the! journey takes twice as long. No matter. I am a mustard lover in a country that prefers its bread! buttered. As such, a trip to Store Street is like coming home.! !

For those who do not enjoy the sudden burning sensation of condiment shooting up their!

nose, there are other things to eat - although nothing quite as good. The avocado on toast is! simple and satisfying, but don’t set your heart on it. Store Street has a permanent dearth of! avocados - as well as seats.! !

Yes, the secret is out and this place is packed, mostly with students from the!

Architectural Association around the corner. If you are lucky enough to bag one of the few small! wooden tables, it’s likely you won’t be alone for long. Space is scarce and customers perch! where they can, adding to the laid back atmosphere that Store Street fosters. Sip your latte and! soak it all up. Prospective visitors beware, however: burgeoning numbers around the lunch hour! mean no wifi between noon and three. That and the unfortunate lack of plugs led this critic to! write her review in a far less convivial spot. !